Humans are interesting creatures. We strive and push ourselves independently, while consistently comparing ourselves to others. It’s instinctive: we look at others around us and consider whether we’re better or worse than someone, no matter the field, work, physical attributes, financial standing, or sport. Whatever it is we value in life, wherever we find joy, we also find judgment in the deepest part of our minds.

It’s inherent and often unconsciously done, a natural tendency to help us evaluate where we stand in any given aspect of life. For obvious reasons, I’ll explain my long-winded thoughts through my experiences of motorcycling. 

When I first started enduro racing motorcycles six years ago, I had high hopes that I’d be winning right off the bat. That was not the case. I learned quickly that there’s a lot more to racing than just riding. My ego was humbled. I spent time practising my starts on my dirtbike and riding more aggressively to make passes on the trail. I soon became more proficient and consistently better in racing. I later purchased a trials bike and began competing in trials to improve my skill.

In the past years of racing, I have done well with comparison and competition — I craved it, even. One race after another showed a clear, unbiased view of where I stand in the racing. I kept it impersonal, and looked at it as a progression stat — a reminder to practice harder.

This, however, came to a head a few weeks ago at my first trials competition of the year. It was at a riding area I knew well, and I had high hopes I would ride well throughout the weekend. I was also moving up in classes, from Intermediate to Advanced. There was no doubt that the obstacles would be tougher, but I was ready for it. Turns out I wasn’t.

While all the features were rideable for me, early in the trial, I found myself becoming anxious, dwelling on points I had gained from unnecessary dabs (touching my foot on the ground). I began second-guessing my ability to compete in the advanced class. Then, I started comparing myself to others in my riding group: more experienced and refined trials riders, and riders who weren’t second-guessing their choices.

My riding worsened with each section, and I started judging myself hard. I’d ride into the section holding onto the anger over the mistakes I had made previously. Throughout the weekend, I carried this judgment and anger that was created by myself with the expectation of skill that compared to others.

I finished off the weekend upset. I knew I was being hard on myself, but I couldn’t pull myself out of the self-deprecation cycle I had created by taking the ride too seriously. I had sabotaged myself instead of letting go of my expectations, having fun, and likely doing better than I did. I held on to every doubt my mind could think of, and I judged myself too hard against other riders. I have been riding bikes for over 25 years; how could I not be better? Why am I not at the level of other riders around me (many of whom had been riding trials for years)?

The comparison of time versus skill is a futile judgment we make, especially among other motorcyclists, whether it’s on the street, in the dirt, or in racing. In the scroll of motorcycle small-talk, you can bet “How long have you been riding?” is near the top of the list. The question in and of itself is not inherently bad; most people ask this to use as a conversation base, while others — like myself — will use this as a tool to compare how quickly their progression within the sport has been.

When it comes to the mastery of skills, it’s not about the total years of riding; it’s about seat time, pushing riding boundaries in learning-based environments, and experiential skills that can only be made in challenging situations. Try taking courses and getting instruction on specific ways to improve. You may have ridden for years, but if you’re practicing the same old habits, riding the same roads or trails, and never attempting to push your skill, your progression will become stagnant.

Inevitably, as humans, we also become very good at masking our insecurities and fears from others. Which means that you end up comparing yourself, with all known insecurities, to someone’s outside persona, whose insecurities and struggles are unknown.  

If you ever find yourself doubting your skill and insecurities are creeping in, just remember: everyone’s progression is different; it’s okay if you see people doing better than you. Focus on your progression, your enjoyment, and your ride — who knows who’s looking up to you. And remember that, in the end, it’s only you that matters, so why compare yourself to anyone else?