Four years ago I decided to try something athletically new. My first extreme triathlon in Canada. The course logistics of hiking at the end of an Ironman distance triathlon excited me. A few months later, I did another extreme triathlon in Italy - XTRI Icon. This event scared me. Swimming in extremely cold water at 4:30am (in the dark) scared me. I despise cold water. Next, I decided to try mountain biking. I continued to train for Ironman races but I was finding so much joy in preparing for events that required me to step out of my comfort zone. And that I have so much to learn feeling is a place that I was craving after over completing over 18 Ironman triathlons.
Cape Epic was not the logical next chapter in my mountain biking journey but it felt right knowing I was sharing the experience with Karel. We have never completed an event together as a team so I knew if he didn’t think I was ready, he would not have suggested that we race together.
We completed eight stages across the Western Cape of South Africa. Nearly 40 hours of racing. Roots, rocks, mud, single tracks, 4:50am alarms, sleeping in tents, trying to stay cool without AC, using portable bathrooms and showers and barely surviving the diarrhea, sickness and viruses that were going around the race venue.
The truth is that this event was so much harder than I expected.
To be honest, the race wasn't fun. But I didn't come for fun. I came for something different. I wanted a challenge that would strip away the known and take me somewhere I’ve never been before. I came to Cape Epic knowing it would be hard. What I didn't anticipate was the mental weight of being around so many other skilled riders (speaking different languages from around the world) on very unfamiliar terrain. No amount of training prepares you for almost 40 hours of riding in 8 days, approaching a course you know nothing about, and waking up to do it all again for 8 consecutive days.
For example, let’s talk about Stage 5.
The 85-mile “Queen” Stage that took us from Greyton to Stellenbosch. It rained throughout the night and during most of the stage. The constant flying of mud, covered in dirt and barely able to see through my sunglasses nearly broke me. I was on the edge of tears for several hours, surrounded by others riders, sleep-deprived, and soaked. And somehow, we put together our best result of the race: 7 hours and 43 minutes, 85 miles, 8,600 feet elevation gain and 8th in the mixed category.
After the stage, I needed to remind myself why I got into extreme triathlons. Your strongest moments don't always feel strong while they're happening. Sometimes the success is just refusing to give up.
Throughout each stage, Karel and I found our rhythm - learning how to communicate, when to push, how to keep me confident on the descends and when to just ride steady. Karel pulled me through headwinds, he gave me a push when I was getting dropped from a group, he cheered me up every climb, he opened gels for me so I didn’t have to use energy on that simple yet difficult task and gave me helpful technical tips through every descent I was afraid of. Partnership under pressure is its own kind of skill and Karel deserves an A+++.
Although there were smiles at every finish line, this race had a way of revealing how we function when things get hard.
I am very proud of myself because there were several mornings and evenings when I couldn’t comprehend asking my body to show up for another 5+ hours of racing. But instead, I turned off my brain and just went through the routine - which was the same day after day after day.
Recovery drink, small meal. Shower. Clean bottles. Clean hydration pack. Try to relax (and keep comfortable in the chill lounge). Prepare bottles and hydration pack at the water station for the next day (no refrigeration so the bottles/pack stayed outside our tent). Eat dinner. Listen to the race briefing. Brush our teeth at the water station. Check our start time/wave on the app. Try to fall asleep by 9:30pm. Try not to stress when we couldn’t sleep or had to walk to the portable bathrooms in the dark in the middle of the night. Wake up at 4:50am. Do it all over again. Oh and somewhere in there, Karel was working on our bikes to make sure they were safe and ready to ride each stage (after two stages, Karel found a bike shop at the expo that had an opening for our bikes and he paid them to do a full overhaul on our bikes as they were a mess after the muddy stages). There were several bike shops and bike mechanics and I am pretty sure they didn’t sleep for all 8 days as they had so many bikes to work on.
Going back to surviving each stage. I focused on staying present. I leaned into my strengths (the climbs). I didn't catastrophize the descents I feared. I didn't think about the next stage when the current one was using all of my mental batteries.
One kilometer at a time. That became my focus.
I discovered strengths I didn't know I had. And weaknesses I already knew about (but now understand differently).
But that's what hard things do. They don't just test you, they teach you.
Growth requires discomfort. Not suffering for its own sake but genuinely choosing something that is worries you, and deciding to show up anyway.
There were some highlights. We made friendships in our D-wave and Karel was able to chat with several Czech riders. We rode through a game reserve (no animals spotted) but saw a farm of zebras and a group of ostrich on the Queen Stage. We passed a farm of sheep and their lambs. The community support was incredible. Children took a break from school to cheer us on. Every starter and finisher received recognition. Nearly every turn had a volunteer (and a sign) to keep us on the course. It was seriously the most beautiful, brutal landscape I've ever raced through.
