What We Can Learn About Book Coaching From Mountain Biking in the Rain

Part 2 of 3 in a series about my trip to Costa Rica

I’m in the middle here. The birthday girl is in pink shorts.

On my Costa Rica holiday adventure, my friends and I were scheduled to go on a mountain bike ride along a volcanic lake. We had to get up before sunrise and gear up for the outing — and it was pouring rain. It was a warm rain and the temperature was nice, but I didn’t want to go. The idea of riding in the rain sounded dismal. Someone in our group had a bad back and was staying behind to read and relax in the volcanic springs and I thought that sounded like the better option. I was seconds away from bowing out.

What propelled me to move forward was the reason I had come on the trip. We were in Costa Rica to celebrate one of my oldest friend’s 60^th birthday. She is the oldest of our group of longtime friends so her birthday is always a big milestone for all of us. I didn’t want to let her down or ruin the vibe, so I put on my clothes and reluctantly got in the van.

Our guides were unphased by the rain. They were, in fact, excited about the rain. “It’s great to ride in the rain!” they said.

About fifteen minutes into our ride, we arrived at the banks of a wide and alarmingly fast-moving river. The guide motioned us to push our bikes across. “Are you serious?” we asked. They urged us forward, so we plunged in up to our thighs and pushed our bikes through the current. When we got to the other side, we were fully soaked from head to toe, and as soon as we started to pedal, we were covered in mud — mud on our faces, mud on our hands, mud all over our backs.

I realized that once I was fully wet, I couldn’t get MORE wet, so I began to relax. As I skidded down the road, I could hear the rain fall on the broad leaves in the jungle. It was green and quiet— no one else on the road and it was absolutely gorgeous.

I began to ride through all the mud puddles. I would come down the hills and hit the mud, and mud would go flying everywhere — which was hilarious. We all started to do it and we were whooping and hollering as we rode.

I have known the birthday girl almost all my life. When we were kids, we rode our bikes everywhere — to school, to the beach, to the candy store, to the tennis courts, to each other’s houses — free as the wind. Riding with her out there, we were laughing and flying and feeling like we were kids again.

We had to cross the river at the end of our ride, and our arms and legs were tired and sore, but we’d done it once so we knew we could do it again.

When we got back to the hut where we started, we took turns jumping in a shower built around a giant tree and, fully clothed, rinsed off the mud. Our guides cut up a fresh pineapple and handed us warm burritos. Someone put on salsa music and in our dripping wet clothes, we danced in the mud.

It was an utterly happy day.

This all reminded me of book coaching because the happy days of writing usually come after some kind of discomfort. Writers are often thinking it would be better to stay behind and relax — not to embark on a hard project.

The rain and the mud and the long bike ride are the hard work of sitting down and thinking and sorting out words and ideas.

The river crossing is getting past the doubt and despair.

But after all that, the joy comes — writing a beautiful chapter, finishing a manuscript you are proud of, receiving a reader reaction you craved, maybe some kind of accolade. The joy is always the result of the effort — of getting past the idea that you’re not sure you can do it.

The bike guides were well aware of this equation. They guided us into the rain and the mud with calm authority. They provided a way for us to celebrate at the end of the trek. They showed us the way to joy.