As a young kid, I enjoyed looking for excitement. One way I filled this desire for excitement was by riding my bike. I loved the thrill of speeding down a hill, feeling the wind in my face and the adrenaline pump through my body. My house is near a large hill, and I used to race down it on my bike, trying to go faster and faster every time. My parents cautioned me against going so fast, since they did not want me to get hurt or injure myself. They always made me wear my helmet, kneepads, and elbow pads whenever I rode my bike. Although I did not like wearing them, I always did what they told me to do. While safety was their number one goal, for me it was a distant second to having fun. My parents had tried to teach me at a young age to be careful. I never seemed to quite learn the lesson, and I was always doing something reckless, like climbing one of the trees in my back yard, or playing in the middle of the road, despite my parents warning me not to. No matter how many times they told me, I always seemed to forget. One day however, I was forced to learn that lesson the hard way.

I was 8 or 9 years old at the time. It was during the summer, and I was with my family at the park, riding my bike. That was the summer that I had gotten a brand-new bike. It was grey and black, with blue lines coming up to the handlebars. It was also the first bike I had ridden with hand breaks, and I was still getting comfortable with using my hands instead of feet to brake. My parents made sure that I was wearing my helmet and all my pads before letting me ride, so I believed I would be completely safe. As I rode around, I could feel the difference between my new bike and my old bike. This new one had a sense of raw untamed power within it, and I knew that I would be able to go faster on it than I had ever gone before. The weather was beautiful that day. The sun’s brilliant yellow rays were shining down on me, making my skin feel warm. There was a slight breeze that blew across my face and through my long hair. Even though I had been riding my bike nonstop for close to an hour, I was full of energy.

As I continued to follow the pathway, the number of people around me started dwindling. Soon I was completely alone. However, I was completely oblivious to everything around me as I had just spotted something that peaked my interest. A few hundred yards in front of me was a large hill. It was larger than the one near my house, and larger than any hill I had ever seen before. The path went all the way up the hill, surrounded on either side by green grass and yellow dandelion plants. As soon as I laid eyes on it I knew that I wanted to ride down the hill. I was eager to see what my new bike could really do, and this was the perfect opportunity. Eager with anticipation, I slowly peddled up the hill. I remember the excitement I felt as I stood at the top of the hill, ready to go down. I could see everything from where I was. I could see my parents with my younger sister, who was riding her pink and white bike with training wheels, approaching the base of the hill. When I looked forward I could see the playground a little distance away, where all the kids were playing. I could see the sun reflecting off the red slide that went around in circles. Most importantly, I could see the pathway down. It was steeper than any hill I had ever been on before. I never had an ounce of fear, or worried that something bad would happen.

As I started down the hill, I peddled faster and faster. I felt the wind rushing across my face, and the adrenaline that I loved coursing through my body. I was going faster that I had ever gone, and I felt amazing. Everything became a blur, and I felt like never stopping. As I approached the bottom of the hill I noticed a sharp right turn in the road for the first time, and I attempted to slow down by easing the breaks. Much too late I realized that I was not yet strong enough to use hand breaks effectively. I was going faster than I had ever gone before, and I was horrified to realize that no matter how hard I squeezed the breaks, I would not be able to slow down in time. My chest started to fill with dread as I realized that this was not going to end well. 

Desperately, as I reached the bottom of the hill, I attempted to make the near 90 degree right turn while still maintaining my high velocity. As I swiveled the handlebar, my left palm, sweaty with exertion and fear, slipped off. As soon as that happened, the handlebar jerked to the left, my sweaty right hand slipped off, and I lost all control of my bike. The bike and I both flew to the left, I was knocked off my seat, and I fell right on one of the handlebars. It hit me square in the stomach, and drove all the breath from my body. I fell down hard next to the bike, clutching my stomach in pain. I crawled to my hands and knees and tried to breathe, and found that I could not.

The rough concrete pavement tore up the skin on my hands and knees, but I barely noticed. I remember not being able to breathe in or out, as the handlebar must have impacted my diaphragm hard. I began to panic and terror started swelling up inside me. I was getting very scared, but I forced myself to stay calm. I told myself to hold my breath and count to ten slowly. My parents reached the top of the hill by that time and had saw what had happened. They rushed down to me as fast as they could. By the time they reached me I had finished counting to ten, and I took a deep breath to see if I breathe again, To my great immediate relief, I could. My parents finally reached me. They hugged me and asked me if I was okay. The worried expressions on their faces made me realize what had just happened. That’s when realized how much my body hurt from falling. My fear and terror came flooding back and I started crying uncontrollably.

It was a long time after the incident that I got back on my bike again. It was the first time I had ever gotten hurt while riding, and to this day I still remember the fear and pain of falling so hard. My arms and legs were covered in cuts, scrapes, and bruises. While most of the physical marks of the event healed by the end of the summer, the mental and emotional marks remained. After falling that hard, my pride was hurt. I was also terrified of getting back on my bike. Every time I thought about getting back on my bike I remembered the feeling of not being able to breathe, and how afraid I was.

While I was busy feeling sorry for myself, my parents were furious with me. They were outraged that I had not paid any attention to my surrounding and what I was doing. I realized that if it were not for the helmet and all the pads my parents had forced me to wear, I probably would have been hurt a lot worse. I understood that they were right, and that I should not have been going so fast. Their intentions were for me to not have to learn this lesson the hard way. After my fall, it was clear to me that I had to be more careful. When I finally started riding my bike again, it was when I was more mature and responsible. While I remained the thrill seeker I always was, I now put safety first. I always wear my helmet when I ride, and since that day I have not been injured again riding my bike.

A few years later a came back to the same park. I went up the same hill and looked around. It was smaller than I had remembered, and not as steep. I could still see the red slide in the playground. This time when I went down I made sure to keep control of my bike, and pay attention to what was in front of me. I was strong enough to use the breaks, and this time when I came to the bottom of the hill, I was able to make the turn.