An ice-cold paleta was melting in its plastic package on my back. I pedaled fast,  hoping to deliver the goods before they became a sticky memory. No one wants  a bag of melted nostalgia. 

This was my first big ride since tearing my PCL—a grade 3 tear, no joke. It was a  bigger day than I’d planned, but that’s exactly what I needed. I would’ve chosen  something easier, but then I wouldn’t have discovered I had more in me. That I’m stronger than I thought. 

Mitch, my partner, was meeting a friend to ride mountain bikes at Betasso. A  spontaneous invite and a route tweak meant I was coming too. Until now, my  recovery had been slow and structured: physical therapy, a couple weeks back in the gym, and short, easy rides—mostly smooth road or mellow gravel. 

But mountain biking at Betasso? That felt like a leap. 

I was nervous. What if I had to walk something? What if an awkward step yanked my knee back to square one? These thoughts have looped in my head since my race season screeched to a halt at Unbound at the end of May. I’d  gone from strong and capable to cautious and questioning. 

This season, I’ve been focused on confidence—racing for myself, trusting  myself. Being surrounded by ambitious, funny, and kind athletes on the Skratch  Labs Racing team pushed me to up my game. It’s a culture of excellence where confidence breeds confidence. That mindset carried me to a USA Crits win in April—where I lapped the field at Greenville and then took the field sprint. I was  so proud of myself. I hardly recognized that version of me.  

Then came the MRI. Torn ligament. Eight to twelve weeks healing. 

So yeah, I was uneasy driving up Boulder Canyon that hot summer day. The light was dancing on the creek, but I was distracted with my thoughts. When we  parked at the base of Fourmile instead of the trailhead, I panicked. I hadn’t planned on a 15-minute climb before the actual ride. I kept quiet, clipped in, and  started spinning. 

I let them ride ahead. Fear and doubt slowed me down. I almost peeled off for a solo ride. But then I remembered what my PT told me: Recovery is physical and mental. Train your thoughts along with your body.

So I tested it. 

I shifted into a bigger gear, stood up, and closed the gap. My knee felt... fine. My  heart pounded, breath heavy, but still—no pain. Ten minutes later, I was at the  trailhead. 

That choice—to challenge my fear—led to the next choice, and the next. I rode  smooth, fast, and steady through dusty, rocky terrain. I rested when I needed. I  wasn’t reckless with my speed or line choice but it was the hardest ride I’d done  since the injury—and it was working. 

Then came the descent. Canyon Link Trail: technical, tricky, and definitely not  the easy way back. I considered bailing. But I didn’t. I tried. And I smashed it. Wobbles? Sure. Doubt? Plenty. But when I rolled up to the car, I realized I hadn’t  just trained my body—I’d trained my mind. One ride closer to the confident racer who crushed Greenville. 

And the paletas? 

Well, life’s victories—big or small—deserve celebration. We stopped by the creek, and I ducked into Lolita’s for a treat. No pockets, so the icy pops went  under my t-shirt, held tight by my bib straps. I raced back to our swimming hole,  tired legs but a lighter heart. 

I can do more than I think. 

Maybe you can too.