I Flew Off the Handlebars on Undertoe. Here’s What I Learned About Falling — and Getting Back Up.

Last August. Deer Valley. Undertoe mountain bike trail.

I flew off my handlebars and landed on my face and stomach. Scratches on my belly. Scratches on my chin. A bruised ego. A scared body. A loud, clear message from the Universe that I had been ignoring for weeks.

Let me back up.

The FOMO That Got Me There

I was about to leave for a two-month Europe trip.

Two months. Off the bike. Off the trails. Off the dirt I love.

So I rode every single day leading up to the trip. No rest days. No off days. Just me, my bike, and the quiet voice inside me that kept saying slow down.

I didn’t slow down.

FOMO is a powerful force. Especially the FOMO of I won’t get to do this for two whole months.– Actually until the next year as it’d be almost winter when I get back. It overrides intuition. It overrides exhaustion. It overrides the body whispering please, baby, just take one day off.

I should have listened. I didn’t.

The Trail

Undertoe is one of the black trails at Deer Valley Bike Park that feels like it was carved by someone who knew exactly what would scare you and make you smile at the same time.

I’d ridden it before. Many times.

That day my legs were tired. My focus was thin. My body was running on fumes and adrenaline and the secret kind of pride that comes from telling yourself you can do anything.

I rolled in.

The Moment

I felt it before it happened.

The front wheel hit something. A rock. A root. A divot. I’ll never know exactly what.

My body went forward. The bike stopped. Physics took over.

I went over the handlebars. Full superman. Face first. Stomach second. Legs third.

I remember the sky for one second. Just blue.

Then ground.

I slid. The dirt scraped my stomach where my shirt had ridden up. My chin took the brunt. Dirt inside my mouth. Full-face helmet did its job for my head — thank you, helmet.

I lay there. Trying to breathe. Listening to my body.

Toes — yes.

Fingers — yes.

Breath — yes.

Nothing broken. Just torn skin and a heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.

The Realization on the Ground

I was lucky. That’s the word.

I didn’t land on a rock. I didn’t land on a tree stump. I didn’t land on anything that would have changed my life. I didn’t break my jaw, teeth, ribs, shoulder. All intact!

I landed on dirt. Soft dirt. The kind of dirt that scrapes you and reminds you that you’re alive.

Lying there, I knew exactly what had happened. The Universe had been warning me for two weeks. Slow down. Rest. Listen. I had said no thanks, I’ve got a big adventure trip coming, I have to get my fill.

The Universe said okay, here you go.

What I Should Have Done

I should have taken a rest day. Or three.

I should have listened to my body the morning I woke up tired and thought I’ll just push through.

I should have remembered that the trails would still be there in two months. They always are.

I should have trusted that the love I have for biking doesn’t have to be proven by riding every single day until I break.

Why I Haven’t Been Back to Undertoe This Summer

Here’s the thing. I’ve been mountain biking this summer. Plenty.

I just haven’t been back to Undertoe.

Not yet.

Part of me thinks I’m avoiding it. Part of me thinks I’m being smart. Part of me knows I’ll roll back in when I’m ready — and not a day sooner.

That’s a kind of progress too.

What This Taught Me About Skiing

You knew this was coming.

Life is skiing. Skiing is life. And biking is the summer cousin who keeps me humble.

Here’s what falling on Undertoe taught me — about biking, about skiing, about everything.

We fall. Every single one of us. The best skiers, the best bikers, the best humans you’ve ever met. We fall.

We get up. That’s the whole sport. That’s the whole life.

Quitters never win. Winners never quit.  It gets loud enough for me to hear it on a hard day.

Falling is part of the game. Not a flaw in the game. Part of it. You cannot ski better, bike harder, or live bigger without falling somewhere along the way.

Listen to your body. This is the lesson I’m still learning. Your body knows what your mind refuses to admit. Trust it.

Make original mistakes. I’ll fall again. I know I will. But I’m committed to making new mistakes — not the same one twice. That’s growth.

Helmets matter. Wear yours. Always. Every ride. Every run. Every time.

My Invite to You

If you fell in your last ski session and you’ve been scared to go back — I see you.

If your body remembers something your mind hasn’t fully processed — I see you.

If you’ve been waiting for permission to step back on the snow — this is it.

Come ski with me this winter. I will hold your hand to the top of the mountain. I will contain your fear onto you. I will see your nervous system soften before you do. And I will help you fall in love with skiing all over again.

You will fall again. We all do. But you don’t have to do it alone.

DM me to book. Or visit SkierTV.com.

Come to the fun side. Ski ya later.

— Ceylan