Race Season has Commenced: a ramble

January is one of the hardest months for me. Christmas and its festive glory has retreated to memory, the weather is hit or miss (though Texas does treat us well), and the training hours are reaching maximum capacity, with the promise of races feeling distant. However, the hours that drag by swiftly turn to days, weeks, months and soon enough race season is upon us.

Photo Credit Tom Dils

While I have learned to keep my race schedule open enough to permit time for training, I did book March with back to back races four weekends in a row, making it my busiest month of the year. Training had gone well, and though I still fought against self-doubt, I knew that my form was very good. First on the agenda was Homegrown Gravel in Georgia. I rented a modest car which was kindly upgraded to a sporty little mini Cooper, and bounced across the states, feeling every bump along the way, enjoying the time alone, and looking forward to the season opener. Homegrown is the epitome of a grass roots gravel event. The post race celebrations held in the town square, are filled with the music of local bands, while home cooked food is served to the mud spattered participants. It is impossible not to stay for a while, making new friends, chatting through the course and its surprising moments, and for some, gracing the podium while holding hand-made pottery crafted by the race director himself. I was pleased to take the top step and made my way back to Texas with a big smile on my face and excitement for what was next.

Then came Valley of Tears, held in Turkey, Texas. This event is dear to my family's heart not only because it is held in our Lone Star State, or because we fell in love with the quirky little town of Turkey, TX, or because the live music at Hotel Turkey is an unparalleled combination of atmosphere, vibes and skill; we look forward to this race every year because we get to spend time with some dear friends who we met here in 2024. Together our kids run wild through the town, making friends with disheveled puppies, getting covered head to toe with dust, and in some cases, enjoying a half foot of freshly fallen snow also known as the great surprise of 2025. Marijke has officially labeled Turkey, Texas as one of her favorite places to visit.

Photo credit Simon Krenk

The race itself was a bit of a surprise for me. Last year it split apart in the early sand pits and while I enjoyed being at the pointy end of that split, I was not expecting to be able to get away with this again. Yet, the race was already beginning to splinter after the first pit a mere few miles in, and further shattered once we hit the following two pits at mile four and six. After emerging from the Limestone Pit, Sofia, Paige and I worked hard together, establishing a gap that would never be retrieved. Sofia soundly dropped us in Caprock Canyon, and upon leaving the state park, I had a lapse in power, why I'm not sure, but nonetheless, could not hold Paige's wheel as she ramped up the pace to begin pulling back Sofia. I spent the next three hours solo, fighting the wind, the sand, and most of all my mind. After being dropped, the old feelings of inadequacy came surging back, and I struggled immensely to stay focused. I pulled every trick out of the bag, using positive affirmations, cadence fluctuations, small goals, nutrition rewards, anything I could think of to stay in the moment. Unbeknownst to me, as I was glancing over my shoulder, certain fourth place would be breathing down my neck, I was gaining time, and finally made the final turn crossing the line for third place, nearly five minutes ahead of the next rider.

As I write about Mid South, it is interesting to note the emergence of gravel teams. It has been coming for some time, but this race was the first one in which I've participated where the teams had a big impact on the race outcome. In the past, the parcours were difficult enough to cause splits that team tactics could not reconcile, but Oklahoma's rolling dusty hills, and ninety degree turns provided little help. The race was hard, but not hard enough to break the final group of nine riders up, and it became evident we would end in a sprint. Once I knew this was the case, I felt my mind give up and true to my mental state, gave a feeble finishing attempt to ultimately end 8th. What bothers me most about this is not the place, but the fact I didn't even give myself a chance. I have since begun working on my attitude towards these finishes, of which we are certain to have more of, and along with that, am building more knowledge and expertise in this area. I will do better, and whether that means first or last in a bunch sprint, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing I actually tried.

Photo credit Bertrand Mejia-Morin

I wish I could now write to you about my satisfying race at Rattlesnake Gravel Grind, a delightful event in West Texas where you can hold a live rattlesnake, listen to music all day, your kids can run rampant (seems to be a Texan theme!), and the hospitality of the race director and volunteers encompasses every participant. However, the Monday following Mid South I got sick. Quite sick. Lay in bed for three days sick. Indulge me a rant.

I can list many times that I was encouraged to race sick when on a pro road team. That time in Italy where my roommate and I began to feel sickness coming on, and each subsequent stage left us sicker than before. We were never told to stop, though we were suffering immensely, dangling precariously at the edge of the time limit. It took a positive COVID19 test to finally put our Giro d' Italia to rest. Or that time my Dad died. It was the fall of 2021 and a dear uncle had just passed from cancer. Soon after his death, my Dad, suffering from Lewy Body Dementia, fell and it was soon clear his time on earth was limited. I flew to Idaho, desperately hoping to make it in time to say goodbye, but was informed halfway through my journey that he died. Heartsick, I completed the journey, ready to be a steady help to my Mom. During the next few days I became sick, completely losing my voice. I had been scheduled to travel to France immediately following the funeral for a 7 day stage race among the mountains of the Ardeche region, and despite the deaths in my family, and my sickness, I was encouraged to come race so long as it was not the dreaded 'vid. And so I did. Looking back I wonder why I did not stand up for myself, but also realize I have a strong sense of duty and felt obligated to be there for my team. Perhaps the most poignant memory from this trip was after one of the stages while back at the cabins we occupied for the duration of the race. The days were very long, so it was not until late evening that I was lying on my back on the massage table, looking up at the stars, while our soigneur worked on my legs. My phone lit up with the notification that my dear Grandpa had passed away. The tears streamed from my face as I stared up into the night sky, wondering how I could manage to get through another few days of brutal racing, with a burden of grief so great I was crumbling beneath. And yet I did.

Photo credit Twila Federica Muzzi

All of this to say, there is a fault in our makeup that says it is OK to race sick; nay, it is a sign of strength and resilience to line up in a body weakened by illness. It is not. It is not a sign of being tough to race sick. Quite the contrary. Not only are you risking your own health, something that may seem very resilient, but in reality, is as fragile as our illusion of control, but you put others at risk as well. Obviously I have also been at fault, and though I had direct influences that pushed me to race, I am ultimately the one who makes the decision. Since then I have learned to stand up for myself, for my health, and for the health of my competitors by refusing to race unless I am healthy. I have read some posts recently of competitors who raced while being sick. With the amount of snot and spit that comes out of us, the close contact for hours on end, the likelihood of another racer catching the illness is very high. Others careers are on the line, and while a passing illness may not seem like a big deal, in an increasingly competitive and cut throat world where every race counts, it is. So y'all, just don't do it.

Onward to Sea Otter.