This one feels like its been a long time coming.

I’m not sure what sort of literary device tells the end of the story first, but, I WON A MTB RACE!

In 2019, I attempted my first 50-mile mountain bike race, the Whiskey 50…which I promptly DNF’d. Later that year, I flew to Arkansas for the OZ Offroad 50 and completed it, but due to my abysmal nutrition strategy at the time, bonked HARD at about 3 hours into the race. Still, it was enough for me to begin the process of targeting marathon distance mountain bike races. Four years later, this was my first win.

It’s true, cycling is a sport where even the winners often lose far more than they win. There might be five or ten or fifty or five hundred racers–and only one rider can win.

In those four years, I’ve raced I don’t even know how many times. I’ve learned mental performance strategies, tweaked (okay, more than tweaked–overhauled) my hydration and nutrition plan, spent hundreds of hours pedaling, practiced skills, and so much more–all to even have a chance at standing on the top of a podium.

The funny thing is, this was my third time racing the Wilderness 101k. My pace was better than the previous two attempts, but not by a lot (~10 minutes?). The real difference of whether I won or not was who else showed up–something I have absolutely zero control over. All I can control is my own performance. Did I show up? Did I ride my best race for that day? Did I stay on top of fueling & hydration? Did I stay engaged mentally? The answer to all of those questions might be yes…and I might end up in 50th place. Or I might win. That’s the uncertainty of bike racing.

Philosophizing aside, I did have a great race this year. I told my coach afterwards that it was the best I’d felt for the entirety of the race–and it was. There is a notable climb in the Wilderness 101k course that comes right after the fourth aid station and that historically has claimed pieces of my soul. Anyone who has ridden that race will recognize the Stillhouse climb: it comes at a point in the race where you are already hot, dehydrated, tired, and ready to be done–and it breaks you. The first year, I cramped horribly going up Stillhouse and crawled to the top. The second year, I couldn’t drink enough water in the heat and melted physically and mentally. This year, I didn’t feel fast (my fastest time on Stillhouse was actually during the Transylvania Epic Stage Race (TSE) earlier this year), but I kept a steady pace and I felt… fine. On Stillhouse, “fine” is a success.

From the very start of the race, I clung to the lead group longer than I thought possible, and once I started drifting back, had the (advantage? disadvantage? I’m not sure which…) of knowing that I was the lead female rider. This knowledge spurred me on, giving me the little prick I needed mentally every time that I was tempted to ease up.

Interestingly enough, I felt like I was struggling to stay smooth through a number of the singletrack sections–trails that I know relatively well at this point, after riding most of them in three renditions of Wilderness, as well as in TSE. I dabbed more times than seemed reasonable, and just felt awkward and slow. Yet, when I finished and looked back at the data, I set PRs on nearly every trail segment. Perception is not always reality (though I do think there’s still room for improvement!).

In short, this race is one of my favorites. Despite having what feels like a TON of gravel, the singletrack is chunky and delicious–making it feel like a celebration of backcountry mountain biking. I’m stoked to have had the chance to stand on the top step this year, and equally thrilled by the seeming validation that a single win gives to my efforts as a racer.