Family - Announcing 2021 Sponsors

Family - Announcing 2021 Sponsors

Family. That’s what I tell potential sponsors is important to me. I don’t think anyone yet has really understood what I mean when I say that. I know this because I usually get baffled looks. I see and feel energy turn off instantly. So, I’d like to get to the heart of it here. I know I don’t fit the usual mold, and it can be difficult for a marketing executive or team manager to see me as a serious value. Let me explain by starting with the more obvious reasons why and then moving onto the less obvious, but more important.

100% posted this pic from Sea Otter in 2018 and it got more likes than any other photo they posted that year.

  • Because I am an adaptive athlete, I rouse a different kind of engagement than non-adaptive athletes do. A shot or video of an adaptive athlete evokes a myriad of emotions—motivation, gratefulness, even fear—but it generally does not sell product the way a fantastical shot of a non‑adaptive pro does. When a person stops on a social media shot and can envision themselves in that climactic pro‑moment, they are compelled to click “add to cart.” A shot of an adaptive athlete is inspiring, but it may not create a feeling of wanting to do what the athlete is doing the way that they are doing it.

  • I am a non-competitive, multi-sport adventure athlete who is dedicating his life to making trails accessible to all riders, similar to the way the ADA made buildings accessible for all in 1990, and providing information to adaptive riders so that they can ride with less anxiety. That’s pretty difficult to fit into any ambassador mold. Ambassador applications usually ask for competition results and schedules, but my effort is not spent on one-and-done races. (I do ride in events, but more for fun and networking than for competing). My motivation is being in the wild, my competition is surviving the danger of going into the heart of it, and my mission is to pave the way for future adaptive athletes to do it safely. I concentrate my efforts on planning several-day adventures, building teams of strong support riders, and venturing into the unknown with cameras on. This leads to some really fun, well-documented content. But the bigger picture—the more important picture—is that the content is inciting change. It is raising awareness about obstacles on trails and with gear and equipment, and it is engaging outdoor organizations around the country.

  • I am not looking for a sponsor to supply me with gear. Don’t get me wrong—I certainly appreciate it, but what I need at this point is a sponsor who sees the wide-reaching effects of the work I have started and who can also see that I have built it up as much as any one man can. For the mission to grow, it needs the kind of support that only a sponsor and team can provide.

The days of paid sponsorships and free gear, without hustle, are over. Athletes can no longer rely solely on talent—they’ve gotta be hungry and adhere to a vigilant work ethic. This is the era of the one-man-band. Athletes need to be photographers, video editors, writers, publicists, and statisticians, all the while understanding when it’s time to put the camera away and be what they are meant to be. In my experience, support, structure and accountability can help when all this gets overwhelming.

I see sponsorship as a family. Family members see one another’s talents and support each other in becoming the best they can be. The family unit can build something larger than any one member could. The family home is a refuge.  Similarly, sponsorship gives teams of athletes an opportunity to come together at events, to help draw attention to the label at trade shows, and to share products and accomplishments.

This is very important to me. Maybe its rooted in having a family that takes little interest in what I do. Regardless of where it comes from, all too often I’ve spent hours hanging out at trade show booths, no one really caring whether i’m there. I follow-up, but it kind of feels like begging. The gear finally arrives, and then I get ghosted. Every quarter, I provide sponsors with a deliverables email FULL of high quality content, and it rarely gets used. The sponsor who does not see me as a charity case, who understands my value by declaring to the world how proud they are to have me on their team, is the family I want.

Enter ZOIC. They produce products I believe in, and at the same time, they believe in me. That is why I am so moved to be a part of the ZOIC team and would like to officially announce my adoption into the family.

Paul Wyandt, one of the owners of ZOIC, asked how they could support me. Immediately, I got all the feels—feelings of wanting to be seen and understood, of being excited to see and support others in the same way, of joining something larger than myself. Paul shared fun ideas of making custom gear—not to necessarily sell to others, although that would be awesome—but to improve my experience on the trail as an adaptive rider. 

He listened to me. 

Let me repeat that so that I can hear myself say it again. HE LISTENED TO ME. 

Off-Camber

That is a thing we all could probably do better at. Listening. When we listen to our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters—when we seek to be a good son, daughter, parent, or friend and perceive others’ needs—then the world becomes a better place. One person at a time. One thought at a time.

