21 Weeks

The roar of the crowd was overwhelming. Thousands of people crowded around the center stage, pushing and shoving to try and get closer to the young man standing triumphantly with a glimmering trophy held high above his head, which had just been presented to him moments ago.

The man's smile was so wide that it seemed to touch his ears. His eyes, which were a startling blue, shined in the afternoon sunlight. His brown hair, which flopped out from underneath his helmet, was glued to his forehead with sweat. He didn't seem to notice. Beside him leaned a bike, which was covered in dirt from the frame to the pedals. Beneath the layer of dirt, anyone who looked closely enough could make out long silver scratches, like claw marks, on the frame of the bike.

Behind the man stood a line of other young men and women, each with bikes of their own. They were grinning just as widely as they shared the moment with the man in the center stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a loud cheer for Jax Damon, the winner of the Mountain Biking International Championship!" the speakers boomed, and the crowd roared louder.

The young man smiled as the announcer crossed the stage to hand him the microphone. Immediately, the roar quieted to a rumble of voices, and then there was silence.

"I don't know if I would be here today if it wasn't for my dad." His voice echoed through the speakers. Someone coughed in the distance. The man smiled again. "Everyone goes through a crucible at some point in their lives. My dad helped me get through mine."

Another cough. Someone in the front row sneezed. It seemed everyone was waiting for the boring acceptance speech that was always given when someone wins an award. But the man's widening grin told the crowd he had something else in mind.

"Everyone's crucible is different. But if you'll let me, I'm going to take the time to tell you mine."

This time when he paused, there was silence. The audience had given him permission to continue.

*********************

I remember it like it happened yesterday, although it happened a year ago during this same month. I don't recall exactly where I was riding. Perhaps it was along the dirt trails in the mountains along the sunny coast of Southern California. I remember flying through those mountains at top speed. Every bump, every turn, was a rhythm that I was used to, as I had been listening to the same rhythm ever since I was a little boy.

The suburban town I grew up in was nestled at the bottom of a valley, with steep, brown mountains towering over us on all sides. In the winter, the peaks were frosted with snow. As an only child, I spent a lot of time with my father. During the evenings after school, we watched mountain bikers compete in races, and we bet playfully on who we thought would win. While the other school girls and boys in my grade dreamed of becoming famous singers or football players, all I ever wanted was to win the Mountain Biking International Championship.

I started racing in the seventh grade. It was a slow process, but my dad trudged through it beside me. Like every kid out there, I expected to be amazing from the start and famous by the next year. Instead, all I seemed to get were a lot of sore muscles and slow times in races. I eventually became so intent on improving that I started to fall behind my peers, both academically and socially. I never scheduled time to hang out with friends because I was too busy preparing for the next race. As I grew older, I learned to find the balance between racing and social life, but most of my focus still centered around racing. All the hard work paid off, and I went to college on a scholarship for mountain biking. Within the next two years, I started racing professionally.

Now, at age 24, I was training to win the biggest mountain biking race in the world. I think the biggest motivator for winning the race was making my dad proud. He biked when he was younger too, and he was the one who helped me make it to where I am.