LOTOJA, a 206 mile, one day bike race from Logan Utah to Jackson, Wyoming, couldn’t possibly have invited worse weather. It was exhilarating, challenging, miserable suffering. LOTOJA is torture enough in good weather. This year, it was pure masochism, a weather induced race of attrition.

Everyone who rides LOTOJA (run by a company called Epic Events) usually knows what he or she is getting into. This year, of the 950 people who lined up, less than half finished the race. At the start, the weather looked innocuous. Low 50’s, mostly cloudy, calm conditions. My start pack (the Masters Men 44-55 and 55+) was greeted with light rain at mile 30, which soon turned to heavier rain. On the way up the brutally long climb to Strawberry Pass at 7,420 feet the real fun started. The rain turned into big, fat snowflakes that began pelting our faces, accumulating on our extremities, and making grown men cry. LOTOJA had truly turned epic with 176 miles to go.

Sticking in a pack is critical in road racing. Aside from mechanicals, nothing will slow your race and increase your energy expenditure more than riding solo. When you have a wheel to sit on, life is 30% easier. Get caught dozing on a descent and the peleton will leave you in the gutter. Everyone knows the key to a successful LOTOJA is “don’t get dropped.”

At the top of Strawberry pass, mile 58, I found myself alone, soaked to the bone, numb, frozen, with a quarter inch of snow on my arms and with no one to descend with! I was wearing all spandex, short finger gloves, my glasses were useless and I had no hat or rain jacket. The other women were far behind. I saw the lead pack start their descent without me, making my already pounding, suffering heart leap into my throat. In a panic, I decided I had to absolutely go for it to catch the guys off the front. What ensued was the most frightening moment I’ve ever had on a bike. Descending a mountain pass in the dumping snow at 40-45 miles an hour having no feeling in my hands to work the brakes was terrifying. The adrenaline alone may have kept the hypothermia at bay. But it worked. I rode solo at my maximum and caught the group 8 miles later. However, 15 miles later, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

The Montpelier feed zone at mile 80 can be described with one word: carnage. Police and ambulances where everywhere. Men wrapped in space blankets, people shivering so violently they couldn’t get off their bikes without help. Hot chocolate in styrofoam cups was being handed out instead of water bottles. My hands were frozen into wooden claws shaped like my brake hoods. I couldn’t feel my arms, and couldn’t reach food in my back pockets. I had long ago dropped both my water bottles trying to get a drink, my hands too numb to grip. My amazing support person, Suzanne, handed me my feedbag (along with her mega-watt smile), offered hot chocolate, a raincoat, a hat, my booties, and lots of encouragement. I smiled back and said no thanks. I took full finger gloves and went on my way, sticking to my mantra “must keep moving, must stay warm.” Little did I know that everyone else I had fought so hard to catch did the exact opposite. I exited the feed zone alone and that’s how it stayed for the next 80 miles, and for the majority of the race.

What did I think about for 10 hours in the driving rain with no one to draft off, no one to chat with? Everything but biking. That’s what made the remaining 120 miles melt away into a blur. Of course I had to think about race strategy and remain aware of my surroundings. But, during the long miles spent time trialing in the rain and wind I found solace in what made me fall in love with road biking in the first place: the freedom, the calmness, the focus and the quiet time. I’m rewarded when it’s just my bike, and me cruising in the Tetons, thinking, dreaming, and letting my mind wander towards thoughts never imagined before. Peddling out frustrations, getting inspired, finding balance, clarity.

I thought of simple things, too. I sang the entire new Beck album in my head. I practiced mental telemark ski turns. I daydreamed about my upcoming trip to South America to visit my biggest cheerleader, my ski guide boyfriend, whose long distance call of encouragement from Argentina the night before had meant the world to me. I changed my mind about attending law school 6 or 7 times (the jury’s still out). I practiced Spanish vocabulary. Every so often, I wondered whether or not I was really in a bike race. I never really put much thought into the fact that every other support vehicle that passed me had a bike with a LOTOJA number on its roof that had long since left the race. I was moving, staying warm.

Mostly, I thought about my mom. She had just been declared cancer-free a few days before the race after enduring a long year of chemotherapy. She fought her silent battle with such grace, determination and quiet tenacity that the cancer never had a chance. Her relentless positive attitude was inspiring. I desperately wanted to win it in her honor, to show her how much I respected and drew from her experience. Crossing the finish line, knowing I had accomplished a goal I had been training for all summer by winning the race, felt great. However, calling my mom and telling her “Mom, I did it for you, thanks,” was the ultimate award. It made all the suffering, all the long training rides, and all the discomfort worth it. I will remember that phone call for the rest of my life.

So how did I do it? How did I finish 206 miles in 10 hours 20 minutes 31 seconds, ahead of many, never stopping? How is somewhat irrelevant, really. I prefer to be asked why. Then I’d say that I did it for the same reason everyone else on the planet seeks challenge and pushes their edges. It’s when you are far outside the boundaries of your comfort zone that you learn what fires you up, what inspires you, what and who you really care about, what living truly means in the context of the crazy, sometimes cruel world in which we all live.

So, am I a fun hater? My definition of fun is testing my limits, seeing where it takes me and applying what I discover to life on and off the bike. This year’s LOTOJA took me to a really, really good place and gave me a lifetime worth of experience. By definition, it was the most fun I had all year. I can’t wait for the next one.