My Leadville Trail 100 MTB journey started in the fall of 2019. There was some rumblings of a Leadville / SBTGRVL match up. We had just moved to the PNW and knew a mountain bike needed to be added to the fleet. Resume sent, and I was selected for the 2020 LeadBoat Challenge. Acquired a new bike and then you know. Covid.
I was hesitant with getting to know my new bike. It wasn’t an immediate love affair and the new bike legs still have not shown their presence. I struggled. I walked sections on every ride I did. I was frustrated that instead of feeling the flow, I was feeling like I was flailing.
I named my beautiful golden yellow Juliana Joplin, Tonka. Like the dump truck. Cause that’s what it feels like I’m driving.
My 2021 schedule was set and after getting vaccinated it was starting to feel more real. Kyle and I signed up for the High Cascades 100 back in 2020 figuring, what would be better prep for a 100 mile mtb race than another 100 mile mtb race?
I went 12:06 at High Cascades a month before Leadville. Consulting friends who’ve done both HC100 and LT100, the consensus is they are both hard, but very different challenges. I knew making the cutoff of 12hrs at Leadville would likely take all I had. I just didn’t realize I was capable of giving more than that. Of digging too deep. Of finding a limit and pushing further without knowing what I had done.
My Leadville journey is one of highs and lows just like everyone else who toes that line. The pre-race rider meeting had me in tears, three times. Race founder Ken was in the hospital and wouldn’t be there for his infamous shotgun start. Nor would Merilee be there to put that medal around my neck. But their words of pedal once for me and once for each of them really struck a chord and I used that mantra once things got tough. One for Ken. One for Merilee. One for me.
Dig deep.
The newly implemented wave starts were fine by me. Less congestion and fighting for a spot into the first climb was a-ok. I was in the white coral, aka the non-qualified, lottery entrants. So far back, we cannot even hear the shotgun at the official start. We move like penned cattle, slowly down 6th ave until 6:49am.
The chill in the air is refreshing. I embrace it, knowing it won’t come back until tomorrow. I cleaned Saint Kievins even after navigating around those who went out too fast or flubbed the steeper, loose sections, and I passed lots of walkers. I’m officially hot and don’t expect that to change anytime soon.
A big paved fun sweeping descent lead to the start of the next climb. I stopped to pee right before the left hander off Hagerman up to Sugarloaf, and was glad I did. I enjoyed this climb and the views of Turquoise Lake. Then it was time for the infamous Powerline descent. So. Much. Fun. I was passing slower riders and navigating rocks and ruts with ease. I was thanking Tonka for her full squish. Pedaled up the saddle and bombed back down the rest of it, looking around for capable wheels to work with on Pipeline. Latched onto a larger gentleman’s wheel, bridged up to a big group, and rallied the troops. Used my road racing vocal skills and attempted to get a paceline rolling. A douche in an Assos kit goes flying by. Our group works together and eventually catches him. “Hi! How about we work together here?!” I take a pull and notice we are a nice long train. Encouraging short pulls, everyone seems thankful for my corralling duties, yet this group effort becomes fruitless once we hit the first small incline on the road and a gap forms in the middle. And I’ve just made my way to the back. Gah.
I bridge up to the group again and we assemble before making the turn to the first aid. I ride to the far end, hoping the plan Kyle and Cynthia proposed would work. Yay! Hydration pack swap to the bigger one, sandwich, Coke, pickle, chips, and I was off.
The singletrack was fun, but I had a hard time passing a really timid rider, and another one who medics were attending to on a long straight. {How did someone crash there?} An annoying climb up to Twin Lakes followed. Hearing the helicopter overhead, I figured the front riders would be approaching shortly, and that experience did not disappoint! I cheered loudly for Lachlan and all the women, and got a bit of a boost, seeing all those crushers heading back to Leadville. Yet again, another annoying climb to Twin Lakes alternate aid where I met the crew for a camelback swap to the small one again before heading up the doozie. A kiss, a push, and I was off.
Columbine. A 3000’ climb up to 12,500’ above sea level. It’s hard, relentless, and unforgiving.
