I Think I Understand . . .

At least part of it.

I'll start at the beginning. Or at least where we left off, gentle readers, when I announced my registration for what could be argued to be the Mother of All Tests - the LSAT - June 11, 2007. I went into this a bit cocky. I took a couple of practice LSATS at the office - didn't time them but finished relatively within the time constraints, even with the phone ringing. And I did pretty well. A little over the 95th percentile. So, I was feeling cocky.

However, with the test looming, I decided to prepare a bit, raise my score, make sure I was on top of it - you know, train a little. For the Ironman of Tests. Yeah. I started checking out LSAT prep books, particularly those that focus on the logic games, the weakest link in my LSAT repertoire. Those books suggested something kinda funny. They suggested at least two months of prep (which I don't have). So, I'm officially "cramming". Not good.

And the logic book I got. HOLY CRAP! It should be titled "So You Think You're Pretty Smart: We'll Fix That" Or "How to Feel Like a Total Imbecile in Three Minutes or Less" Last night, as I poured over the beginning lessons yet another time, felt I had gotten the knack yet another time, and discovered I was dead wrong, yet another time, I was ready to throw in the towel. Just Quit Trying. Screw it, I thought, I'll just take the damn thing and if I bomb I bomb (I'll just try a Sprint, who needs to train, if I DNF, I'll DNF). Not my usual philosophy.

Then something clicked. That soft voice that comes every once in a great while, the one that contradicts every stupid thing the demons ever told you, the one that always points you in the right direction if you're quiet enough to listen for it - that voice said "Remember the bike."

Oh, yeah. The bike. The "I can't seem to keep the rubber side down" chariot of death. That bike. The one I was sure I would never learn to ride, much less race. That bike. The bike that I was riding when I zoomed past numerous riders last Sunday - it was a ride sponsored by our local cycling advocacy group and there were tons of people of all skill levels. The bike that sailed me past a group of male roadies (albeit somewhat out of shape male roadies) who proceeded to look at each other and attempt to pick up the pace. They didn't catch me. That bike.

I remembered. I walked back to the book. I let the book continue to make me feel like an idiot until I started to understand it. I sat there until it started to make sense and I knew that I would, in fact, learn this. Just like I learned the bike.

I may not ace this test, just like I may not pass a single soul in my races. But I'm going to try. And I'm going to feel good about it because I'm reaching. And reaching, even if you have to get up on your tippy toes, even if you have to jump a little bit, is what makes us taller in the end.