As I turned onto the final straight away into the finish line at Unbound, I felt tears forming in my eyes. I made it. I was safe. After hours of suffering out on the muddy roads of Emporia, for the first time since 6 am this morning, I felt like I could release, I could take my mind out of the box, and I could fall and allow others to catch me.

Rewind 11 hours, standing on the start line of the Unbound 200 gravel race, and I don’t think any of us truly knew what was ahead of us. I had a bit of a hint. An athlete that I coach who was racing the 350 XL had spent me a photo in the middle of the night while I was sleeping with a photo of his bike caked in mud, with the information, “This is on your course.”

I took an extra paint stick and slipped it up the side of my bibs for easy access, but other than that, all I could do was mentally prepare.

As we reached the first minimum maintenance road (MMR) we all jockeyed for position. The rider in front of me put a foot down as we road up and over some slippery rocks. I had to swerve around as I watched the leaders ride away. I rallied, refusing to be left behind and closed the gap. Then again, another rider slid out in some mud on a slippery descent, I rallied back. I needed to be further up in the group, the carnage was too high and I could only continue to close the gap so many times.

When we hit the true mud that started to mangle our bikes, leaving many of the riders on the side of the roads, pulling out grass and mud, fixing chains, and just trying to get the wheels to spin. A small group of leaders were still up the road, and I was motivated and I managed my equipment and picked off rider by rider struggling in the mud.

I emerged through that MMR confident that I could motor along and survive the conditions better than most, but we turned onto a road that was virtually dry. I suddenly became aware how big of a contrast we would be in for on the day. Mud sections that would ravage equipment and split the group, and then fast, dry, gravel roads with head winds where being in a group would really allow you to fly.

After suffering solo for a while, a group formed around me, and I felt motivated. We could really make something happen together. Then, it was my turn, my chain dropped from a big ole’ chunk of mud. I pulled over to the side of the road and quickly got it back up and running, but the group was out of sight. I was alone again.

When I prepare for Unbound, I prepare for it all. Including the day that doesn’t play out the way you hoped. It’s the moment that I put my brain into a box, I stop thinking about what could have been or what I hope will be, and I just live in that moment. This was that moment, I had work to do. I looked down the road with no one in sight, and I hammered on the pedals.

There were certainly moments where I caught a person or two and was able to trade pulls for a while, but it seems that something always got in the way: a muddy MMR would split us, or even a railroad crossing (I had to wait about 3 minutes at two of them!). All in all, I probably spent at least 120 miles alone and less than 20 miles in a group of more than 1 other person.

While that didn’t produce the result I dreamed of, I am extremely proud that I was ready for it. Not in a, I planned to ride alone way, but in a I’m ready to wring myself dry no matter what the day brings kind of way.

I never once considered quitting. I never once even considered sitting up. I was all in and fully committed through it all.

I was committed through the torrential downpours, through the moments when the lightning struck too close for comfort and the thunder shook the ground. I push through the sticky mud, the slippery mud, the splattery mud, the gravel that was more water than mud, through the waist deep water crossing, through the moments when I literally could not see because the mud was coating my contact lens and I couldn’t quite get the dirt out. I was committed when my brake didn’t engage and I rode off the road because the mud had stripped my brake pads and coated my rotors. When the silt in the rivers entered my shoes through the small porous holes and then settled in the front of the shoe so I could no longer straighten my toes, I just pushed onward. I laughed when I had to lick my glasses to get the mud off and I had a soft smile of humor when I accidently ripped the inside of my cheek by chewing on a rock that had hitched a ride on my Liquid Shot.

I’m sure many people can relate to these moments. This race was one for the history books and I’m genuinely happy to have gotten to be a part of it. If you finished yesterday, or if you gave it a heck of a try, I’m proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself.