Plus, Jen snuck in brownies that her grandma made for her, so I got to actually have some junk food. I’ve never liked her more!
On the last run of our session, I finally got my wheels off the ground, just a tiny bit. I felt the same way I did the first day Phoebe had me “flying” into the foam pit…except this is so much better. I earned it this time.
It’s a pretty cool feeling. Even if it left me so tired that as soon as we get in the van to go home, I fall asleep.
I’m still nervous about the competition, but honestly, having friends over for dinner and not freaking out about it is probably even crazier than the fact that I’m going to be competing on a bike. In front of judges! Speaking of dinner, Jen and Ali are on their way over for our now semi-regular end-of-week dinner at the apartment, and we’ve cooked up some pretty great-smelling curry with a ton of veggies—we don’t just eat pizza and Mexican food! Penguin is even begging at the table, and I had no idea dogs liked vegetables. Doorbell is ringing, so I should probably stop writing and answer it. I’m not even dreading it.
Superhero Tip: The more vegetables you eat, the better they start tasting. And you do start feeling healthier and more superhero-like. It’s annoying when parents are right when they say spinach is A Good Thing.
Ending on a hungry note,
Lindsay
(Why do I write so much about food?)
CHAPTER 25
We’re clustered around the table finishing the last bites of utterly delicious curry, when Phoebe tells us that training for the day isn’t quite over yet. But as the three of us get up and start heading for our bikes, she calls us back to the table.
“We’ve done a ton of great work on the bikes this week,” she says. “But now we need to do a little bit of off-bike training as well.”
“What, more planks?” Jen asks. (We were all thinking it…and dreading it.)
“No,” Phoebe replies. “I’m talking about visualization. It’s really helpful, especially when you’re getting ready for a competition like this one and you’re feeling nervous.”
“How do you do it?” Ali asks eagerly.
“What are you scared of?” Jen asks. “You’re better than we are!”
“I’m afraid I’ll mess something up and my brothers will see,” she says. “Even though they’re not going to be there, I’m afraid someone will get me on video epically messing up a jump, and it’ll get back to them.”
“Visualization is just what you need, then,” Phoebe says. She explains that visualization is just a simple focusing exercise that’s like daydreaming. “You’re imagining the day of the competition, and everything leading up to your start, then running through the perfect jump line. You’re seeing yourself taking each jump smoothly, hitting the top of the whoop and getting a little air, coming down the backside without pedaling, and using your momentum to hit the next,” she adds.
She has us close our eyes and envision ourselves nailing each series of jumps. I’m having trouble trying to make a mental image, though. And then I think about my journal and almost instantly, my brain snaps to attention and I’m writing the scene. “I’m effortlessly floating over each jump, almost weightless. My bike hovers underneath me, and I can feel my feet firm on the pedals while my hands gently grip the handlebars. My heart is beating faster, but I feel calm. My eyes are open, and when I hit the second jump, I fly up and over, with so much air that I have time to flick my bike out to my right side and bring it back to center before I touch back down.”
Once we’ve all done that for a couple of minutes, Phoebe tells us to open our eyes. “Good job,” Phoebe says, “but one time isn’t enough. You’ll need to do this every day before the competition.”
“Can I write about it?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
I explain that I usually write out my daydreams into stories, which Phoebe says is a great idea. “Whatever will get that picture in your head and keep it there until you need it on the big day,” she says.
“What about making a collage of cool girls jumping?” asks Jen, and Phoebe answers that that’s also a great idea, as long as she’s not just imagining those girls doing cool tricks.
“It only works if you can see yourself doing these tricks and jumps, not picturing other people doing them,” she adds.
“That makes sense,” Jen says. “I’m just having a hard time seeing myself jumping. I keep thinking about the last road race that I did—and didn’t win.” She looks pretty bummed out, like just talking about it is bringing up those bad memories.
“But now that it’s been a while, was losing really so bad?” I ask, a little nervously. I don’t want her to get mad at me, but I’m curious. “I mean, you came here and met us, and now you’re doing something that’s also pretty cool.”
“I guess that’s true,” Jen says, smiling a teensy bit. “It’s been pretty fun.”
Ali looks glum. “I keep picturing myself falling and my brothers rolling by. Or hopping over me,” she says sadly.
“Just relax,” Phoebe advises. “Maybe start imagining yourself on a smaller jump line, with no one watching. I know it’s hard to stop worrying about what they think of you. If you let them get in your head, you’ll probably tense up more when you’re in the middle of the competition.”
After a few more minutes of practice, with Phoebe guiding us with our eyes closed as she describes a perfect jump line set, I think I’m really getting the hang of it. Ali looks a lot cheerier too. “I think I’m doing it right now,” she says. “That time, I managed to get around my brother!”
“Next, try hopping over him,” Phoebe adds, and we all giggle.
Training is hard. And everything hurts.
I might not make it,
Lindsay
(Seriously.)
CHAPTER 26
I think I’m going to die. This is at least the millionth time today that I’ve gone through the same medium-height jump line. My hands hurt. My stomach is sore. My legs feel like jelly. Phoebe just looks at her phone and motions to me to go again. I want to yell at her, but I’m honestly afraid that if I stop rolling, I’ll fall over.
