By Coach Morgan Willger

I’ve never been a big “race-guy”. The last time I competed in any kind of race was on foot over 10 years ago. Moreover, I would barely call myself a “mountain-biker”. More like a rookie dabbler in his first season. Naturally it makes sense when I say that “apprehensive” is the word which comes to mind when my boss, Steven McHone with McHone Performance Training, presented me with the idea of competing in the Pisgah Enduro. I knew I should do it the moment I realized I was scared of it. Thankfully, I committed, and as a result I gained several valuable lessons:

1. Don’t sell yourself short.

2. Beginnings are beginnings; they do not dictate the end.

3. You define your own success.

From the beginning I was a bit of a mess. I started the morning by driving off with my coffee mug on top of my truck and forgetting my gloves at home. Cheers for good starts and setting expectations for the day. Upon arriving to Camp Grier, however, things immediately began turning around. There was tension, but good tension. Excited tension. Not the kind that makes you shrink but the kind that brings enthusiasm for life. I decided then that I was going to not only finish this, but it was going to get better with every mile.

The climb was not for the faint of heart. Again, I am not an experienced mountain biker, but I am fairly athletic. I can push a bike a long way. The Enduro was perfect for this because I didn’t have to worry about timing, and this actually gave me the opportunity to get my head straight. Those close to me know I am very competitive. When I am in over my head or find myself in a game where I am far inferior to my competition I have learned to “change the rules”. Not literally but internally. If I can’t win the proper game then I devise a new goal and pursue that. This no-pressure climb gave me the time to stop and think about how I can change the game. I decided on two simple rules: Make a Friend and Don’t Crash. The first because when I am nervous I revert to being introverted, and the second because hospitals are expensive. I figured if I could do these two things then the day was won.

After ascending Heartbreak, the pressure was further alleviated by the friendly peers and relaxed manner of the race coordinator. I also quickly discovered that my first goal was going to be an easy one. These people were all friendly and eager to help or offer advice. A fellow racer even gave me his extra pair of gloves which would later on inspire me to pay the good deed forward. After some quick, simple instructions we self-sorted based on competitiveness with “people who want to race” going to the front and “those who are here for fun” starting towards the back. I was part of the latter.

The first segment, Heartbreak, was a blast. I rode within my means and focused on my second rule: Don’t Crash. I learned that I could trust my abilities and I was more capable than I thought. This fun, choppy downhill quickly ended, and gifted me an adrenaline high that made the minor climb to Star Gap nearly imperceptible. The short reprieve allowed for me to engage in some laughs with the other riders around me and then quickly get back on the ride. Stage Two (Star Gap) began and ended much the same: adrenaline, no crashes, and fun.

However, it was broken up by my aforementioned opportunity to pay forward a good deed. A short distance into the timed downhill I ran into a fellow racer who was in need. Nothing crazy, just a simple flat tire; however, he didn’t have anything to repair it. After quickly squashing my competitive desire to keep burning downhill I realized the more important thing to me was to see this guy finish the race. This stop provided a learning opportunity for me as well as contributed to further fulfillment of Rule One. Being new to the sport I only had theoretical knowledge in how to use my trail tools. While I puzzled my way through inserting plugs and using CO2 to refill the tire, another racer with more experience and a need to rest stopped to help. Once we got it sorted, we all set off together and at the bottom we caught up to another racer who clearly had not heard of my second rule. The dirt and minor scrapes along one shoulder and side of his face gave away his close inspection of the Pisgah Trails. We four took a moment to collect ourselves, put a bit more work into tire repair, and then set off together for the final climb up Kitsuma as an unspoken team. We didn’t know it fully, but by the end we were all going to get something useful out of one another.

The final climb was less daunting and we had plenty of untimed trail to get to know each other. One of us wasn’t sure if he would make it because his tire was still not holding air. We kept working it and eventually ended up pulling a spare tube from my gear to ensure he could finish. My lack of experience was covered by another teammate, but my preparedness came in hand by having the supplies. Our mechanically experienced teammate was from a low elevation state with minimal opportunities for mountain training. As a result, he was unsure of continuing due to cramping and fatigue. We three kept pace with him and encouraged his effort. He later stated that had it not been for the team’s encouragement he would have dropped out. Our third teammate was solid. All he needed to finish the race was the joy of our newfound band and to keep his tires on the trail. We summited Kitsuma together and descended in close succession. The final ride was the best. No one blew a tire, no one ate any dirt, and we all won in our own way.

As for myself, I was more than physically capable of finishing the race and had all the gear to do it, but I was inexperienced and uncomfortable. Looking back, I could have been more competitive in my ranking if I had wanted to, but I changed my rules and do not for one second regret it. I grew in my self-perception. I dictated my ending. I defined my own success, and while I am thoroughly impressed by the incredible times put up by those top riders, I am more than happy with the success I found in my first race.