In case you missed it: {Part 1 Here}
We are dead people.
We FaceTime Cynthia’s husband to ground ourselves. I mean, we are already on the ground, surrounded by a heaping trash pile of snacks. But we giggle cry our way through the conversation. He had to have thought we had just spent the night out drinking, drunk dialing his ass as we stumble home. Brian!
We call my husband who is at the 100/200 aid station in Council Grove set up for our teammates. He spoke with the officials at the checkpoint and got the okay to invite us over so as long as he or anyone else did not provide aid. Cynthia and I collapse under the tent. We both cry. And then hold hands, both wondering how the hell we’re gonna do this. We open the popsicles I bought at the mart and continue to wallow in our sorrows.
I’ve been asked quite a few times where we found the motivation to continue onward. I’ve never had to summon the don’t quit / keep going mantra more than in those moments. But I suppose it’s through a lifetime of giving my best that I’ve learned how to say no to the demons in my mind and the fatigue in my body. Through a lifetime of trying my best not to give up. A lifetime of perseverance, practice, and patience. Of rarely tossing in the towel. In those moments we were tested. But the power of friendship is stronger than just our individual selves. It was the belief we have in each other. WE set out to do this. Now WE have to finish. No matter what. As long as it would take. Were we dead? No. Were our bikes working perfectly. Yes. What excuse do we have?
Somehow we rise. And continue onward.
It’s hot. HotAF. We are passing the tired and weary 100 milers, but instead of giving us wings, it’s dragging us down. The heat is bearing down on all of us. No one is talking. Every mile is taking an hour in my mind. And then, we see Brittlee on the horizon! We stop for a pee break and Cynthia has a meltdown. Her tire is low but we can’t find the tiny hole to plug it. Britt is trying her best to calm us down and help but the collective “we” was nearly a lost cause. She eventually rallies the troops and got us up.
Somehow we rise. And continue onward.
And at a fast clip at that! Britt starts pulling for us, and woah. We are zooming past riders left and right. Surfing from one side of the two track to the other, I was aware of only her wheel and being gingerly with my movements. Cynthia was on my wheel and this Velocio // Exploro train was on a one way track. Never going back. Feels like we should be getting somewhere. Somehow neither here nor there. {Soul Asylum anyone?}
Delusional? Definitely. We hang onto Britt until our courses diverge. We bid her farewell and sprits are risen. She brought a pivotal moment to our race and we are immensely grateful for her. Not only for her wheel and her smile, but HER. Our friend and the best team owner out there.
Just after the turn, Cynthia needs to shit and we cross a creek and another XL rider laying on the side of the road. Two birds with one stone, I crawl into the tree covered shaded stream and soak up this moment. Water rushing around my low back and legs, cooling my body and mind, I listen to the birds chirping and the river flowing. By far the most zen moment of the experience.
We “borrowed” a Coke from the cooked XL rider. {He had two.} We definitely freaked him out with our energy levels, bid him ado, and we continue onward into the heat of the day.
From that moment on {okay straight from the start} it was all about survival. We cursed the course designers as we watched our average speed plummet during a four mile sector on this tall grass, deep rooted two track; basically impassible by anything other than a tall tractor. We stopped at a random woman’s house who had her hose out for us riders to drink from. Just another 100 miles of hot, slow going, mid-day miles heading south and west, straight into a headwind. NBD.
After another well water stop at the far SW corner of the route and we found ourselves at the bottom of a creek bed. Climbing out and up, we were rewarded with another spectacular sunset and view of the rolling green plains to the south. The road conditions were improving and spirits were rising as we knew there was finally another gas station at mile 311. Cynthia is feeling far fresher and she rolls ahead for the snack purchase, while our new friend Leo stays back with me.
Pizza, chips, and a yellow Red Bull are my requests. We try and make this stop speedy, which considering our previous stop, anything faster than two hours was gonna be fast. We were in and out under 15 minutes and rolling again. Cynthia had a mission to get us in by midnight, but I knew the Flint Hills and my back would have other ideas.
The course had us turning left and we’re all like “What? Where’s the road?” “Oh, this shit again?!” The tall grass, deep track was back with a vengeance. Being the third rider in the bunch, I realized Cynthia and Leo were disturbing the mosquitoes that call this place home. The bites were furious. The pace was slow. I was OVER IT! This is sadistic and cruel.
And that’s it. Lights on. One more cruel addition after another. We eventually link up with the 200 mile course unbeknownst to me and the time, and people are flying past us. “Where did all these XL riders come from?” A few miles later I realize what’s happened. These riders also don’t realize that I’ve been out here all day and all night and all day and this is my second night!! Give me a freaking break! There are lights dotting the hill ahead. One ridiculously steep, chunky, technical big one remaining and damned if I’m gonna walk it. “Right behind you! I’m riding!” I yell as I crawl up this hill in my 40/52. A fist bump into the air at the top.
It was most definitely not all downhill from there. I was seriously suffering. Everything hurts and I’m dying is a greatly overused expression in our household, but really. Everything hurts. Back, butt, hands, feet. Shockingly, my legs feel fine. Massive eye roll, as everything else hurts too much to go any faster. Struggle bussing my way towards the Batman lights spotting the sky from Emporia. Just put me out to pasture.
Well. We’ve spent 33 hours literally in a pasture, so maybe put me in a spa.
