Last weekend I went mountain biking in Fruita, Colorado, with a couple good buddies. I’m the oldest and the least experienced, and was a little bit nervous.
There was one part of the ride that was incredibly rocky and narrow. Boulders on either side and a steep drop-off on the left. All downhill.
I got through it.
But on the next little bit, much less steep and away from the drop-off, I suddenly found myself going over my handlebars. I’m still not sure what happened. My face slammed into a big rock. My mouth filled with blood and my tongue instinctively felt around to see if I had all my teeth, if anything had chipped.
I was ok. Spitting up blood, dazed, but ok.
As I pulled my bike off the rocks and sat down to rest, I felt stupid, embarrassed, and self-conscious for slowing up my friends. But they were great.
It really could have happened to any of us, they said, and it really could have been much, much worse.
When we try hard things, sometimes we fall. We learn during those times who is there to help pick us up.
And hopefully, we get a little stronger every time.