Getting passed a bit in the beginning by over-zealous, Coke’d up riders, I settled into a steady pace and then just started picking off riders one by one. A kind woman was following me and cheering me {us} on for the consistent pace we were managing on the gravel road. Up and up. More and more riders were flying down, and I am seriously amazed there aren’t more head-on collisions. It was terrifying just blindly trusting these mid-pack maniacs.
We turn onto the actual Columbine mine access “road” and woah. I kept wondering how it was possible for anyone to drive this {every day to work?!} much less ride?! So chunky. So steep. So little oxygen. Every part of my soul hates this section. It’s hot, exposed, and unfun. Hiking sucks. Hiking with a 35lb bike sucks worse. Hiking at elevation, at mile 47 of a 100 mile bike race sucks. Anytime that I can get back on and ride, I do. The top takes forever to come into sight.
I can’t believe I make it. Why do I feel so angry? I tried to let out a whoop whoop, but there wasn’t any room for elation. The oxygen was being diverted to essential services only {legs and lungs} and vocal cords are low on the priority list. I was just so hyper focused on getting my body down and off this mountain, the elation would have to wait for the finish line. I don’t even bother to stop. I squeeze in a gel and head down. 6:20 elapsed time. Fuck. I gotta put a move on it.
At elevation, your mind grows fuzzy. Your eyes play tricks. Short mantras keep me going. Eat. Drink. Focus. Breathe. Breathe more. I watched two people crash as I was heading up, and I vowed to not be one of them as I rode down. Steady. Made it back to Kyle and Cynthia and I sat down to take in whatever was laid out. Drugs, pickles, muscle rub, pb&j, chips, air heads bites, whatever. Swap camelbaks back to the big one and I’m off.
I can tell they are worried. I am too but I don’t have time or strength for that emotion.
A half mile later and I take a sip. Nothing. Suck harder. Nothing. Fuck. I’ve got 20 miles till I see them again at the final aid and I have no {accessible} water. I stop at a random tent at twin lakes main and they toss me a small disposable bottle which I immediately chug and then ditch.
Race brain is a real thing. Race brain at elevation? That’s a whole other scary story. I realize the hose must have been dislodged when they were refilling it as I was heading up Columbine. But I’m seven hours into a race. At elevation. I had made the connection that something was wrong. But couldn’t figure out the solution. Stopping was not an option. I had to finish this thing. The new course diverts us into this hot, false flat, sandy ass canyon. FML.
You’ll see them soon. You can drink more then. Get there. You’ll be fine. You cannot stop. You have to keep moving forward. One for Ken. One for Merilee. One for me. I’m going to die in this desert with no water.
At pipeline aid I’m furious. I’m a racer* with race brain and no water. I’m an ungrateful bitch and toss the camelbak, grab the small one, some air heads bites and leave. Woman on a mission. I can tell they are worried.
{*Racer. Defined here by a participant with a number plate, just trying to get to the finish line. There is no “racing” between me and the other riders around me. We are all just surviving not thriving back here; is that how it goes?}
I have to make this cutoff. I cannot come back here ever again. I take any draft I can get on the pavement, but it’s pretty desolate out here. We turn onto Powerline and woah.
Who am I? What has 10,000’ done to my positivity? I felt my sprit and those around me falling backwards down this trail. As we trudged our way to the top. But there was a small quiet whisper inside. One step for Ken. One step for Merilee. One step for me.
Every step crushes me, but every step is one closer to that finish line.
If you know me, you know I’ve been vehemently against out and backs ever since I started riding. Maybe it’s the burned out swimmer story, but I cannot go back and fourth in a pool any longer, why would I want to ride out, and then back on the same path, when there are perfect natural loops available?
Leadville doesn’t allow you to experience real joy. Anytime you are enjoying yourself on the way out, the mood is hampered with the lingering thought, “Well shit. This is gonna suck on the way back.”
Powerline inbound. The movies make this look way easier. The documentaries make this feel way shorter. OMG, I forgot about this part! What? I don’t remember this! The crowds are gone, but the infamous “pizza guy” is there. He’s dressed in a pizza halloween costume, and is offering dixie cup shots of cold water. I could eat his suit, I’m so hungry. A gel it is. There are riders scattered all over the trail, but I cannot stop here. If I’m off my bike, I have to keep moving forward. Hop back on, ride the saddle, and grind up the next bit, passing rider after rider. Hardly anyone speaks. I see my very fast San Diego pal Rhonda, who is always positive, cheery, and smiling. Always. She mumbles something about dead / pain / cramping. I didn’t even recognize the voice that came out of her body. I let out a cheer and encourage her to get back on. Let’s go! (She did finish, after the cutoff, but mentioned my little pep talk helped her get through.)
