It's only been a year

Do you really think I could forget what it's like to have a brand new bike and to be so eager to ride and yet worried that I wouldn't be able to keep up and everyone around made it look so easy, and it was so hard? And having to apologize for being slow, and hating that I had to stop and catch my breath, but if I didn't my lungs were going to explode, and so I'd sit there on the trail panting like a dog, embarrassed that I was so out of shape.

Do you think I could forget what it was like to not know the first thing about my bike; how to change a tire, or change my gears, or even which was my front brake and my back brake? And having so many questions that seem so obvious and so silly today.

Do you think I've forgotten riding with faster, stronger people, and hiking my bike while they waited at the top of the hill and watched? And feeling so bad that I wanted someone to come along and steal my bike so I would have an excuse not to ride?

And how much I hated Fremont Older and it's stupid impossible hills to climb, and the downhill with the switchback that I always messed up?

You said she wasn't like me, but you're wrong. She's exactly like me. Unskilled, unpolished, but eager and determined.

There are other things I won't forget. A patient voice, an easy smile, indian cooking stones and parking lots. A warm sunny day at Arastradero, the rush of finally making it downhill and the pleasure of good company on the trail away from the rest of the world.

You said I was mean. But I'm not. Maybe the word you were looking for was insecure. Or jealous. Could we settle on human? Or perhaps female. But definitley ashamed. Because I haven't forgotten. And I'm sorry.