I sit focusing in A.P Physics learning one of Newton's laws, when suddenly my focus breaks and I remember that I have not checked my workout log. Before eating my lunch, I go onto a library computer to see that my coach has scheduled a four hour ride with four twelve minute intervals at my lactate threshold. Finally, after my last period of the day, I climb into my green 1995 Volvo Sedan and drive to Friendly Feed and Supply, where I plan to start my ride.

* * * * * *

I found the sport of cycling three years ago at a time when everything seemed to go wrong. At the time, I was one of the best 14 year old goalkeepers in California, and was invited to try out for the National Team. The first day of varsity high school soccer try-outs, I tore my hip flexor. My doctor suggested cycling as a form of rehab. I had no idea that such rehab would soon turn into my passion, forcing me to make the hardest decision of my life. I had to convince the eight other members of my athletically successful household to allow me to give up something I was great at, for something in which I had no past success.

* * * * * *

After parking, I receive a text from local professional cyclist Tim Farnham who says he cannot meet me for the ride. Now I am spoiled, I have all of Sonoma County to myself. Where should I go? I can go into the Alexander Valley where the rolling hills are surrounded by vineyards. I can escape into the Mayacamas Mountain Range; or should I go to the coast and surround myself in the redwood forest where chimney smoke smothers the country roads? Remembering my workout, I decide to ride to one of my favorite roads in the Alexander Valley, Ida Clayton. After throwing on my spandex and checking my tires I head deep into the quiet mountains where my bike and my thoughts are united. I am miles from any big city and no one could find me even if they tried. I finally hit Ida Clayton Road which nearly summits the largest mountain in the Bay Area, Mount Saint Helena. The clock zeros out and I stand out of the saddle to increase my heart rate to my lactate threshold. As I breath I observe 160...172...176...179...finally my heart is pumping at 180 beats per minute. I hold that despite my body telling me to slow down. Focusing on my ambition to race in Europe and become a professional, I complete my intervals. I must now descend the same hill that I have crashed on in the past.

* * * * * *

After crashing the first time, few are able to handle the pain caused by scrubbing out road rash, or deep hip lacerations. Most new riders are unwilling to suffer the same agony again. In addition, many lack the motivation to go through the same daily hardships and endure the pain necessary to win. It is a sport where the few successes make all my sacrifice worth it.

* * * * * *

After eating, I decide which way I wish to return. I have many options, but I decide to ride back through St. Helena to ascend Spring Mountain, a climb that averages 15 percent for 2.5 miles. Heading south and inhaling the smog of the vehicles that accelerate by me on Highway 128, I make my way over Spring Mountain and back into Rincon Valley. After being on the road for nearly three and a half hours I notice the sun start to descend behind the Coastal Mountains. Now I must race the sun. I speed down Wallace, turn left on Riebli and finally I am at Mark West Springs Road where I ride around 35 miles per hour until at mile 71 of my ride I am only a mile from my destination. I then remember that I have a paper to write for Ms. Berry, an A.P. Physics test, and an Economics quiz the next day.

* * * * * *

I had to raise the money for my first bike, find rides to races and respond to many people telling me I could not do it. I overcame this struggle through motivation and hard work. I use this ethic in every aspect of my life, and plan to do so in college.