Before we started, she taught me what she calls the ponytail trick. When I’m jumping, I’m supposed to go for the feeling of my ponytail going up in the air and have it come back down when I hit the backside of the jump. If I feel it, it means I managed to get enough momentum to get in the air. If I don’t, then I probably didn’t get off the ground.
“Stop after this round!” she shouts as I drop in, down the steepest of the jumps and into a series of three-foot-tall rolling mini hills, trying to jump over the top of them. After another round where I only hit the floor with my pedal once, I stop at the top next to Phoebe, panting.
“Today is the day we’re going to get you in the air.”
“How was that round, though?” I ask.
“See for yourself,” she says. “This was your first try.”
I watch a video of myself pedaling like mad, rolling over the top of each of the little hills, the pedal hitting the top of each one loudly, almost echoing. “Yikes,” I say. “I really thought I was getting over the top.”
“Yeah, I know how that feels,” she says sympathetically. “But look…”
She scrolls down her phone and hits play again. “This was your last round,” she says, holding out the phone. I wish I could say I was leaping tall buildings in a single bound, but I wasn’t that impressive. Still, I only pedaled a couple of times, used my weight to push and pull over the hills, and even got the teensiest bit of air at the tops. And the one time I hit my pedal, it wasn’t nearly as loud.
“See what a little extra practice can do?” Phoebe says, somewhat more smugly than she needed to, in my opinion.
“And,” she adds, lowering her voice, “you’r
e welcome.”
“For what?” I ask.
“Hi, Lindsay!” I hear from behind me, just as Phoebe turns away and suddenly becomes a lot more interested in her bike.
“Hey, Dave,” I manage, still a little out of breath. Great. He would show up when I’m red and sweaty and—let’s be real—not exactly doing anything impressive.
“That was really good,” he says, casually riding up the little hill to the platform that I always have to walk. “I think you’re ready for the competition.”
“I can’t believe it’s tomorrow,” I say, feeling only slightly paralyzed.
“And with that in mind, I’m going to go hit the jump line a few more times,” Phoebe says, and rolls off, but not before she winks at me. I’m pretty sure Dave sees her do it, but he pretends not to.
Dave steps in as she pedals happily away. “I think I owe you a jump lesson, right?” he asks. I nod.
“So I probably won’t explain it that well, but you’re already really close. You’re getting up and over, and I know you can do the bunny hop where you lift your front wheel and your rear wheel, right?”
“You’ve been watching me?” I ask, and he reddens. I didn’t realize I could be that clever! Caught him in the act.
“Just a little,” he admits. “There aren’t many girls here, so when a cool one comes in, I notice.”
He called me cool!
“Anyway,” he continues, kind of awkwardly, “what you want to do is combine the two. So as you go up and over the whoop on the track, you’re bringing your front wheel, then your rear wheel, up in the air. Then you push back down on the backside so you have that momentum to keep going.”
When I look confused, he laughs. “It sounds more complicated than it is. Really, you just need a bit more speed and confidence.”
We run through it a couple of times, and I finally start to get it a bit more once he tells me to follow him and mimic what he’s doing. That helps, and when I can keep up and feel my wheels leave the ground, my heart skips a beat. He gives me a couple of pointers about relaxing my legs and keeping my knees loose—not rigid and bent, but not perfectly straight either—and letting my core do more of the lifting than my arms. His little pieces of advice really help, and half an hour flies by.
I’m feeling more and more confident that, even if I don’t win the competition, I won’t embarrass myself either. In fact, I’m feeling so confident that I even give him a bit of advice—I noticed that his rear wheel wasn’t making it as high over the jump as his front wheel, and when I point it out, he’s able to make a slight correction that let him get both wheels higher. Success!
After we finish a bunch of runs and we’re both a little out of breath, we still talk for a few more minutes. It’s mostly about the competition at first, but then Dave asks if I ever listen to Phoebe’s band and starts singing one of their songs. He isn’t great at singing or air guitaring, and I’m giggling too much to join in on the chorus. But I do a mean air drum solo to make up for it. I’m also super impressed that Phoebe’s band is so well known!
But then our nice moment is interrupted by yelling. I look over and see Ali and Sam shouting at each other across the room. “Should we go stop them?” I ask.
Dave looks frustrated. “I think Ali can take him….But yeah, she shouldn’t be stuck with him,” he says, and we pedal toward them.
As we get closer, I notice Ali standing in front of Sam in line at the intermediate jump line—she might technically be a beginner, but Phoebe cleared her to get some practice on the bigger jumps too. She’s good. “Too bad you can’t ride like your brothers,” I overhear him saying. I’m angry beyond words, and Ali’s face is crumpled up like she’s about to cry.
“Dude,” Dave says, hopping off his bike and walking toward Sam. “Not cool.”
“What?” Sam says. “Will someone tell her to get out of this line? She doesn’t know how to ride.”