Once Paul and I agreed to be family, he took the initiative to schedule a shoot and make an announcement. They want to tell the world how proud they are to have me as part of their family. That feels good. Not only that, but they make good stuff. It’s one thing to be family, but to believe so strongly in the product as well! For example, I have literally been on a search for the perfect pant for over five years now. A functional pant, long enough for my legs, without a bunch of excess material in the thigh, made of a breathable material that I can easily wipe crumbs off of (haha). In fact, I originally contacted Zoic Co-Owner Eric Swenson because I wanted to try their Edge Pant. My search has ended. Excess material is a thing of the past. Slim fit and functional is the way now. They nailed it with these pants. I donated all my other pants to the thrift store and wear the Edge every day for everything.

Underneath the perfect pant, I wear the ZOIC bibs. This is one of the pieces of gear I bought for full retail on my own accord before ever talking with them. I bought two of them actually and donated all my other bibs to the thrift store for two reasons: (1) they have what I call a dick flap (they call it a quick relief fly—choose which phrase you like better); this is genius, game changer on the trail, and (2) the straps run along the outside of my pecs, not over my nipples. This is much more comfortable. No nipple rubbage. It also produces an unintended positive result: it reminds me to pull my shoulders back and sit with better posture.

Speeding into 2021

If you watch my videos or follow me, you may have a noticed a recent upgrade in what I’m wearing—that’s all ZOIC! 

Above and beyond the gear, they are supporting my channel monetarily by supplying a discount code for my viewers. Use code ‘JPMCGHEE20’ during checkout at www.zoic.com for 20% OFF! This code is also an affiliate code, so now YOU can feel good buying ZOIC gear. They are good people, making good stuff. Plus, when you buy ZOIC, you are supporting the channel.

I’m also working with a handful of other companies this year. These are all companies you can feel good about buying gear from because they support me. Here they are, listed in no particular order:


Ambassador Contracts: Sierra Nevada Brewing Co, VanDoit, Maxxis, Koroyd, Mammoth Mountain

Affiliates (Business Partners)*: ZOIC (JPMCGHEE20), SportRx (JEREMY10), Ryders Eyewear (jeremymcghee30off), Just Live CBD (jeremy15), GÜP Industries (theunpavement)

Friends/Flow/Pro-Deal (no contract): GoPro, Thule, CushCore, Rev Grips, Fasst Co, Spinergy, Hands on Concepts, My Lucas Oil, Ridge Merino, Patagonia, Honey Stinger

*Use these discount codes at checkout

Big Boy Trails

Big Boy Trails

Listen along

Off the Top problem spot and view

Off the Top … sounds like the name of an exciting trail, right? It starts at the top and zigzags for five miles down the back side of Mammoth Mountain, offering views of the dramatic Minaret peaks and, if you know where to look, even a glimpse of Yosemite. It rounds Red’s Lake, where i spread my dog’s ashes and like to stop for a beer with him sometimes, and then links to trails called Mountain View and Beach Cruiser. These are fun, flowy, green trails. Flowy is a word typically used to describe trails that are fun, but not necessarily exciting. These trails, and Kamikaze—an extremely high-speed fire road that is exciting in a not-so-fun, death-defying way—are the trails starting at the top of the mountain that i thought i was relegated to, given the limitations of my bike. All the other trails that riders love i have been apprehensive to attempt without a support rider.

“Well, why haven’t you just ridden them with somebody?” you ask.

Red’s Lake beer with my boy. Cheers, Buddy! Miss you!

I travel alone and i ride alone most of the time. Riding with me is different, and a support rider needs to be dedicated to that role. They need to understand that they can’t just do their normal thing because things take longer and be happy to do so. Unless someone offers, i do not usually ask someone to give up their hard-earned day to ride with me. I don’t like putting someone in a position where they might feel bad saying no or feel obligated. People are generally bad at communicating boundaries. I know i am. That said, when someone does ride with me, i try to be extremely cognizant of this. When coming up on a section where i know i’m good, or jump lines, i like to send my support rider first so they are not slowed down by riding behind me and can go the speed they want.

“If i don’t show up, come back and get me!” i yell as they take off. Ha! Sometimes shit happens.

Over the past couple seasons, when other adaptive riders have contacted me to ask which trails they can ride solo at Mammoth, i’ve told them, “Kamikaze and Beach Cruiser. That’s it.” Off the Top produces five potential dilemmas and i don’t recommend it for an adaptive rider on their own. Even Mountain View has a developing problem spot. There is a family trail called Downtown, but exciting is the last word i would use to describe it, and unless someone is a beginner or actually with their family, i’ve offered it only as a consolation.

