Ashley Fiolek - Kicking up dirt: a true story of determination, deafness, and daring

The crash happened at Steel City in Delmont, Pennsylvania, during the very last race of the 2009 motocross season. I was only eighteen years old, but people said I was faster on a dirt bike than any other girl in America. All I needed was to finish in eleventh place or higher, and the championship would be mine. I certainly never imagined that Id end up in the hospital.

At the track, I went through my usual pre-race routineI prayed with my mom and dad, asking God to keep me safe out there and help me win. Our whole family had worked so hard to get me to this point. Wed lived in motor homes for much of the last decade, chasing the race and chasing my dream. Now everything hinged on today. We needed God on our side.

I talked to my mechanic Cody Wolfwe call him C-Wolfwho had arrived at the track the day before to work on my bike. Before each race he strips it apart, breaking it down piece by piece and putting it back together again, so it is born anew. C-Wolf gave me a broad smile and thumbs-up, indicating that the bike was in perfect racing condition. I felt calmer. At twenty-one, C-Wolf was only a few years older than me, but I trusted him 100 percent.

I went into the motor home to get dressedknee pads, socks, big racing boots that made me look like I was about to take a walk on the moon. I put everything on in a very specific sequence; its something Ive always been superstitious about. Theres so little you can be sure of once youre out on the trackknowing I have put my socks on in the right order gives me one thing to hold on to.

C-Wolf hopped on the back of my red Honda dirt bikeall modern Hondas are redand we drove through the pit area together, out into the crowd and over to the starting gate at the bottom of the valley. Twenty or so of the nations top professional racers were lined up to the left and to the right of me, preparing to do battle on the track. I gazed at the rocky Pennsylvania dirt that lay ahead of me. If this track could talk, itd have some talesof championship battles, impossible victories, and broken motocross dreams.

The gate dropped, and adrenaline surged through my body. I pulled back the throttle of my 250 cc Honda and it roared into action, propelling me onto the track. After a shaky start, I pushed my way up front. I was in second place, cruising the laps, riding smart and riding steady. The sunshine felt warm on my back as I imagined myself crossing the finish line, and for a second, the championship felt like it might have already been mine.

It came out of nowherean unexpected rut in the track. I hit it at an awkward angle and lost control. The bike jolted out from under me and my five-foot-one body slammed to the ground. I felt muscle tearing across my shoulders, followed by a familiar numbness, the sensation of something horribly out of place something was broken. Later, Id learn that my collarbone had snapped clean in two.

Maybe I should have waited for a stretcher. Maybe I should have let them carry me off the dirt and to a hospitalbut I knew if I didnt get back on my bike and finish that race, my championship dreams were over. I heaved myself up, ran over to my bike, and used every remaining ounce of my energy to haul its two-hundred-and-fifteen-pound weight out of the dirt. The handle-bars were completely mangled, but luckily the engine was still running. I got on and twisted the throttle, ignoring the pain that accompanied every turn of my shoulders. Dirt spewed out behind my back wheel as I headed in for another lap. The championship wasnt going to wait for me just because I was injured. I was back in the race.

I was wobbly, riding like a grandma compared to how I usually ride. A few of the other girls pushed ahead of me, and I prayed to God, asking Him to help me remain in the top eleven. Behind me, a rookie racer was putting pressure on my position, but I held on tight. I even made a couple jumps to make sure I stayed ahead. By this point, Id forgotten about the painall I could feel was the determination to win. When I crossed the finish line, it was in seventh placethe happiest seventh place Ive ever gotten. Even in seventh, I still had the points I needed. I was the womens motocross champion of 2009. I felt really glad I had put my socks on in the right order that morning.

Four days later, I was lying in a bed in St. Vincents hospital in Jacksonville, Florida. I had a hot date with the surgeons, who would insert a plate and six screws into my body the next day. Grandpa Motorcyclethats my grandfathers nicknamestopped by the hospital to wish me luck. They puttin Humpty Dumpty together again? he said, teasing me. It wasnt the first time hed visited me in the hospital. Pain, broken bones, and dramatheyre par for the course in motocross, one of the most dangerous and least understood sports in the world. Its not traditionally known as a womens sport, and my fascination with motocross is all the more unusual given that Im profoundly deafIve never even heard the sound of my dirt bike. Imagine wearing a soundproof helmetone that you cant take offand thats pretty much my world. Ive always been at peace with my deafness, though it has definitely gotten me a lot of attention in motocross. Some people cant imagine what it must be like not being able to hear riders coming up behind youbut Ive never known any different. Being deaf is fine by me, and its never stopped me from riding aggressively, like the boys. Thats why the inequality in my sport has always frustrated me. In America, men get paid more, they get more practice time on the track, they get the sponsorships, the press conferences, the TV time. But things are changing every year. Womens motocross is evolving like never before, and opportunities that were unimaginable for girls ten years ago are a reality today.

It feels good thinking maybe I had something to do with thatin fact, it makes every broken bone worth it.

Courtesy of American Honda