You’ve Already Decided You Can’t

Just over a year ago in May 2025, I stood at the entrance of the Cumberland Community Forest about to go on a hike, watching mountain bikers pass by, eagerly heading up the treacherous gravel road toward the mountain trails.

“There is no way I could ever do that.”

At the time, Wes and I were visiting Vancouver Island on a house-hunting trip, exploring places we would potentially call home. We wandered into the forest with our dogs, not fully realizing we had entered one of the largest mountain biking trail networks in North America.

Gnarly moss-covered trees stretched overhead, their branches dripping green. Ferns spilled across the forest floor. Roots twisted through soft brown earth blanketed in fallen evergreen needles. The canopy made everything darker and quieter, like stepping into another world entirely.

One of my favourite trails is called Space Nugget. Each with a unique named sign at the trail head created by the local community. 

As we walked, mountain bikers passed us constantly. Effortlessly climbing hills I was struggling to climb with my own two feet. You truly don’t realize how little you use your ankles until you start hiking in mountain forests. No joke.

Fast forward to March 2026.

A neighbour invited me to go mountain biking in that same forest. She rides regularly with a women’s group and was convinced I’d love it. Years ago someone had opened the door for her. Now she was opening it for me.

Honestly, I thought she was insane.

But something in me said yes.

So one afternoon, we made a plan. She loaded her SUV with two mountain bikes, lent me knee pads, elbow pads and gloves, then took me to a soccer field to learn the basics. At one point, I tipped over trying to climb a hill, and suddenly I was face to face with the discomfort of being completely new at something.

That uncomfortable feeling of not knowing what you’re doing is the kind of feeling most of us avoid once we become adults. We forget it’s where growth actually lives.

We headed up the gravel climb road, I genuinely didn’t think I’d make it to the top. My heart was pounding. My legs were burning. What I didn’t realize until that moment was that over ten years of strength training had been quietly preparing me for this.

And yes, I drank almost my entire water bottle within the first ten minutes while gasping for air & wiping sweat off my face.

Then came my very first downhill trail. After School Special.

Roots. Rocks. Sharp turns. Berms & drops.

I was tense the entire way down. White-knuckling the handlebars, clenching my butt to the seat and one foot hovering off the pedal, hoping to god I wouldn’t fly over the handlebars into a bush. There may have been a couple swear words in between.

Somewhere in the middle of our third or fourth run, I caught myself.

“Fear is just my body’s response to something new.”

That is its job. It will keep doing that job as long as we’re alive. And right then, it was not asking, it was telling me to get off the bike, walk back down the mountain to the parking lot and never look back. I negotiated with that voice. Told fear it could come along, but it wouldn’t be steering.

And then I decided to just have fun.

“Oh, I kind of love this. I want to try this again!”

After that first day, then several more rides, then my very own bike. I kept returning. Continuing to practice, getting more comfortable with the technique, the flow, the commitment a trail asks of you and the trust you put in your bike.

I found something unexpected in this experience.

There was no room left for overthinking. No spiraling. No replaying conversations or carrying the weight of everything else in life. Just complete presence in my mind & body, looking ahead at the next trail turn, the next root, responding in real time.

After each ride, I felt grounded. Clear. Alive. Endorphins still moving through me hours later, and my appetite so big I felt like I could eat a rhino.

Like I had released years of static from my nervous system.

As a yoga and meditation teacher, I’d spent years focused on slowing down to settle my nervous system. Those practices have their place. But this felt different.

There are forms of healing that arrive through challenge. Through movement. Through full-body aliveness.

Then one day, I came across an image of two bike tires intertwined like an infinity symbol. A symbol I’d been seeing everywhere for the past three years, wondering what it meant.

Image Source Unknown

I stopped and laughed at the confirmation.

Because never in a million years would I have pictured myself on a mountain bike. Grinding through dense forest on a mountain trail with a full beaming smile on my face.

A year ago, a former version of me stood in those woods watching riders go by. Now I ride past that same trail opening each time and smile with so much compassion & pride.

The only thing that was ever in my way was the story I was telling myself about what I could and couldn’t do.

Where in your life are you receiving an invitation you keep declining?

One that could change everything if you just said yes ✨

Thank you Sandra!