“I’ve seen her riding and she’s great,” Dave says, glaring directly at Sam. “And you need to back off, now.”
“Are you gonna make me?” Sam taunts, leering at Dave. I can’t believe they ever hang out. Or that I’m about to see a fight. I’m looking around nervously for Phoebe, and Ali’s face has gone white.
“Yeah,” says Dave, and steps closer to him, and Sam suddenly looks a little nervous, like he’s realized he’s outnumbered. I notice that Dave is a few inches taller than him.
“Whatever,” he mutters, grabbing his bike and pedaling away. He’s trying to look casual, but he’s pedaling pretty quickly.
“Thanks.” Ali sniffs, and I give her a nudge.
“He really is a jerk,” says Dave, and pats her on the shoulder.
“And forget what I said before—you don’t really count as jerk-adjacent,” I tell him, and he grins.
Dave says a quick goodbye and that he’ll see us before it’s our turn to go in the jump competition. He seems to know to give us a bit of space, which I appreciate, and Ali and I ride around together to cool down. She’s quiet too, and I know how much Sam’s taunts hurt her feelings. He’s the worst.
It’s not the best way to end our last practice day before the competition, but I’m going to use my anger at Sam to push myself to go just a teensy bit higher on the jumps. And Ali, Jen, and I all take a minute together as we’re about to leave the park to gather around the gold bike frame in the glass case as a bit of a good-luck charm and visualization moment.
“Whoever wins it, I’m just glad we got to meet,” says Jen. And coming from her, that means a lot.
I’m awake. It’s still dark out and I’m hiding in bed, my eyes wide open—I’ve been awake for what feels like hours already. It’s the day of the competition. What was I thinking? How did I let Phoebe talk me into this? How am I going to get out of it? Forget butterflies—I have full-grown bats smashing around in my stomach. I’m going to throw up. I have the flu. I have the Plague. I have…anything that will get me out of this competition.
Superhero Tip: It’s hard to be super when your heart won’t stop racing.
Getting cut off because I hear footsteps,
Lindsay
(Not always going to work.)
CHAPTER 27
“Hot chocolate!” Phoebe singsongs, pushing my door open. She’s unnaturally cheery compared to her normal, coffee-guzzling self. How is she so calm? Can’t she see I’m dying?
I groan a little, and horrible person that she is, she just pulls my covers down. I knew she was an evil supervillain.
“You can’t make me go,” I mutter as she opens the window shades. Still dark.
“I know I can’t, but you’re going to want to once you’re up,” she says.
“Why would I want to?” I say, catching the whine in my voice. “I’m just going to lose.”
“Okay, that’s not positive thinking,” she says. “Remember what we talked about with visualization, and how negative thinking can lead to making more mistakes, while positive thinking makes the competition easier and actually fun?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. It all sounded convincing at the time, but when I know I have to perform in front of judges in a few hours, it’s harder to stay calm and positive.
“Try visualizing for a couple of minutes,” she says. “And maybe drink this hot chocolate. Remember that no matter how it goes, you get to hang out all day with your friends, there’s a pizza party, and my band is playing. Plus Dave is going to be there and I happen to know he thinks you’re cute.” She sets my mug down and saunters out of the room.
I hop up and chase after her because, frankly, she makes an argument that I can’t ignore.
“Wait! What do I wear?”
Soon enough, we’re in Phoebe’s van heading to Joyride. I’m still nervous about the competition, but thanks to Phoebe, I at least look the part.
I’m wearing my new black skinny jeans and a white T-shirt with a black triangle print, and my hair is in a sophisticated French braid. (It’s because Phoebe did it—when my mom does my hair, I look like a little kid.) But the coolest part is the little spiky earrings Phoebe let me borrow. I look like me, only a little more punk—a little more like Phoebe, actually.
I don’t think I want to look just like Phoebe, though she is pretty cool. She’s ready for the day too, in her usual leggings, long sleeveless white top, and Joyride hoodie, and beat-up Converse high-tops and white tube socks. She should look ridiculous—most people in the same outfit would look like dorks—but she just looks comfortable, like a fashion model doing a shoot for casual BMX clothing.
Sitting in the passenger seat, I practice deep breathing and close my eyes, picturing myself hitting each jump smoothly. In my mind, I’m not soaring through the air ten feet off the ground, just making it over each jump cleanly—like Phoebe said, visualization works best when it’s realistic; otherwise it’s just daydreaming.
My butterflies have somewhat settled down as we get closer to Joyride, and now I’ve moved on to visualizing how the competition and the whole day is going to go. Since Phoebe has helped organize these competitions at Joyride in the past, she knows what to expect and has been drilling it into us. We know what’s coming.
I’m going to spend most of the day just waiting for my turn to come, and then they’ll call my name and I’ll go over the easy jump line first. If that goes well—if the judges think it goes well—I’ll go on to the beginners’ round two. That’s the second jump line, with the bigger jumps. Since it’s for beginners, the competition only gets to the second jump line, but we’ll have two chances to go through the line, and whoever the judges think jumps the highest and smoothest wins the competition.
Lindsay's Joyride Page 12