Exposure. See how my wheel is off the side?

It’s funny how it all works with my bike. I always say, “You’ll be surprised what this thing can get through, BUT you will also be surprised by what stops it.” When talking about adaptive trails, i’ve found that the general conception is that adaptive friendly means “flat and uninteresting.”  Likewise, when recommending trails, well-intentioned locals almost always suggest trails of reduced technicality. Paradoxically, this can be bad advice, because the “easy” trails often create issues for me. They tend to traverse back and forth across the mountain, giving intermediate two-wheeled riders a more gradual descent, but when a traversing trail is not cut with enough bench, exposure is created, and that is what gets me. Exposure is where the trail has a drop off, exposed to the slope of the hill. Difficult trails, on the other hand, tend to be directed into the fall-line, making them steeper and faster for advanced riders, but since they don’t traverse, they have less exposure.

Are you with me? Easy trails bad. Hard trails good.

Crawling over rocks

Plus, i like technicality. I like crawling over rocks, performing drops and working up to getting air on jumps. Wood features like ramps and bridges are scary but fun! I like high-speed turns and whipping the tail of my bike around, sending a plume of dirt in the air for my friends to ride through. This is called dusting and it’s a rite of passage for the privilege of following me down a mountain (insert winky face emoji). All these things create texture and challenges to overcome, which make for a much more enjoyable trail experience than if things were just smooth and boring. Maybe a metaphor for life?

Then there’s dealing with the gondola. Let me just say that the gondola crew is awesome. They are always a huge help and go out of their way to make me feel comfortable with needing so much from them. Imagine having a long day, being tired, and then i show up. I’m always self-conscious about being a bummer because my bike is not easy to deal with. Its big, heavy and awkward, and they need to stop the gondola to load it. Every single one of them makes sure i know that they are happy to see me and completely willing to do whatever it takes to keep me on the mountain. Huge thanks to them!

That said, it’s still a bummer for me to deal with so many logistics. The gondola is upstairs, so i need to take the elevator. The elevator is inside the retail shop. The retail shop is cluttered with 4-ways, displays and tons of stuff, so it’s not easy to pick my way through there with my huge bike. Not to mention, that i need to bring both my chair and bike with me. I use the throttle on my bike to pull me along while sitting in my chair. This is awkward, and to top it off, tourists like to exclaim, “Oh that’s cool!” Kids tug on their parent’s pants, “Mommy look!” Not a good feeling for me.

Then there’s unloading at the top, which is another stoppage of the gondola, making not only everyone in line wait, but everyone who is currently riding it wait as well. The awesome crew unloads my bike and once i’m in it, they take my chair and send it down. When it arrives back at the bottom, the operators there put it outside so its waiting when i pull up. This is great if that’s where i’m going, but what if i’m riding to The Village and taking the shuttle back up? In that case, the gondola crew must walk my chair out to the shuttle stop and physically put it on the bus. They also must clearly communicate with the driver to take it off the bus and leave it at The Village so that its waiting for me when i get there. On several occasions, my chair has gone for a long ride, doing laps on the shuttle. I wonder if it’s stoked to get out for a while. Also, this is asking a lot of the gondola crew. They are busy. Sparing a member of their staff for a few minutes is a big deal and sometimes they have just been too busy to do it.

When either of these things happens, i need to get carried onto the shuttle. Normally, it’s not a big deal, but being carried is not the most “uplifting” feeling for a grown man. Also, when being carried, my atrophied paraplegic body is exposed to everyone in line waiting for the shuttle. Not something i would normally choose. Most of the time, i don’t give a shit, but depending on the day, this has the potential to affect my brain hole, which can be dark. Sometimes I’m just out there trying to not get sucked into that darkness and little things like that can send me there. Not only that, but when i’m lifted out of my chair, my bladder likes to take the opportunity to start emptying itself, which can make for a bad day.

Old bike on the shuttle rack

On the shuttle bike rack, my bike takes up five to six spots—valuable real estate on a busy day. The shuttle crew, again awesome, typically struggle with loading it and also with deploying the bus’s wheelchair lift, which only works 50% of the time. When people have traveled far and have paid for an expensive lift tickets, extended waits mean fewer laps and fewer laps means not getting as much of a value. People are accommodating and gracious, but i know deep down that thought would be there for me and most likely is for others. Now serving Humble Pie!

