It took me quite a few gos, and my instructor sevgeral grey hairs, before I eventually passed my CBT (basic motorbike training). I persevered because I hate giving up, especially if someone thinks I can’t do it, and then if it’s because I’m a girl!
I’ve never been one to take up ‘dares’, it just seemed idiotic to me to do something because someone moron dared you to do it; but I was always stupid enough to do it if someone thought I wouldn’t be able to. My mum drilled into me from an early age that the only thing stopping me from achieving anything was my mind – anything is possible with enough determination.
I’m a lazy soul at heart, evidenced by my broadening waist/thigh/ankleline, and would far rather veg out in my reading chair with a good book than walk the hills. exercising the brain is still exercising (I’m good at avoidance tactics too). So how I manage to stir myself because someone happens to mention that I’m incapable is one of my personal mysteries.
Passing my CBT was enough. I’d done it. After that I rarely went on the bike again – so why take the test, you might ask yourself. Hmm. Same goes for learning to knit, sew, swim, dive, sail, martial arts, reflexology (I can’t bear to touch people’s feet yet I completed the course!), riding lessons (I gave up halfway through because my spine insisted)… the list goes on and on.
I still have a whole other list of things I want to learn such as scuba diving, welding, sky-diving/parachuting, skiing, water-skiing… and I will learn them at some point, sometime. But after I’ve learnt them they will be ticked off and forgotten.
So why do them? Why even have them on the list? I honestly don’t know. It’s not as though I need to learn any of them. No-one as yet has challenged me or said I could never do them. Yet there they sit, awaiting my attention and time.
But having said all that there is one thing that I cannot do and that is lose weight. I have been pondering that awhile now and I have finally come to the conclusion that I have an inbuilt resistance, nay a powerful negative reaction, to everything my mother thinks is important. Everytime we meet she mentions my size and when she does so I become ever more convinced that my size is irrelevant and the diet I had vowed to continue with come hell or high-water, or chocolate cake, is promptly dropped.
Ironic that my mother who told me I could do anything I set my mind to should be the one to make me stop doing anything she deems important. If she ever urges me to take up sky-diving it will come straight off my list.