A tumultuous year for a dream bike race

Since I fell in love with mountain biking, I’ve always wanted to do the Breck Epic. It seemed like such a match for my style of riding. 

I’m an endurance mountain biker. I thrive on long days in the saddle, sharing alpine views, bike snacks, and laughs on singletrack. A six day stage race that starts and ends in Breckenridge, a close-to-home town with really fun trails seemed perfect.

I started mountain biking the summer after my freshman year of college. I moved to Gunnison, CO, just outside of Crested Butte and spent the summer bumming around. If I was going to live in the birthplace of mountain biking, I was going to have to learn. I saved all my tip money from serving and paid cash for my first bike. It was a demo, a Liv Lust. I knew absolutely nothing about mountain biking but I made incremental goals and slowly got better. 

As the years went on, I biked more and more. I wasn’t training, I was just having a ton of fun. The circumference of my legs grew, my descending was faster, and my bike handling skills were improving. 

I was gifted an entry for the Breck Epic for Christmas in 2023. This big goal, a ‘one- day’ thing, it was suddenly eight months away. I had every intention of giving one hundred percent and for the first time in my life, working with a coach. I spent the latter half of winter on the trainer at 6AM. This was my one shot at this race and I wanted to show up, and show up strong. I owed it to my partner and his family who gifted me this. At least that’s what I told myself. 

Shortly after a call with a trainer, I was laid off. Suddenly, I didn’t have a job, an income, and I was funneling most of my savings into building Neve. Hiring a trainer was an obvious cut.

I planned to keep my head down and train the best I could. I quickly realized that starting a business, looking for a job, renovating a home, and showing up for others meant that my time was still finite. I wasn’t riding much more than I was with a full time job. 

The Breck Epic was inching closer and I didn’t fully realize the mental state I was in. I was doing really long training rides with my partner, who was prepping for a 125 mile mountain bike race and I couldn’t finish a single long ride. I signed up for the Firecracker 50 to practice fueling, but finished that race feeling the worst I’ve ever felt. That made me really nervous. If I could barely finish one day, how was I supposed to finish six. Though I took second in my category in the Firecracker, I crossed the finish line barely able to speak.

Time was moving fast and I was employed again. Still trying to keep up with my partner on 10K+ days, I was struggling to mentally be in the game. This was not me. This was new and it was scaring me. I told myself on every long ride I did that I was out of the Breck Epic, I wasn’t worthy. I hadn’t trained. I was mentally done. Biking wasn’t enjoyable. My biggest fear was doing the race, crossing the finish line miserable, if I could even make it, and never wanting to bike again. I didn’t start mountain biking to race. I started mountain biking because it was pure fun. I built a community, a family, and a life with people who shared these same passions. Crossing the finish line with a hatred for biking was a risk I didn’t want to take. 

The week before the Epic, I was really bothered. When I thought about the race, butterflies fluttered in my stomach because I was excited. Here I was, telling everyone I wasn’t strong enough or worthy enough to stand at the start, but I knew deep down that I wanted to do it. I’ve been dreaming about it for years. 

I told myself this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. My partner told me that I could always do the race again. I felt selfish for taking advantage of this gift I’d been given. My partner disagreed.

I sat down with friends who encouraged me to return to the why. Why do I ride bikes? What does success look like beyond a gold medal and what do I need to make that happen? The fact of the matter was, the training wasn’t there. Yes, I’m strong, but I wasn’t in the place I wanted to be. I was in tears on the phone with a friend who told me that I was telling myself a story that just wasn’t true. It hurt so much because he was right. I had done it to myself.

I called my mom the day before the Epic and said “so the Epic is tomorrow.” She responded, “You’re not doing it though.” 

I barely kept it together as I told my mom how much I was struggling. Mountain biking is my outlet, but the idea of a race matched with a tumultuous year was just throwing a wrench in the plans and rotting my mental health. It also felt so selfish, the struggle I was having over the luxury of spending six days on my mountain bike. 

On Sunday, August 11, 2024 I lined up at the start line with the new kit I had purchased for myself as a congrats-on-the-new-job present. It was the biggest professional women's field in any mountain bike race, though I wasn’t in the pro field. 

My very first mountain bike race, The Firecracker 50 a few years earlier, I was hit on by some dude I absolutely destroyed on the descent. The Breck Epic, however, was filled with the most encouraging and supportive field of women I’ve ever had the pleasure of riding with. I left that race with new friends. 

The race was hard. There were days I didn’t want to put myself at that start line. My diet had basically turned to buttered noodles and my stomach wrenched. I forced down protein shakes in the evening and pancakes for breakfast, but eating was so hard.

I won my category overall, though it was only a category of two. In the pro field, I ended up doing relatively well. Despite no training, a trashed mental attitude and a last minute decision to do the race, I gave it what I could for where I was at because that’s all I could do.

Being an endurance athlete takes a lot of grit. Being a woman takes a lot of grit. Starting a business, well that also takes a lot of grit. Sometimes waking up in the morning takes a lot of grit. The Breck Epic was really hard but I am proud to say that I accomplished my goal. I crossed the finish line every day (except one) with a smile on my face.