Phew! i think i need a drink just writing this, but it’s not even noon yet, so i should probably wait.

Obviously, all this is terribly inefficient, and in my life as a wheelchair user, i have learned to focus on eliminating steps. Efficiency makes life a lot better for me. I’m lucky that i have a mind that works that way. So, with everything it takes to load and unload the gondola, i’ve been thinking that there just has to be a better way.

This thinking got me climbing some of the service roads instead. I have an e-assist. Why not? It all started while visiting Mammoth in early spring, before the bike park opened for the summer. At first, i would park at The Village and climb Uptown—the uphill trail equivalent to Downtown. This took me partially up the mountain where i could access an exciting trail named Shotgun, which i have gotten to know extremely well over the years. Then i extended this to more trails, incorporating a jump line next to Shotgun named Smooth Operator and the bottom section of Bullet, one off the most exciting trails on the entire mountain! When the snow melted a bit more, i realized i could climb up a little further and catch another jump line named Pipeline and even more of Bullet. If you haven’t seen my recent video about Bullet, i highly recommend it. I ride it in its entirety, get stuck a few times and perform some big rock drops, all on my own.

Life was looking up! This was much easier and extended the bike park season for me! All i needed was for the snow to melt and i could climb and ride several trails without any need for the gondola or shuttle. Then a spot on Uptown started giving me trouble … and therefore, some anxiety. It became a dance with probability every time i rode it. Would i make it or not? One time i sat at this spot for several minutes, one wheel off the downhill side of the trail, debating whether i should push it or not. I could make it just fine or roll down the hill. I’m no mathematician, but probably a 50/50 chance. Not good odds when a roll could mean breaking something on my bike or myself, not only ruining my trip, but most likely creating hardship for several weeks.

I said, “Fuck it!” out loud and slammed the accelerator with my thumb. I leaned uphill to counterbalance. Dust spewed from underneath the wheel as it struggled to regain the trail and fought the forces pulling it into the fall-line (downhill). I felt the bike want to tip, but i pushed harder and eventually made it. I was fine, but the stress of that moment and many like it over the years have left their mark, some of those moments not working out as well. Anxiety is not a feeling i want when trying to have an enjoyable trail experience.

Then one day, my bestie in Mammoth—firefighter, ski patroller, climber, photographer, all-around bad ass and pound-for-pound the strongest dude i know—Jeff Fox suggested climbing the service road instead of the trail. When he mentioned it, it was one of those things where i thought, “Why have i not been doing this all along?” This is what i proclaim to like doing anyway: climb the wide stuff and downhill the fun stuff.

Foxy got an Ebike to climb heinous shit with me!

Now, there are three ways to steer my bike: (1) When going downhill, my hands are on the handlebar. Obviously how i steer when making use of gravity and do not need to propel myself. (2) When climbing, my hands are on the hand crank, off the handlebar, and i steer with my chest. There are cables that attach a pivoting chest pad to the base of the stem. The stem is what connects the handlebar to the steering column. As i lean the chest pad to one side, this pulls the cables and, in turn, the stem and steering column. (3) When climbing narrow trail, opposed to wide open fire roads or double track, i need more precision steering, so i usually steer the handlebar with one hand and crank with the other. Having an e-assist enables me to do this, otherwise cranking with one hand would be impossible.

When on wide open stuff, like fire roads, i can rely completely on the chest steering, so I can crank with two arms. This makes for a much better workout and is why i prefer “climbing the wide stuff.” This is a good time to mention that i set my assist at a level for a comparable pace with able-bodied riders. I don’t just put it on blast mode and moto up the hill. I also do my best to stay ahead of the motor and get a pretty intense workout. This makes me an anomaly in the mountain bike world though. Fire roads are typically steep and loose. Unless someone is a complete glutton for punishment, pedaling up them is considered heinous to the majority of riders. I can’t expect my friends to do this and all this to explain that i traded the drama of riding the gondola for the need to find exciting trail combinations that i can ride confidently on my own.

