Athlete Series: A Decade of Dirt: What 10 Years of Mountain Biking has Taught Me By Ariel Kazunas

This March, I turned forty. To some degree, the math doesn’t feel like it’s mathing: when my dad hit this milestone, his friends threw him an “over the hill” themed party, complete with black balloons and crepe paper… Which feels so far removed from where I’m at in life, that it’s hard to believe that I am technically the same age now as he was then.

I think the disconnect has got a lot to do with one of my favorite adages: “You don’t stop playing because you get old. You get old because you stop playing.” My dad, the grandchild of immigrants from Lithuania, felt a specific obligation to not “waste” their bravery, uprooting like they did in the hopes of giving themselves and their kids a shot at better opportunities. 

So he worked hard – so hard – my whole life to make sure the opportunities my sister and I got were even better than his. He banked most of his play days for the retirement he strived so diligently to deserve, and in so doing, fell into “predictable” patterns – like assuming that age dictates, well, anything, really

Me, on the other hand? 

One recession thrust me into a travel guide job I never thought I’d hold when the industry I thought I would enter post-college (print media) all but evaporated the year I graduated. A global pandemic took that job from me and skyrocketed both prices and interest rates right as I was considering home ownership. A negligent administration is now exacerbating wealth inequality (and maliciously encouraging social injustice) and leaving me, a part of the 99% who just wants to live and let live, out to dry. 

In other words, things have felt much less “traditional” so far for me than they ever did for my dad, and the biggest takeaway I have from my Geriatric Millennial life is that there are no guarantees. So I have tried to stay flexible and, maybe more than anything, focused on finding fun where I can because, at this rate, I have no illusions that a smooth and stable exit from the workforce is in the cards. Why wait to enjoy life, when I have no idea if what comes next will allow space for that?

And one of my favorite ways to have fun is through mountain biking, a sport I had no idea existed until ten years ago, when I got sandbagged by a dear friend who threw me into the deep end for my first ride. Somehow, even though that experience almost killed me, it also endeared me, and, a decade later, mountain biking has become my favorite: my favorite form of moving meditation, my favorite way to build community, and my favorite (yes, this is sarcasm) way to break bones, need stitches, or otherwise end up in either an ER or over the bathroom sink with a tube of topical lidocaine, shot of whiskey, and iodine scrub deep in some road rash.

But beyond the obvious reasons I find mountain biking to be enjoyable – it’s a recreational hobby I have the means and access to pursue for pleasure – the reason I love mountain biking the most, and the best thing it has taught me, is that it IS possible to avoid the trap that is “growing up.” I don’t mean that in the sense that I want to shirk responsibility or avoid showing up for the people and places in my life. Instead, what I mean is that learning to mountain bike as an adult has helped me remember the biggest gift of childhood: how to be a beginner, someone still curious and in possession of a strong sense of wonder.

As a kid, EVERYTHING was new, and I was an expert at nothing, and that was freeing. I could make mistakes, take myself less seriously, and find joy in the small wins and celebrate minor progressions like they are enormous milestones. I wasn’t scared of change, because change is the whole point, which in turn meant I never felt trapped in my own life, something I worry is tragically the norm for too many “grown ups.”

So, while none of what I’ve gone through has necessarily been easy, and while some days I certainly do car-cry on my long commute home from a service industry job that pays someone else’s mortgage, it’s also led me to who I am today: someone who’s never gonna be old enough for a black balloon birthday, no matter how many candles end up on the cake.