About 90 minutes from gun time, I sat in the cool van having just watched my kids compete in the Unbound Kids Crit. I had one thought running through my head: you could win this. Not wishful thinking. Not fantasy. I had genuine belief, the kind that comes from having done enough hard things to know what you're made of. A top ten finish was my goal and to podium was a dream. But winning was possible. That's actually what I told myself sitting there eating breakfast crackers and drinking coffee before my first gravel race ever.

It's a little funny in retrospect, because what actually happened over the next 24 hours and 33 minutes was so much messier, harder, and more honest than any race plan I could have brought to the line.

We rolled out of Emporia with 350+ starters. I was somewhere in the middle of the mass, and by the time we hit real gravel, I'd worked my way up toward the front. There was a small overpass early on, and being aero, I just kind of floated to the front on the descent without meaning to. Josh Armberger came up beside me and we led the race together for the first few miles, drone buzzing overhead, probably looking like we had no idea what we were doing from the outside perspective. Turns out the two of us were in the top five.

The front group whittled fast in the crosswind and rolling hills. By mile 21 we were down to about 25, and I started putting pressure into every hill to accelerate the process. Max Agut, who came in second, made it clear early who had legs. Peter Stetina was there. Ole Bjørn Smisethjell was there. The racing was real. I was making moves, sitting in when it made sense, reading the group. Things were going exactly the way I'd planned.

Then at mile 62, rolling onto dirt coming out of Madison, my rear tire flatted.

A pump malfunction cost me four minutes. The entire lead group was gone, invisible, somewhere in the Flint Hills and all I could think was that I had 290 miles left.

What followed was probably the most physically demanding 20 miles I've ever ridden. I chased through water crossings, chunky rock sections, Texaco Hill, watching the gap tick down from four minutes to two minutes to 90 seconds, every negative thought in my head telling me I was done. But I kept doing the math. If I stop chasing, I ride alone anyway. So, I might as well get there. I finally rolled into the group at mile 86, calf cramping, and a few of the guys were legitimately shocked to see me. That felt good.

But that chase cost me. In the effort and the heat, I drank my carb mix trying to avoid cramping and I overate big time. We're talking 250 to 300 grams of carbs per hour for a few hours when 150 to 200 grams was the plan. My body sent me the invoice right when I needed to be strong.

At the checkpoint in Eureka, five riders decided to stop, and five including me decided to roll through. When we started rolling quickly down the road, I thought this might be the winning move. But our gap didn’t last long when only two of us were taking the pulls. Shortly after dark, the chase group caught us, but Ole was ready with another move and I followed. Victor Bosoni, Alex McCormack, and Max Agut chase on to make a five-man breakaway. It was a thing of beauty. A full out TTT into the night. Strong pulls and fast speeds uphill.

As we approached the Matfield Green checkpoint, we all stopped, but I’m still refilling packs when four of them take off. After my 10-minute stop, the chase group is still nowhere in sight. I roll for 10-15 miles solo and then Robin Gemperle and Marco Uribe join me and we start discussing plans for working together to catch the leaders. It quickly becomes apparent that my stomach is absolutely trashed. When I’m nudged to take a pull, I can’t. I’m barely holding wheels.

From mile 200 to somewhere deep into the dark, I hiked. Not metaphorically. I literally pushed and carried my bike through miles of sticky Flint Hills clay that clogged my wheels solid every 200 meters. I had plastic pry tools to clear the mud. David Tschan from Adventure Hydration had 3D-printed a mud scraper that fit my tire profile perfectly. Nick DeHaan had told me to bring a shoulder strap for carrying the bike. All of it was essential. All of it was used, repeatedly, for hours.

For four of those hours, I felt as bad as I can ever remember feeling in my life. Both kidneys aching. Stomach in open revolt. Three bathroom stops in the dark and running out of wet wipes. I was somewhere around 8th place and I had no idea that Ole and Victor had scratched, or that Peter and Ted King were at the hospital getting stitches after a crash. I was just counting turns on my GPS and trying to make it to the next one.

Here's what I know about those hours: I didn't quit. I rode the grass between the road and the barbed wire fence whenever it was faster than walking. Thanks to tips from veteran Unbound racers, I avoided the peanut butter mud by bushwacking through tall grasses whenever possible. I used the shoulder strap to carry the bike when I had to and then looped it around my thumb so I could drop the bike in a second and get moving again. I cleared mud, hiked, got back on, cleared more mud. Around 2 or 3 AM I hit an MMR that was grassy and actually rideable, and something shifted. The stomach started to come back online. The sun eventually rose, and I started riding harder than I had in hours.

Two miles from Council Grove, I got a front flat. When two mega dyna plugs broke, two regular plugs did the trick. Once I arrived in Council Grove at mile 273, I was eating again. I stopped at a gas station, bought two gallons of water, cleaned the bike as best I could, took my shoes off and dumped out the rocks. Not a pebble, but an entire bed of rocks fell from my shoes. It felt like a luxury, but it didn’t last long.

From there south to the finish, I just raced. I endured a hailstorm that had me riding as low as I could get, and lightning strikes 200 meters behind me while I was off the bike fixing a dropped chain. I came across one last MMR. It was steep and technical and mostly rideable. The 100 and 50-mile courses merged with my route with seven miles to go, and suddenly I was surrounded by people that I was passing in my TT position like they were standing still.

Then, with four miles left, I saw Marco. He'd been ahead of me once the mud hit, but the trackers were off and I hadn't known where he ended up. I put down everything I had left and gapped him by three minutes. Rolled in 5th, a first-timer, in my first-ever gravel ultra. The finish rate this year was around 17 percent.

They made a podium. I stood on it.

What I learned in 350 miles and one very long night: I need one bottle of plain water when I'm chasing hard in heat. I need to upload the new route before the national anthem. Yeah, that was almost a disaster. I need padding on the shoulder strap when hiking a half marathon is a real possibility. And I need a better front light.

What I already knew and this race confirmed: I can win one of these. Not as a thought or a dream, but something I've now seen take shape from the inside. What happened at mile 62 and in the Kansas mud after midnight were problems I can solve. The fitness is there. The mind is there. My GS1 held up through everything.

Future victories to come. This one, though? This one's going live rent free in my mind forever.