Down Sugerloaf & Hagerman and then up the paved climb to Carter Summit. This was fun on the way out, remember? Oh right, the joy sucking return trip has blinded you. I grab a wet bandana from a volunteer and then proceed to see the course littered with pops of fabric color, pondering the amount of support given to each participant to be able to ride this thing. I try and push a happy thought. One of gratefulness. Another Coke from a nice crew of people, and then coke cans scattered on the roadside. Another bottle of water and a small push from the Garmin guy at the next unofficial aid. People are out here. Supporting strangers on a strange journey. I try and force a smile. I’m nearly there. It’s going to be close.
The final aid station appears at the top, but again, I cannot stop. I grab a cup of something on the move and continue downward. Race brain makes math fuzzy, but I know I’m going to have to send it. I know I should be worried, but there isn’t time or energy for that emotion. This descent is going to take ever ounce of bravery and focus to gain as much speed, as safely as possible.
I held just the right amount of fear and bravery mix as I headed down Saint Kievins. I see a significant amount of rescue vehicles just after a rough section and know that can’t be good. I’m now riding as hard as I can as we head towards the last final challenge. There are mumblings of making the cutoff. People around me seem hopeful. The math is checking out. I am fully exhausted. I have left no matches for the CR-36 washout and I cannot clean it. Hop back on when I can, and we eventually turn left and then right, up the final climb into town.
I’m already crying. I’m dehydrated and unsure where the well of these tears is flowing from. I am so tired, but the flood gates are open. I finally give myself permission to experience emotion. I can hear Kyle’s voice, screaming my name. The red carpet is rolled out and big alligator tears are rolling down my face. Here I am. 104 miles, 11 hours, 49 minutes and 29 seconds later, I’ve reached the finish line. With 10 minutes and 31 seconds to spare, I am an official Leadville 100 finisher, and I’ve earned my buckle. I collapse into a pile of the shell of a person I’ve become.
Leadville isn’t a bike race. It’s a test of guts and will. This test happens to occur on or next to a mountain bike. It’s a middle aged male dominated hike-a-bike sufferfest. Specialized $-Works and etap for everyone. I’ll fully admit I’m normally a bike snob, but I never felt so out of place in a world were I thought I belonged. The growth of the women’s field in gravel bike racing has been significant since I started, and it’s way more common to see 25% and above as the work towards parity increases. But in Leadville, I felt like a lone woman in a sea of men. And the numbers show that. 137 female starters / 88 of us earned buckles / 97 finished the day with 1419 total participants. Yep – Less than 10% female identifying participants.
It’s not all doom and gloom, right? I got the buckle, why am I so mad about it? I rode with a few very amazing women. Cynthia and Kyle were great cheerleaders and sherpas across the race course. There were many little victories as I traversed this insanely gorgeous landscape. But I can’t help shake this feeling. I won’t come back.
Kyle grabs the car and we head for a shower before hitting the road to Steamboat. I have no idea how the hell I’m going to ride a bike tomorrow but we both are running on auto pilot. I feel like absolute shit. I’m hungry but everything hurts. I have Kyle pull over twice so I can puke. Why is my body failing me? I ask him to find an ER and to make an already too long story short, I was admitted and spent 3 days in the hospital for exercised induced rhabdomyolysis.
I dug too deep. I found a limit and somehow I pushed myself beyond.
I was mad, sad, disappointed, embarrassed, overwhelmed, tired, and scared. I still have a lot of those emotions and I’m working towards what will be the right balance for me moving forward. I love bikes. I love adventuring. I do love racing, and I don’t want this one to ruin whatever the future may hold. I think the best way to sum up this experience is via one of my favorite movies and depictions of history, Apollo 13. Despite great hardship caused by limited power, loss of cabin heat, and a shortage of potable water, the crew returned to Earth, and the mission was termed a “successful failure.”
My LeadBoat experience was not to be. With a Leadville finish and a SBTGRVL DNS, we’ll call this one a successful failure.
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