Just. Keep. Pedaling.

You need to eat.

You need to eat now.

Drink. Electrolytes. Water. Gel. Stretch legs. Feet hurt. Hands hurt. Stretch. Breathe. Pedal.

Almost there.

Almost there.

Almost there.

***

The last few hours of Gravel Locos weren’t pretty. But as the miles ticked up — 110. 115. 123. 140. 155. — it was back to basics, with small reminders to eat and drink and breathe and to

J U S T K E E P G O I N G.

For 11 hours, 10 minutes and 4 seconds. 156.39 miles.

And finally, I can say that I have done what I set out to do in February 2021 when I moved to Austin and needed something to look forward to.

I finished La Loca Gravel Locos!

With my knee being questionable leading into this one, I decided just to go slow and pace myself at endurance / tempo (zone 2). Plus, while I’ve done a few gravel centuries before, I had no idea what it takes to ride anything over 110 miles. I’ve pushed 110 only a few times in the last year, and that still leaves me pretty wiped.

Still, against my better judgement, I wanted to go for it. I need a long day on the bike to know if I have what it takes to finish Leadville.

And while it was tough, I am coming away from this with a lot more confidence … and in some ways, maybe a little bit more uncertainty.

Maybe all that extra time to think isn’t so great after all, haha!

Well, let’s start with the self doubt, then, I guess.

I think 100 miles makes you question your sanity, but 150+ really makes you question your self. As my body slowly broke down — from my knees, to my legs, to my shoulders, to my hands, to my neck, to my breathing muscles even — all I could really ask myself was: Why am I doing this?

I knew I wasn’t going to even be close to winning. What was I even there for? To gain some fitness? To gain some mental toughness? To completely destroy my body in pursuit of some random goal I set for myself, just because I said I was going too and I’m too stubborn to give up? And what, at the end of the day, does that even prove? To anyone? To myself?

So many people say that you shouldn’t do this to win. But who doesn’t like to win? And it’s hard to know that you won’t. Sometimes participation medals just don’t hit the same.

What if I’m not getting stronger? What if I’m not getting faster? What if I’m not getting better? I know as I get older that time will come, but that’s a hard reality to face. When will I know it’s time to pull back? What if it’s already arrived?

I spent about 6 hours alone out there with my thoughts and ever-increasing pain, on the open, empty roads, in the heart of Texas Hill Country.

That’s more than enough to break you.

From time to time, you’d catch glimpse of another rider. Slow to pass. Few words exchanged. There didn’t need to be any words. Just a general understanding that we’re both going through hell right now. Dread for the next incline. Elation for the next downhill to give our weary legs a break.

What is even remotely fun about this? This is a very unique and specific kind of torture.

Oh, how glorious it will be at the end.

And then, quietly, and slowly, you see the finish line. You’ve made it.

You don’t feel any different, really, do you? After all, it’s been 11 hours. It’s still the same day even.

All right. All right.

So after all that, I imagine you’re probably thinking: Then why in the world did you even do this?

Well. Damn. That’s a good question.

I guess the answer is: There’s nothing like a challenging experience that makes you question your entire existence. All of it. Everything. Every last bit of it. Your raison d’etre and your love of a sport that doesn’t always love you back. Just all laid out there on the muddy gravel roads before you.

It’s so far beyond reason. It’s so far beyond anything that even makes sense. It’s something that so deeply rattles your bones that there’s no way that you’ll be the same afterward.

Suffering is an experience that’s unique to everyone, even among your own suffering experiences. All of these feelings definitely make me realize that I went above and beyond what I thought I was capable of or have ever experienced, which is a pretty wild realization.

I think there are a lot of feelings to unpack here, and it’ll likely be a while before they’re all realized.

I am immensely proud of making it to the end. In some ways, I don’t know how I did it. Just one pedal at a time. Over, and over, and over again. You promise yourself that the pain will be over soon, even if you don’t believe it, or feel like “soon” is soon enough.

It’s really weird what happens out there. You keep yourself company with silly little things. Sometimes, you look up, and out, and over all the hills and fall in love with the world. You say kind things to others, even though you might not always be saying kind things to yourself. But then you are like, what? I’m doing this crazy thing, why be so harsh to me. And you start to find new inspiration, and new strength, and kinder things to repeat over and over again in your head.

You thank your legs for continuing to move. Your muscles for not cramping up. Your brain for remembering to eat every 20 minutes. Your stomach for allowing your brain to eat every 20 minutes. Your left arm for holding up your body while you eat; and then when that gets fatigued, your right arm for holding up your body while you eat. Your feet have been through so much. Your hands, just the same. They ache. Everything aches.

You said you didn’t think you could, but girl, look at you, you most certainly C A N and you most certainly A R E and you most certainly D I D.

And for the most briefest of moments. A couple hours. Nothing else in the world exists.

It’s you, and your bike, and the road, and all that you can carry on your body and your frame, moving along just so.

A blast of cool wind wakes you up from time to time.

Water fills your shoes as you walk across the Bosque River with 8 miles to go.

It’s 6 p.m. and you’ve been on your bike all day. Time passes both fast and slow. Each minute, about 90 more pedals on each leg. 90 more times you didn’t think you could stomp, pull, lift, and kick in another circle.

Then, you’re done. You ask yourself — why am I here, and what did I accomplish, and what can I take away from all of this?

You didn’t win a flashy podium. Nobody knows your name. A few people might be like, woah, that’s crazy, congrats, but the experience is yours and yours alone.

Here I sit, 3 years after making that original goal and finally being able to say that I accomplished it.

What do I get to take away from that? I’ll tell you what:

I did this for me, and only for me.

This was something that I wanted, a goal I set for myself. Nobody else asked me to do this. I set my sights on something so crazy and out of my own reach that even I had no idea if it would ever happen.

I failed. I got back up. I failed again. I got back up again. I was ready to fail again, and again, and again.

Whatever it takes.

But I found the resolve. I found the strength to do the thing. I didn’t give up. I didn’t give up on me or my crazy dream.

This is the best of me, and it always will be. I keep showing up and doing the thing. In the mud. In the rain. In the heat. In the cold. In the wind. In the solitude.

The world needs ladies like us to keep the sport moving forward and gaining momentum. The world needs successes and failures. The world needs B-sides and age-groupers and last-place finishers. The world needs you to say I don’t know if I can do this but I’m going to try, and then the world needs you to try try try until the wheels fall off (hopefully not off your bike, though, I wouldn’t recommend that).

Work hard. Do what you love.

You may not be able to move mountains, but you sure as heck can ride right over them!

Because you can. And you will.

Time, and time again.

<3