MidReal Story
Pedal to Victory: Emily's Cycling Triumph
Scenario: A girl persisted in practicing cycling and finally won the championship in the cycling competition
Create my version of this story
Jamie Nguyen
supportive friend and fellow cyclist, close friend of Emily, long black hair, optimistic and loyal
Coach Michael Roberts
experienced cycling coach, mentor to Emily and Jamie, greying hair, wise and encouraging
Emily Carter
aspiring cyclist, friends with Jamie and mentored by Coach Roberts, short brown hair, resilient and competitive
Chapter 1
I remember the first time I rode a bike.
I was six years old, and my dad had just taken off the training wheels.
I was terrified, but he promised to hold on to the back of the seat.
And he did.
For about ten feet.
Then I was on my own, wobbling down the sidewalk in front of our house, with him running behind me, yelling for me to keep pedaling.
I didn’t go far that day, but I went far enough to get hooked on cycling.
From then on, I rode my bike everywhere—around the neighborhood with my friends, to school and back every day, and even on family vacations.
And it wasn’t long before I was winning races.
By the time I was fifteen, I was competing in regional events and had racked up quite a few medals.
At first, cycling had just been something fun to do with my friends or by myself.
But as I got older, it became more than that.
It became a passion that burned inside me like an all-consuming fire, pushing me harder and further than I ever thought possible.
When I was fifteen years old, my parents gave me a road bike for Christmas.
I already had a mountain bike that I rode around the neighborhood or on local trails with my friends, but this bike was different—it was sleek and fast and made for racing.
After putting it together and adjusting the seat height to fit my frame, my dad proudly held it out for me to see.
"It’s beautiful," he said with a smile. "But you have to be careful with this one. It’s not like your other bike."
My parents gave me a road bike for Christmas when I was 15 years old.
My friend Jamie—who also happened to be my cycling mentor—looked at me excitedly.
"You’re going to love it," she said as she examined every inch of the shiny new Trek 1000. "Road biking is so much fun!"
Up until then, cycling had been nothing more than a casual hobby for us—a way to get around town and explore our surroundings while having fun and getting some exercise in the process.
We’d even taken part in a few local races together over the years, but we’d never really considered taking our shared passion for two-wheeling to the next level until Jamie’s older brother introduced us to road biking during one of his visits home from college.
It wasn’t long before we were hooked on cycling all over again—and this time we weren’t going back!
Jamie glanced over at me just then as if she could read my mind—which honestly wouldn’t have surprised me considering how close we’d always been—and smiled encouragingly.
It was a big moment in my life, even though I didn’t realize it at the time.
He held the back of the seat as I wobbled down the sidewalk, trying to keep my balance.
"You’re doing great, Em," he said as I tried to steer straight while making sure not to stop pedaling.
"Okay, here we go. On three. One. Two. Three!"
I felt him let go of the seat, and for a brief moment, everything seemed perfect.
The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I was riding a bike—by myself!
But that feeling didn’t last long; within seconds, I lost control of the handlebars and tumbled over onto the pavement with a loud crash!
My dad rushed over to make sure I was okay.
"Are you hurt?" he asked as he inspected me for any cuts or bruises.
"I’m fine," I insisted with tears in my eyes as I got up from the ground.
"I just want to try again."
And so I did.
My dad helped me back on the bike, made sure I had both feet on the pedals this time, then pushed me off down the sidewalk once more.
"Keep pedaling, Em!" he yelled as I rolled away from him.
Faster and faster, until I was soaring down the sidewalk like a bird in flight!
It was the most amazing feeling in the world, and I knew right then that cycling would always be a part of my life.
I spent countless hours riding around the neighborhood with my friends, pretending to be professional racers and chasing each other up and down the hills for fun.
But as much as I loved cycling back then, I never could’ve predicted how far it would take me in the years to come.
At twelve, I joined a youth cycling club and quickly advanced through its ranks with Jamie by my side; by fifteen, I was competing regionally and had won several medals along the way.
At first, I didn’t take it too seriously—cycling was just something fun to do with my friends or by myself at the time—but Jamie did; she saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself back then, and she pushed me every step of the way to become a better cyclist.
And as much as I hated her for it sometimes, I knew she was right: with hard work and dedication, I could become one of the best in the sport we both loved so much.
But life has a funny way of throwing you curveballs when you least expect them, and the same held true for me at age eighteen.
I was competing in a race in Greenville, South Carolina when another cyclist accidentally clipped my front wheel, causing me to crash hard on the pavement.
The fall shattered the bones in my wrist and left me with severe road rash on both arms and legs—it was by far the worst crash I’d ever experienced in all my years of cycling.
Afterward, I spent several months recovering from surgery and physical therapy before I could ride again.
It was an incredibly painful and frustrating process that tested me in ways I never thought possible.
And although the physical injuries eventually healed over time, the emotional scars from that crash took much longer to overcome.
For awhile, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to get back on a bike again after what happened—I didn’t think it was worth risking my life just to compete in some stupid race.
But as time went on and the wounds began to heal, I realized that giving up wasn’t an option for me.
I couldn’t let one bad experience ruin all the years of hard work and dedication I’d put into becoming a better cyclist.
So I slowly started training again, taking things one day at a time and not pushing myself too hard too soon.
It was a long, slow process, but eventually I began to regain my confidence and love for cycling once more.
But by then, it was too late: I was twenty-one years old and had missed out on several years of racing experience because of the crash.
Instead of trying to make up for lost time, I decided to move back home to Willow Creek with Jamie, who had been like a sister to me since we were kids.
Our coach Michael Roberts also moved back with us after accepting a new position at the local sports center, where he would continue to train and mentor us as we began this new chapter of our lives together.