This year’s Chequamegon 40 was one of the most chaotic races I have ever been a part of! That’s really saying something. 

As we stood on the start line looking straight up the ominous grass hill in front of us, I felt more nervous than usual. I let out a few short and forceful breaths trying to release the nervous energy into the air around me. 

Last year at Chequamegon was tough. I had an injury that really reared its head in the race and I was left with fear, confusion, and heart break. When you have an experience that deeply hurts you, it’s natural instinct to preserve yourself by avoiding that experience again at all cost. As an athlete, however, we have to line up again with our heads held high, not only hoping it’ll go better, but knowing it will. We gotagainst our natural instincts and weekend after weekend we dive into dangerous situations (not only physically dangerous, but emotionally too). We put our egos on the line and we expose ourselves to the chance of failure, for the hope of victory. 

As I stood on the start line and squared off against the big hill in front of me, I had a flashback to last year’s start, breathed out, and the gun went off. It was go time. 

Almost immediately, I couldn’t help but smile. A few pedal stokes in and I was accelerating to the front of the group. The power was coming easily. 

Over the first couple dozen minutes I glanced down at my power meter, we were going fast, but I could still breath primarily through my nose. It was a good day. I already knew. I continued to take intel of those around me. A few heavy hitters were mostly under control as well, but most people were breathing hard! Huffing and puffing. I knew we had them on the limit. The trouble was, they weren’t giving in. 

Twenty minutes went by, thirty, forty, an hour, and the group wasn’t splitting the way I hoped it would. Even though there were clearly some racers who felt stronger than others, the group remained mostly together. 

The hills were so short that most people could suffer for the thirty seconds required to stay in contact, and the short downhills or flats in between gave others the chance to latch back on the draft. We continually stretched the rubber band, but it never seemed to snap. 

One of the issues in this scenario is that in a big group like this, there are a lot of things that can happen. People crash, make mistakes, let gaps open, and you can suddenly find yourself boxed in and at the mercy of others. This means that you constantly have to be aware of your position and finding to be in the best position possible. You don’t want to go all the way to the front though, because then you are breaking the wind for everyone to draft off of you. 

In an effort to stay away from the chaos, I found myself at the front, far more than was probably wise. I chased down a few attacks that I thought might stick, only to find myself dragging the group back together. In a race like this, your mind because just as tired as your body. There are a million little decisions that must be made in the span of a millisecond and not every one of them will be correct. I don’t think my mind was ever quiet for the entire 2.5 hours of racing. It was moving, even faster than my wheels.

With 16 miles to the finish, there was a hill that was the only hill longer than 1 minute on the course and we all had the same plan – make it count! 

Alexis and Ruth seemed to suddenly have a gap before I even knew to react and a group of about 10 of us were chasing. 

This led to another difficult decision. If the entire group worked well together, we could probably catch them, but if a few people sat in and refused to work while the rest of us carried the load we would set ourselves up to be sitting ducks for those who took the free ride. Alexis and Ruth got away.

There were a few times I considered going to the front and just pinning it with everything I had to see if I could drop people over time, but the strategy felt too risky because if it didn’t pan out, I would have burnt all of my matches just to have others sit in. 

I hoped that a million small paper cuts would add up over time and it did for some as we shed a few people from our group in the final miles. 

Then it opened up for a full on drag race, sprint finish over a 1-minute-wide open grass field. With adrenaline flooding my system I jumped too soon. I accelerated to the front and saw the finish line un-obstructed in my sight, but we had 30 seconds left to go and suddenly a few girls were storming just next to me. My legs were fully locked up and I willed my body to the finish line with a mighty bike throw across the line. 

I finished 6^th (5^th in the Grand Prix). Brutal. I’m proud of my race, but it’s a bizarre feeling. I really wanted to get on the podium, and 3^rd place was only 2 seconds ahead. Should that make me feel better or make it sting a little more? I’m not quite sure. I am sure, however, that we got this last training block right and the legs are there. Good thing we have some back to back racing ahead to prove it.