Brevard, North Carolina is “famous” for a handful of things. We are one of the very few homes in the world to a native population of white squirrels. Our county, Transylvania County, is home to over 250 waterfalls. Sometimes Steve Martin can be spotted sipping coffee here or playing his banjo. To cyclists, though, Brevard is famous for another reason: world class mountain biking trails.

I came to Brevard College to play soccer, and the athlete population here is quite significant. But the most respected team at the college doesn’t win games and matches on the court or field. They win national championships on trails; they are cyclists.

I would consider myself a good cyclist, like I would consider myself a good swimmer. I'm not winning any competitions, but sometimes ya got places to go. I can swim from dock to dock on a lake, and I can bike from dorm to class on a college campus. The cyclists at Brevard though take it to a way different level than I imagined.

One time I was sitting in the lobby of my dorm, and a cyclist friend of mine walked by in his gear and asked me, “Hey want to go on a ride to the [Blue Ridge] Parkway ?” “Like, on a bike?” I asked him. “Yeah.” He said. “Isn’t that like 50 miles?” “Yeah.” “Haaaaha nope I’m good.”

That was the last time anyone had asked me to go on a bike ride with them. That was until recently when I ventured out into the woods for my first mountain bike ride.

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I have spent most of my life playing team sports. Growing up in this generation’s atmosphere of competitive sports was often frustrating and hyper-competitive. Kids are sold D1 athletics dreams at the club level by coaches and peers alike. If only you shelled out the cash for the more competitive team, dedicated countless holidays to showcase tournaments in cities across the country, or developed the talent as young as possible you or your child could be the next Alex Morgan or Leonel Messi.

I wanted to be the best. I wanted to play against the best, and I participated in this cutthroat club soccer environment. The truth is I was never the best. But I loved the sport and wanted to continue my journey as an athlete to the college level.

The thing is, though, after so many years of hyper-competitiveness and acute focus and specialization on just one sport, I began to burn out. Injuries suck. Not playing for “the fun of it” sucks. Team drama sucks.

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This summer though I stepped out of my comfort zone, and began a new sport. It was a sport I didn’t grow up playing. I have no clue what I’m doing and have really only made a fool of myself while riding.

On the soccer field, I can immediately tell when someone is going to suck. Their shluppy outfit (bulky shinguards) and awkward way of running is a dead giveaway. I’ve spent years developing my touch, shot, and tactics. I am past the point in my life though where this matters. No one is competing for a scholarship anymore. No college coaches are watching.

On a mountain bike I felt like one of these “noobs” on the soccer field who wear giant shinguards. I don’t own any cool gear. I don’t know what I am doing, and I often have to get off the bike and walk hard climbs or crash in embarrassing ways. Everyone is SO encouraging, though. No one cares that I suck!

Mountain biking is a freaking blast, and I love it so far. Growing up, I would never have dreamed of enjoying something that I wasn’t naturally good at like I was at soccer. But as an aging collegiate athlete, mountain biking has provided me with a new perspective on athletic environments. Sometimes the need to compete can drive you to incredible accomplishments, but sometimes it crushes you with pressure and expectations. In the forest on the trail, none of that matters. You're out there for you.

As I prepare for my senior year of collegiate soccer, I will once again face a sports environment with an extremely tough competition. I am still competing to be the best in a sport where that goal is not attainable for me, but taking on mountain biking has helped me realize that that is okay. At this point, I’m just along for the ride.