Unbound is a beast and not just because it’s 202 miles, but because anything can happen. Nothing is guaranteed. Unbound doesn’t care how many hours you spent training, how much you spent on equipment, the time you spent tire testing, or the days you spent traveling. You’re not promised anything. We invest all of that knowing that it could all end in the first few miles. 

202 miles is an incredible feat on a bicycle, but for most of us pros we line up knowing that with a clean run at it, we can cross that finish line. The questions is, how fast? And, will I get a clean run? Flats, mechanicals, mud, crashes, gut revolts, mental breakdowns, heat stroke, navigational errors, dropped or missed nutrition, dehydration, and injuries are just some of the stories I heard this year that took athletes out of contention. But, we line up anyways. We line up for a chance at victory, for a chance at the glory of even finishing, and for the opportunity to see just how well we can weather these challenges. 

When I stood on the start line at 6 am on Saturday morning and stared off into the endless Kansas roads, I distinctly remember thinking: “I wonder what will meet me today.” I was ready for it all. 

My legs felt good as we started to tick off miles. The pace was steady, but easy as a couple of women made an early move off the front of the pack. We let them go. 

The pace ratcheted as we approached the first minimum maintenance road. The pace we hot as we jockeyed for position. We all pretended like we weren’t sprinting, even though we were pushing ridiculously hard considering we had 180 miles to go. 

As we entered the double track, it was chaos all around. If you let a gap open, someone would fill it. If you didn’t leave a small gap then you couldn’t see all of the mud bogs, rocks, and cracks in the gravel that would try their best to take you out. I was actually riding with my body half way off the side of my saddle and my neck tilted fully sideways in order to catch a glimpse at the trail ahead of the rider ahead of me. 

I could hear crashes behind me. I kept my eyes peeled ahead. I survived the first minimum maintenance road and braced for the next one at mile 40. It was the same story, but elevated. It was clear that this would be the theme of the day. Attack into the sketchiest parts of the course to secure position. I nearly made it through the second MMR when the two riders ahead of me hit some off camber mud and slid out. I had no where to go. I didn’t want to slam into them, so I tried to slow down, but a tap of the brakes in that mud, turned my bars sideways. I went flying over the bars and landed straight on my face. I stood up as fast as I could. Every second I wasted, was time that the group was pulling away from me. 

I got on my bike and my bars were twisted completely sideways. I had to dismount again and twist them back. They were stubborn, but I felt immense relieve when I felt them move back into place. Now it was a mad dash back to the group. My heart was racing from the crash, blood was dripping down my leg into my sock, and my chin and cheek were burning from the road rash now completely hidden under mud. We made it back to the group. I drifted to the back, started to lick my wounds, and had a brief moment of feeling sorry for myself and then committed to leaving it behind. I knew that if I allowed myself to dwell on that event for the next 160 miles, it would only hold me back. It was time to practice focusing on what mattered most. 

I settled into the group as we started to play games. The pace would ease up right before the biggest fireworks would go off. Every attack would shell one person off the group. 

I survived the main selections, and made it through Little Egypt. Honestly, with each passing mile I felt better and better. I could feel the attacks dulling, a sign to me that the field was tiring, just as I was starting to feel stronger. 

By mile 110 the temperatures were reaching in the 80s and rising and I was feeling something I had never felt before. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until I threw up all over myself and my bike. I felt a moment of shock. Did that actually just happen? What does that mean? I guess I just keep riding. 

Prior to the race I had spoken with Enso Mental Performance about all of the unknowns that I would face out on course. Dr. Sara gave me the perfect sentence, “I wonder how I’ll conquer this…” I thought that about 100 times throughout the race as I embraced this new challenge I was encountering.

Knowing I had just thrown up my nutrition, I immediately reached for more. I needed to replace what I had lost. I also knew I was probably vomiting from the heat and dehydration so I went to drink, but my fluids were already low. I drifted to the back of the group several times to vomit in private before moving back up in the group. Eventually, I lost the wheel. 

I was still throwing up, nauseous, and dying of thirst as I counted down the miles to the next Aid Station. I was dreaming of getting there, of seeing my crew, and of taking just a minute or two to reset. When I finally rolled into the feed zone. I wanted to cry. I felt safe. I had made it. I wanted to tell Clayton I had been vomiting, to share the misery, but as I rolled up to him and touched the brakes, he yelled, “Don’t stop.” I moaned. He put his hand on my back and pushed me forward. He ran behind me to make sure I didn’t stop again. The crew dumped water on my head, stuffed ice in my jersey. I tried to drink a coke. I threw it up right there. I was there less than 20 seconds and then I was once again on my own. I had a moment of fear knowing that what I had just dreamed of for so many miles was already behind me, but then I began that count down again. 54 miles to the finish. 

Those 54 miles were some of the most painful I’ve ever felt. The vomiting never stopped, but I didn’t either. I didn’t care what was happening. I was going anyways. 

With 8 miles to go, I began violently throwing up repeatedly. I was afraid. A man passed me giving me a strange and concerned look. While I was still vomiting, I looked at my power numbers and thought, “Just don’t let them fall.” 

I was so close now that I considered just coasting in to the finish, but I looked behind and I saw a woman way down the road. I wouldn’t give up all that I had fought for. I put my head down and began my final effort to the finish. I passed that man that had passed me and I made it all the way to the finish without another woman catching me. I collapsed. 

I finished 17^th in the Elite Women’s Field, and 8^th in the Lifetime Grand Prix. Honestly, that’s a solid result even with a great day, given everything I had to push through I’m beyond proud. I’m so thankful for the opportunity to push my limits, to see how far I can go, and to do what I love.