secret 9 of 100

I once lied to a boy.

Tis true. Shocking, no?

Eleventh grade was big for me. Younger than most of my classmates, I finally turned sixteen halfway through junior year. Which meant, I could finally date. Thank the Good Lord!
There was a boy I had my eye on. Tall, athletic, well known, funny (most of the time), and so sweet it made my heart swell just thinking of him.
We shared a few classes. I was on cheer (um...solely by the grace of the cheer coach. Not by talent.) And tall-boy was a basketball player. Whenever possible I would find times to talk with him, try my hand at flirting, and I'd hope and pray Tall-boy would ask me out.

It seemed like eternity passed and Tall-boy hadn't asked me out.
Until one day, he called me on the phone.
Holy freaking moly! He called.
"Hello, Tall-boy," I said into the phone, trying to sound the picture of casualness. But really, "Freaky" and "breathy" pretty much sum it up.

"Hey, Erin. My friend and I are going mountain biking this weekend. I was just wondering if you've ever gone before."

Ok, so was this him asking me out? Or was he just testing the water to see if we were even compatibable. By George! If I wasn't compatible before, I was then. I knew he was quite athletic, and though I was a cheerleader that meant nothing in way of other athletic areas. But there was no way in Hades I would miss an opportunity with Tall-boy. If he wanted a mountain biking chick, then I was the girl for him.
 
"Of course," I totally and utterly and shamelessly lied into that phone. "I go all the time. I LOVE mountain biking." Or not.
I'd ridden a bike before, it couldn't be that different than riding a cruiser around town. Just add a little mountain, right?

Wrong. So very wrong.

Tall-boy picked me up early in the morning on Saturday. We went with another couple. After driving up into the mountains, we started our bike ride on a very secluded mountain trail. And when I say "mountain trail", I mean vertical ups and downs. As in the most hell-acious bike ride of my life.

Thirty minutes into the ride, my legs felt like jello and I seriously doubted I would ever pee normally again.

An hour later, I wanted to die.

After two hours of biking torture, I thought I was paralyzed because I could no longer feel my limbs.

Three hours later, I hit a tree.
Maybe it was because I mis-judged how fast I was coming down the mountain, or because I was shaking so badly I couldn't see the boulder in the path, but when my bike hit the rock, I didn't even realize I was in the air until the tree stopped my forward momentum. I knew right them, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I never should've lied.

Lucky for me, Tall-boy and his friend had gone on, leaving me and Other-girl to follow. She helped me up, dusted off my ridiculously muddy body, and got me back onto my bike.

An eternity later we ended the trail. I could barely walk, I looked as if I hadn't showered in months, and I'd lost all ability to form complete sentences. To this day, I never told Tall-boy the truth. Though he probably figured it out.

What I did learn is that lying about mountain biking is BAD. So very bad.