At the start of March, I lined up for Belgian Waffle Ride Arizona, one of the biggest gravel season openers, secretly four months pregnant, and finished 9th in the elite women’s field. Only my family, close friends and brand partners knew I was pregnant. Initially, I planned on announcing the news before the race, but as we got closer, I realised I didn’t feel comfortable reassuring people I could race while pregnant if I didn’t know myself whether it was possible. I wanted to line up with the best, and without any external input, to see what my body could do. After the race, my husband asked, “So did you prove to yourself you can do this?”. I smiled sheepishly. “Yep”. We announced the pregnancy the next day.
Racing while pregnant was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I’ve always been a daredevil. I love going fast and pushing the limits. But as soon as the race started, an incredibly primal feeling came over me. Any competitive feeling I once had was stomped out by the need to protect the baby at all costs. The rational side that knows deep sand is easier to ride if you’re going faster was completely overpowered by the instinctual side telling me to “slow down, we can’t crash”. I’ve never been so polite and encouraging to people passing me in technical sections. That said, around mile 50, when it started to get hot and people started to fade, my body was ready to keep going and push. I focused on fueling and hydration and looked for spots in the race where I could use fitness rather than technical speed. I caught the 11th place woman and then the 10th. Ultimately putting a 7-minute gap into them in the last 25 miles. After 7 hours and 20 minutes of racing, I crossed the finish line feeling both proud and relieved. We did it. Me and my orange-sized stowaway. Ready for a non-alcoholic beer.