We roll into Emporia far less emotional than I imagined. In 2018 my breathing was labored and I was choking up. I had done it. Completed my longest ride ever, after battling the 20mph headwinds for the entire second half. Utter exhaustion. 2019 brought the waterworks. I had big alligator tears rolling down my face, knowing I was about accomplish my goal of beating the sun after battling it all day. Crossed the finish line to have Kyle and Cynthia waiting for me. There may be an infamous crying induced snot drip video floating around the internet. In the 2020 covid year at home, I completed a DIYDK 200 mile solo loop around the island while Kyle was deployed and tear’d up as I rolled into my neighborhood upon completion.
Sunday, June 6th // 12:40am
Here we are. 357 miles later. 33 hours and 40 minutes have passed since that countdown sent us into the wild prairie. I want to cry but can’t be bothered. The joy was stolen by the fatigue, pain, and the moments of wishing the darn thing would just end already. There is a stir of a couple 200 riders charging up the campus hill. Commercial Street nearly empty but we hear a few faint cheers. The glowing light of the finish line is upon us. This is not how I imagined this going down. I want time to slow. To soak up these moments. To hear music and cheers, and listen for our names to be announced. But the clock struck midnight. We were late to the ball and our chariots had turned into pumpkins. Instead of sharing this moment with others, we do what we’d done the past 33 hours.
We share it with each other. Side by side, hand in hand, we thank each other for this journey and cross the finish line. Bonded by this experience forever. Ending up in the same spot we started. Yet, changed women.
We celebrate with Kristi and the rest of the Lifetime crew. Hugs from Kyle and BrittLee were a warm welcome and the call to Kyle at mile 245 for finish line pizza request had been honored. The rest of our teammates were surely sound asleep after their massive efforts on the day. We were interviewed on camera, and it’ll be interesting to reflect back upon that footage once the soreness is gone and the dust has settled.
“Will you do it again?”
Just like after my first Ironman, of course my initial reaction is hell no. The pain of the day(s) is far too fresh. Yet when asked the same question, Cynthia responds:
“Yes. I’m going to come back and win”
You should’ve seen my head turn, jaw drop, and the look in my eyes. Are you kidding me?! Who is this woman?
Cynthia Frazier. She’s my bestie. My ride or die. The raddest badass woman I know. And I’m lucky to call her my friend.
Shockingly, my bike wife and I are not divorced. In fact, I gave her my bike to drive it to her home in Lexington, VA, knowing we’d be reunited two weeks later for her event, Gravista. And just as she rode next to, in front of and behind me, supporting me to the finish, I went to VA to give back. To her and this community.
Women supporting women. Enduring. Thriving. For as many times as we fall or get knocked down, by ourselves or others, we rise again. With the help of each other.
We tied for 4th / 25 female entrants and were a part of the 38% finisher rate for all XL participants.
Will I ever be able to fully unpack what I learned during my Flint Hills continuing education experience? Probably not. Realizing the mind and body are far more capable than we ever think possible is one of the greatest things I’ll take from this adventure. I pushed myself further than ever before. Far beyond what felt capable. Every mile past 206, every minute beyond 14 hours was a new personal record. 350 miles. 33:40 hours. Over twice the amount of time I had ever ridden. How was this possible?
It becomes a fine balance of knowing when to listen to and when to block out the feelings, thoughts, and feedback from our mind, body and, heart. The race starts with your body & gear, and the preparation you’ve put in to get to the start line. Once the gun goes off, it’s up to the legs to do the work. The heart must hold back, energy must be conserved. You’ve got to be smart with the fueling, the riding, the tires. Managing the systems. Constantly checking in, adjusting, following the plan yet being flexible.
The first night is a test of endurance, of will. Of just putting one pedal stroke over the next. Safely managing the terrain. Riding well within your comfort zone, because a new zone had to be developed when adding in the darkness factor.
The sunrise will always bring new life. A new day. Another chance to keep going. As we learned, food is life and when you don’t have food, your body and mind will eventually give out. Revival may seem impossible. Yet, time and food heal all Flint Hills wounds.
Once the body starts giving out, the heart must take over. Caffeine and sugar work their best to trick the mind & body into thinking all is well. But it’s deep within that we must dig to find the will to continue. To just keep pedaling. At times, it felt like every foot pedaled was taking an hour. Time had stopped and so had our progress. And at other moments throughout the course, an hour would pass and I couldn’t remember the previous 10 miles ridden. Somehow, those miles would fly by. The thing about racing is there is a finish line. A line drawn on a road somewhere ahead. A clock. The journey there is your own. This isn’t a test of speed, team tactics, of FTP. It’s not a spectator sport*, nor can it be completed with the assistance of others.
The Unbound XL is a test of the will to endure. Perseverance, determination, grit, and guts. The glory is ours to share forever.
I’d be amiss if I didn’t thank all those who got me to that finish line. *Knowing we had so many dot watchers really kept us motivated to actually move the dots! “People are going to be worried if we don’t start moving again soon!” So many thanks to Kyle who is my ultimate sherpa, and who worked just as hard for the rest of my teammates racing the 100/200 as he would’ve for me had he been able to aid this race. Thankful for the Velocio // Exploro team and our sponsors who came through during a global shortage to get us geared up and racing on the best. And to Cynthia, my bestie. Thank you.
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