A very Big Boy Trail named Flow

In my last Weekly Ride video, i showcase exactly this. I found two very fun trail routes that i have absolutely no problems with. This has not come without significant practice though. Over the past two bike park seasons, i have ridden a couple of these trails over and over again, building the skill and confidence necessary for solo missions. This took lapping them with friends who spotted me through questionable stuff and whom i would like to mention: Jeff Fox (mentioned earlier), Chris Orr (The Trails Guru) and Ben Peck (the Young Knowledgeable Ripper). These spots, that i needed to practice, I would never ride alone the first time and do not advise it for adaptive riders. Probably not just the first time either. It took me several laps to nail the lines and this is not advisable without a spotter.

Also, extending one of these trails and bypassing a sketchy, exposed section on another (via unofficial local connector trails) has made all the difference. This took local knowledge from Ben, who pointed these trails out to me. All this is … how do i say it … completely life-changing for me. I can now ride big boy trails at Mammoth Mountain completely solo with absolutely no one touching me. This is important. The sense of adventure, exhilaration, independence and ACCOMPLISHMENT combine to build my confidence as a rider, as well as my sense of manhood. I’m not a hurt little boy, but a strong virile man, riding gnarly shit without help. I’m a big boy now!

After reading this, you can watch the video knowing what i went through and what this all means to me:

Bullet Rebellion

Bullet Rebellion

Sometimes i just need to get my willies out. You probably know the feeling. When i wake up, i don’t usually feel stoked about the day. It takes intentional effort for me to choose a positive mindset. Awareness slowly fills my body. I breathe. I usually sigh, thinking, “Here we go again.” Then i stop myself. That’s no way to start a day, especially when i have so much to be thankful for. I have a nice car, a Mac Pro, an iPhone, an Apple Watch, a sic bike, friends, my relative health, an ocean view … the list goes on. Tack on being a white male living in southern California, one of the wealthiest areas of the world. I’ve got it good.

I grab my right leg and place it on the floor. Then my left. I leverage my body, angling towards the floor, to pull my upper body up. Momentum plays a key role here. I can’t interrupt this motion, otherwise i will fall back down. First things first. I need to pee. I always say, “I gotta go before i go!” Now that i’m sitting up, i need to get to the bathroom fast or the task of changing and cleaning myself will be added to the weight on my mind. I angle my chair and perform the automatic motion of transferring to it. This needs to be precise. Any miscalculation will result in splitting my butt cheeks open on the metal sideguards. This would mean weeks of bandaging and laying down. Something i can’t afford right now.

Once in my chair, i’m mobile. I zip to the bathroom, not forgetting to hit “Play” on the coffee maker on my way by. The bathroom light is blinding. I hold one eye closed as i lock my brakes in front of the toilet. I would rather forego the light and the imminent adrenal taxing, but inserting a catheter in the dark is not the easiest task, especially pre-coffee. I feel a huge relief when i urinate. Its not physical, its mental. Being incontinent, the thought is always there. You can never truly relax. In the moments after urination, that thought is gone for a while and the sense of relief is almost euphoric.

I’m not one of those people who brushes their teeth right away either. It messes with the taste of my coffee and i want to brush my teeth after coffee. This may have no basis, but i feel brushing before takes off any overnight coating that could help prevent staining. Brushing after takes off that coating along with any coffee that might want to stick around. The danger is that if i get straight to work and get focused, i don’t end up brushing my teeth—or putting on pants for that matter—until late morning, when i pull myself out of the dense computer fog that is video editing.

Before sitting down with my coffee, i open the drapes and let the natural light come in. This is a relief. The world is not over. Life is going on as usual. And this day is different too. I’m not at home. I’m in Mammoth … and i have intentions to get out whatever this thing is that lives inside me. The thing that plagues my mind. The thing that makes me want to do nothing and talk to no one. There is only one way. I need to push myself to the edge.

I move on to my second cup. This is my treat for being human, for having been through all that i’ve been through, and i enjoy it even more than the first, but in a different way. The first is like breathing life into my body for the first time. All the memories of cups of coffee in the rain, cups of coffee overlooking the foggy ocean, cups of coffee under a canopy of wise trees … all these memories flood in unison with one nostalgic sip after the other, all followed by the quintessential exhale and sigh. It all feels good. This is the feeling that gets me out of bed. Well, it’s the thought of the feeling. The second cup is much different. It’s like rebellion in liquid form. I don’t need it, but i want it. I purposefully choose indulgence over health. “I’m in control here and can do whatever the fuck i want.”

