Paige VanZant - Rise: Surviving the Fight of My Life

I ts raining, which makes me want to be outside even more. Because rain means mud. And mud means fun. I love it when my sneakers get all caked up with soil, layers of dry, dinosaur-like mud from hours and days and weeks and years of riding my bike through that spongy, gravelly mess, under low-hanging gray Oregon skies that keep the earth beneath my wheels perfectly, consistently moist. Every day, I cruise through the streets on my BMX, up hills and across the farmlands with my hair whipping at my neck, into the joyful surrender of that innocent, happy, earthy filth. I race against the boys, and very often win. They both love and hate me for it. But mostly they respect me for it.

Mom will be bummed if Im not home by sundown, but I just want to keep riding my bike like a comet through the night. I want to ride until I can see all the stars winking at me, until I cant breathe, until my knees stop working. I want to ride faster than anyone else. I want to be outside, to feel the air on my skin and move my body. But I holler to the guys that I gotta jet, pull a sharp right and head home because I really love my mom. Also, I know what shes got in the oven, and Im not about to miss out on that. They all look at me funny as I ride off, not because Im the only girl in the packtheyre used to thatbut more so because Im wearing a pink taffeta tutu, its layers flapping in the breeze like giant butterfly wings.

When I get home, the house is steamed cozy with the smell of my mothers signature tater tot casserole. Chester, my dog, who is basically my moms third kid, greets me with a tackle and a face-lick. My dad wont be home until everyone else is in bed, since he works nights. But Mom always makes enough for him to eat later, which I know he does with great pleasure, because I can usually hear the scraping on the casserole dish from my bedroom on nights when Im up struggling to fall asleep. Our folks were kids themselves when they had my brother Stevie and me. They met at a hardware store in 1988 and proceeded to become quintessential high school sweethearts. Mom says I came into the world ten days early, mad as hell, ravenous and screaming my head off at every doctor and nurse around me. When her milk didnt come down fast enough, Id get impatient and lash out, flailing my tiny arms and scratching up my whole face. Im told that I was a scrapper since the beginning, a strong and determined newborn, keen on holding my head up right from day one.