Road Rash

At the age of three I was given a shadow. A younger sister Erika, who would follow me everywhere. Growing up she was only interested in doing whatever I was; my favorite movies and books were coincidentally hers and much to my unapproval, so were my clothes despite them being four sizes too big on her. She would jump at any chance to play soccer with me, even if that meant getting balls pelted at her when I made her play goalie. Despite how much I tried to get her to leave me alone, she would constantly be tagging along with me, eager to play together.

As time went on, she was no longer satisfied with doing whatever I was doing, she had to do it better than me. I never wanted my younger sis to show me up so the competitor in me came out whenever we would be doing an activity together. Every family stroll turned into a track meet, every car ride became an episode of American Idol and family dinners became an eating competition.

I wouldn’t allow there to be anything that she could do that I wasn’t able to. Although our sibling rivalry was exhausting, it pushed both of us to become better athletes and students. It taught me that competition in moderation is healthy and it also brought the two of us closer together.

A few summers ago she was given a longboard for her fifteenth birthday. It quickly became apparent that she was a natural, effortlessly gliding along the pavement. Seeing her finesse sparked my curiosity, and when she offered to be my guide into the world of longboarding, I was eager to dive in. Unlike her seemingly innate talent, my early attempts were far from graceful. Yet, undeterred by initial stumbles, I embraced the challenge of improvement. Days turned into weeks as I clung to Erika's steady guidance, literally holding her hands until I could find my balance. Despite the slow progress, I persisted. While it's natural to revel in activities where one excels, my joy stemmed from the journey of mastering something that initially tested my limits – a challenge that transformed the process of learning to skate into a gratifying adventure.

For the next few weeks, Erika and I would spend most evenings taking turns riding around the tangled streets in our neighborhood. The pair of us came across a street on a steep hill a couple blocks away.

“I get first ride,” she shouted, snatching the longboard out of my hands and taking off down the hill. She looked like she was flying. After successfully reaching the bottom, she carried the board back to meet me at the top of the hill and asked me if I wanted a turn.

“Of course, give me the board” I replied in a tone of false confidence. I gazed down upon the daunting deathtrap and tried to pacify the fearful voice in my head telling me I was in over my head. If Erika could do it, so could I.

I pushed off the ground and started my descent. The houses around me blurred together as my eyes became watery from the rapid rush of wind. I then started to feel myself lose control of the board and I had to jump off. I had only made it a quarter of the way down.

I spent the rest of the evening chasing the longboard down the street after many failed attempts.

How could my younger sister make it down the hill without a problem? The competitor inside me was upset. This had to be the first time she was able to do something that I couldn’t.

I decided that this couldn’t be the case. The next day I marched back to the hill on my own. I assured myself that I could stay on the board then began my descent.

The familiar sensation of blurred houses and watery eyes flooded my senses as I flew down the hill. Euphoria bubbled inside me. I could feel that I was going to succeed. Just as I approached the bottom of the hill, I rode over a pebble causing my board to rapidly shake from left to right. Crap. The next thing I knew I had completely lost control of the board and was airborne. I skid across the pavement leaving what felt like half the skin on my knees and palms behind.

I sat on the ground for what seemed like an eternity trying to process what had just happened. It was as if I was frozen in time. It took thirty seconds for me to feel the sting of the asphalt chunks in my palms and notice the blood dripping down from my knee turning my white sock scarlet.

As I sat there, I realized that I was content. Content with the fact that my sister had the edge over me with something. In that moment I was able to let go of the sibling rivalry from our childhood and reflect on how it took me getting thrown down a hill to realize that I am comfortable with not feeling the desire to beat her.

I was proud of myself for trying my hardest, but I was more proud that I was able to accept that what she is able to do doesn’t take away from the things I’m capable of. I am comfortable with being me and that is enough.