Fast forward and i’m in my bike, climbing up Mammoth Mountain. There is a slight rebellion in this as well. I’m choosing to forego taking the gondola up and climb the service roads instead. I’m not sure if it’s allowed during operational hours, but i’m doing it anyway. I have an e-assist, but i have set to one of the lowest levels. This level, i have found, is where i need it to be to pace most able-bodied riders. I give it a notch up when i’m riding with my fast friends and a notch down with less capable climbers. So i’m going the pace of an average rider and my heart rate is getting into the high 140s. I say all this to explain that i’m getting a pretty intense workout. I’m sweating. I’m breathing hard. My arms are tired … and it all feels so good! This might be a feeling you know—the feeling of destroying yourself. The feeling of letting all your anger bubble up to the surface and hammering those fucking pedals, one revolution at a time.

I dare not stop and rest either. My rear wheel slips in the loose dirt as the hill gets steep. I reach up and push the front right wheel with my right arm to keep the bike creeping along. This motion is like an overhead press. My shoulder burns. My neck starts to ache. I keep my eyes on the dirt directly below me and keep hammering.

Finally i arrive at my destination. Well, the beginning of my destination: the trailhead for Bullet.

Bullet is a trail i should probably not ride on my own. The difficulty of other trails is designated by color: green, blue or black. That’s beginner, intermediate and expert, respectively. Blacks are defined even further as single diamond or double diamond, the former being the most difficult. Bullet is above and beyond all this though. It is an orange pro-line and i’m not sure what i’m getting myself into. I do know that it has some serious rock gardens and rock drops. I am going to be challenged to my limit, but i need this. I need some sort of rebellion much larger than a second cup of coffee and with much more at stake. 

I’m not nervous. I start down the trail and it’s rowdy right from the beginning. I pick my way through the first rock garden, not knowing it is completely mellow compared to what i’m going to face further along the trail. On the next section, i spy two rocks ahead, choose what think is the best line, and commit to it. I barrel into the rocks with what i think is enough speed to carry me over them, but i miscalculate and get hung up, high centered on top. I teeter totter the bike back and forth. I push my weight this way and that way. I try to unweight one wheel and push the other. All to no avail, and after about ten minutes of fighting, i give up, huffing for air. I sit up and look around. It’s silent except for the wind caressing the trees. No one is coming.

I pull the quick release on my belt and begin the process of lowering myself to the ground, taking care not to twist my leg into a bad position. Once on the ground, i push the bike up and over the rocks almost effortlessly. This makes me think that maybe i should’ve just done this in the first place. Why do we do that? Why do we fight so hard to avoid something only to end up doing it anyway and realize its actually easier than the fight we put up?

Getting back in the bike takes a series of steps. First is lifting my butt onto the leg cradle. This takes a few tries as i balance the act of bearing my weight on one arm, throwing my head forward and down. This lifts my ass in the air, all in one motion, hoping to hit the target. Once i’m sitting on the leg cradle, the next step is getting my butt from the leg cradle into the seat. My pants get hung up on the edge, and i need to get the angle of approach just right, but i’ve done this so many times now that i’ve got it pretty good. I fold my right leg back and place it in the leg cradle on which i was just sitting. My left leg takes a little yoga move to get it up and over the bike to other side, where i put it in place.

Now, i’m back in the bike. I strap in, put my pack on, exhale in relief and start down the trail again to find the most difficult and sudden drop i will face on the trail. A series of drops lead up to it, so there is no seeing it ahead of time, and since i have never ridden this trail before, i have no idea what is on the other side. The world just ends. I don’t see it until i am on top of it. 

I creep to the edge and look over. It’s only about four feet down but that’s not the hard thing about it. It will put me in an off-camber situation that could easily roll me and the bike. When a roll happens, it happens fast and the chances for injury or breaking something on my bike are very high. These are the kind of stakes i need in my little rebellion. I freeze on the edge, gripping the brakes. I creep down a little further and things get very precarious, almost sideways, while I am pretty much vertical on the edge of the rock. I need to let go. It’s the only way. Otherwise, i will surely flip over. I take a series of large breaths to psyche myself up and do it. I let go.

My body instinctively takes over and i roll over it no problem, exclaiming with relief and a huge sense of accomplishment. Everything after that seems effortless. I actually do a drop much larger, closer to six feet, as if it is nothing. A series of three- and four-foot drops in succession don’t even phase me, flowing from one to the next. I get stuck a little bit in a couple other spots but am able to free myself. In the end, i make it down in one piece. Well, all in one piece, except my anger. I left that out there.