Saying yes

I had this mantra in the last few years when I was training hard that was “say yes”. To me, it meant saying yes to the pain or saying yes to pushing further when I reached the crux of an effort. When the effort became hard to sustain, it reminded me that what I was doing was a choice. If I said yes, suddenly it switched my brain from being scared of the pain to accepting it and diving deeper into it. This tweak in my perspective made the same effort seem easier, and I could then push more. Saying yes was a game changer.

***

Five years ago, my dad had a major bike accident and had a spinal cord injury. For some time, he was partially paralyzed. He eventually re-learned to move, to walk, then to ride, and eventually, to mountain bike. Last year, I felt like he had tremendously improved from his injuries and asked him if he’d want to do a mountain bike stage race as a team with me — a childhood dream we’d always had together. He dared to say yes. I can only imagine how scary that must have been for him to embark on a project like this. But he said yes anyway. Meanwhile, I pitched the story to my partner Transition and asked if they would want to help me tell the story through a film. It was different than the typical films they make — nor me or my dad would be shredding trails with incredible style. But they said yes.

Team Rochette ready to go at Fernie ST3!!!

And so this past week, we found ourselves in Fernie, British Columbia for a three day mountain bike stage race, and to shoot a film. Fernie is a beautiful mountain town in the Canadian Rockies. From downtown, you can see the peak of several mountains and I quickly became obsessed about seeing what it’d be like to be standing on top of one of those mountains. We would start shooting the film on Wednesday, but on the Tuesday afternoon, I found myself with some free time. I decided to head to the mountains and run to the top of one of them. When I got to the bottom of the trail, a huge sign read: Watch out for bears and cougars. Stay in a group. Carry bear spray.

Crap. I had not thought about that. I was alone. I had no bear spray. For a moment, I reconsidered my plan. I became nervous and almost turned back to my car. “But the top of the mountain…”, I thought. I so wanted to see it. I was in Fernie after all, I couldn’t just stay in my hotel room. After a moment of hesitation, I decided I could still go. The sign did mention that a good way to keep bears away was to make noise. So I turned on my Spotify on my phone speaker, statched the phone in the pocket of my vest with the speaker pointing upwards, and started running up the mountain to the sound of my tunes.

The more I ran, the more I wanted to keep going. After an hour of running/power walking through the steep trail and scrambling through rocks at the top of the mountain, I found myself standing on the peak, in awe of the incredible scenery and full body experience I had just experienced. I felt grateful that my body allowed me to be doing things like these, and I felt almost silly that fear almost stopped me from living this moment. I was on a high for the rest of the day. I had said yes. The initial fear probably allowed me to prepare more adequately to keep the wildlife at bay, but I was so glad I didn’t let that fear take the experience away from me.

A similar experience happened a few days later. Many local friends kept talking to us about the Project 9 trail. They said we had to go check it out. The only problem? The climb to get there was a bitch. My initial plan had been to go ride a second time in the afternoon after the stages so I could explore more trails, but that day, after finishing the second stage, I kind of wanted to relax. But people had insisted the trail was a must. In the end, I thought: “What if I never come back to Fernie? What am I gonna do at the hotel anyway? Check my phone?” We said yes. David and I headed out and climbed the steep access road to get there. It was steep, but honestly it wasn’t THAT bad. Once at the top, we were rewarded by an amazing 8 to 9 minutes of non-stop downhill. A natural, engaging, fun, and beautiful singletrack. I was on a high. Suddenly, I wasn’t tired at all. Thank god we had said yes.

Shooting and exploring in Fernie. What a place!

Sunday, after 2h45 of tough mountain bike riding, my dad and I got out of the single track and started riding on the last access road leading us to the finish line of the 3-day stage race. I looked at my dad. He was tired, but he was smiling. We had finish 3 days of mountain bike racing, he had remained safe, we had fun, he completed his first event since his accident. I could see the pride in his eyes. He looked at me and said: “WHOAA. I’m so happy”. It was a really special moment.

When we crossed the line, Myles, Doug (film crew), and David were there. They welcomed us with huge smiles. We all hugged and laughed and thanked each other for what had been an incredible week.

We did it!! Photo by John Gibson

This week, I watched it happen over and over.

My dad said yes to a mountain bike challenge.
Then Transition said yes to filming a different kind of story.
I stood at the trailhead beneath a bear warning and had to decide whether I would say yes.
Then, after Stage 2, David and I almost said no to one more climb…
Doug said yes to the Fernie adventure even after driving 40h and leaving behind his brand new puppy.
David said yes to the trip despite a broken pelvis.

Dad looked at me after the race and said, “I’ll be on a high for a while after this.”

Me too.

Years ago, “say yes” meant accepting the burn during an interval session. It meant choosing discomfort instead of resisting it.

I realize now that the same mantra applies far beyond training.

Almost every highlight of this week began with someone having a perfectly good reason to say no. Instead, we all said yes.

Maybe that’s why we all finished the week feeling so alive.

The absolute best crew!! So thankful for these guys.