I quit you

Dear Mountain Bike, 

I’m sorry to do this to you, but I think it’s time we put the hydraulic disc brakes on our relationship. Even though this decision has been a long time coming, I need you to know it’s not you. It’s me. 

Okay, that was a lie. It’s you. 

Do you remember the other day, when you accused me of viewing you as a chore? You were right. You have become a chore, and anyone who says mountain biking doesn’t feel like exercise is completely delusional. I can’t keep putting in hours and hours of effort with you just for five minutes of fun. It’s not worth it anymore. 

From the start, everything has been an uphill battle with you. Instead of giving me butterflies in my stomach the way you did during that first test ride in the alleyway of 2nd Ave Sports, lately you only seem intent on giving me a cardiac event. The simple fact of the matter is that I’m not enough for you. Neither is my lung capacity. You’ve made that abundantly clear. 

I know this letter might come as a bit of a surprise because, by Durango standards, you’re a total ten. Eleven-speed, technically. But a good relationship isn’t built on specs. Despite the fact that I spent over an hour at the bike shop getting sized specifically for you, we’re just not a good fit together. We want different things. 

For example, I want to go on casual rides to feel the wind in my hair and a whimsical smile spreading across my face at the pure, childlike wonder that is riding a bike. You, on the other hand, want to crawl at a grueling 2 mph for the entirety of a 3,000 ft uphill climb, constantly lurking 15 feet behind a group of hikers like a mountain lion stalking its prey, then come rocketing up those same hikers’ asses on the downhill with no warning whatsoever. I’m just not that kind of girl, Mountain Bike. 

I think part of the problem is that I never really had the constitution to be with you in the first place. You’re inherently daring. A natural risk-taker. A badass. Meanwhile, every free personality quiz I’ve ever completed online has indicated that I’m a categorical weenie with a bright future in library sciences. I thought I could change myself for you, but the truth is that I could never change enough to become the type of person to confidently and unironically wear Pit Vipers in public. That’s half the mountain biker aesthetic right there. The other half is combining knee-length shorts with knee-high socks, and to be honest, I’d rather die. Just hurl me over the handlebars, all right? 

Actually, that brings me to another point of contention in our brief but fraught relationship. I can’t help but feel like you derive some kind of sick pleasure from seeing me suffer – both mentally and physically, but especially physically. “Live Fast, Die Young” might be your personal motto, but in the hellscape of our modern American healthcare system, I can’t afford to wind up with broken bones ... or a broken heart. That’s why I think we should call it quits before we really hurt each other.

Listen, Mountain Bike, we’ll always have the good times we shared. Remember when we first got together, and I had to figure out how to wrestle you onto the overly complicated (and overly expensive) bike rack just to go anywhere? What about all those times we had to pull off to the side of the trail because we’d hit a mild incline, and I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest? The sheer embarrassment of being passed by a cycling herd of 8-year-old Devo kids? Do you remember that? I sure do. And who could possibly forget the constant inconvenience of having to shuffle past you in my garage, absolutely obliterating my shins on your pedals on a nearly weekly basis? Ah, memories. 

Nothing has ever been easy between us, Mountain Bike, but please, don’t make this breakup harder than it needs to be. Someday you’re going to find someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. Until then, you roll out of my life, and I’ll roll out of yours. 

(On an unrelated note, if anyone’s in the market for a barely used XL Kona Mahuna with 29” wheels, hit me up. I know where you can get a pretty sweet deal.)