I'm not writing this to impress you with the miles or our results. I'm sharing this because I genuinely believe that one of the best things any of us can do - at any age, any fitness level, any stage of life - is to deliberately choose the thing we don't know how to do yet.
It doesn't have to be 440 miles across South Africa. It can be a new sport, a different route, signing up for something that makes your stomach flip when you think about it. The details don't matter as much as the decision: to enjoy feeling like a beginner, to stay humble, to stay hungry for growth.
Four years ago I stepped away from comfort and into the unknown. Cape Epic is where that decision led me. And oddly enough, I’m really sad that it’s over. But I’m incredibly grateful that I can say that I did it.
One more thing…..
There's something else these events give me that I don't talk about enough — and it has nothing to do with fitness. For eight days in South Africa, there was no news cycle, no political noise, no social media scroll. Just trails, mountains, and like-minded people around me. Riders from all over the world (speaking different language), swapping stories at campsites, cheering each other up climbs, looking out for one another on the trails. Those are the connections I thrive on. The real ones, forged in shared effort and mutual exhaustion.
None of us can permanently remove ourselves from the stressors of daily life but events like this are a powerful reminder that we always have a choice. No matter how busy your life is, it’s important to step away from the noise, even briefly, and rediscover what actually gives you energy. Nature and travel do that for me. Genuine human connection does that for me. The constant pull of social media and news does the opposite.
A big thank you to everyone at Cape Epic (staff, community, volunteers and the various towns/villages) who provided us with four different venues and 8 unique routes to do what we love to do and to feel challenged while doing it. To everyone who followed along, sent messages, and cheered us on, thank you. It meant more than you know.
After the stage, I needed to remind myself why I got into extreme triathlons. Your strongest moments don't always feel strong while they're happening. Sometimes the success is just refusing to give up.
Throughout each stage, Karel and I found our rhythm - learning how to communicate, when to push, how to keep me confident on the descends and when to just ride steady. Karel pulled me through headwinds, he gave me a push when I was getting dropped from a group, he cheered me up every climb, he opened gels for me so I didn’t have to use energy on that simple yet difficult task and gave me helpful technical tips through every descent I was afraid of. Partnership under pressure is its own kind of skill and Karel deserves an A+++.
Although there were smiles at every finish line, this race had a way of revealing how we function when things get hard.
I am very proud of myself because there were several mornings and evenings when I couldn’t comprehend asking my body to show up for another 5+ hours of racing. But instead, I turned off my brain and just went through the routine - which was the same day after day after day.
Recovery drink, small meal. Shower. Clean bottles. Clean hydration pack. Try to relax (and keep comfortable in the chill lounge). Prepare bottles and hydration pack at the water station for the next day (no refrigeration so the bottles/pack stayed outside our tent). Eat dinner. Listen to the race briefing. Brush our teeth at the water station. Check our start time/wave on the app. Try to fall asleep by 9:30pm. Try not to stress when we couldn’t sleep or had to walk to the portable bathrooms in the dark in the middle of the night. Wake up at 4:50am. Do it all over again. Oh and somewhere in there, Karel was working on our bikes to make sure they were safe and ready to ride each stage (after two stages, Karel found a bike shop at the expo that had an opening for our bikes and he paid them to do a full overhaul on our bikes as they were a mess after the muddy stages). There were several bike shops and bike mechanics and I am pretty sure they didn’t sleep for all 8 days as they had so many bikes to work on.
Going back to surviving each stage. I focused on staying present. I leaned into my strengths (the climbs). I didn't catastrophize the descents I feared. I didn't think about the next stage when the current one was using all of my mental batteries.
One kilometer at a time. That became my focus.
I discovered strengths I didn't know I had. And weaknesses I already knew about (but now understand differently).
But that's what hard things do. They don't just test you, they teach you.
Growth requires discomfort. Not suffering for its own sake but genuinely choosing something that is worries you, and deciding to show up anyway.
There were some highlights. We made friendships in our D-wave and Karel was able to chat with several Czech riders. We rode through a game reserve (no animals spotted) but saw a farm of zebras and a group of ostrich on the Queen Stage. We passed a farm of sheep and their lambs. The community support was incredible. Children took a break from school to cheer us on. Every starter and finisher received recognition. Nearly every turn had a volunteer (and a sign) to keep us on the course. It was seriously the most beautiful, brutal landscape I've ever raced through.
I'm not writing this to impress you with the miles or our results. I'm sharing this because I genuinely believe that one of the best things any of us can do - at any age, any fitness level, any stage of life - is to deliberately choose the thing we don't know how to do yet.
It doesn't have to be 440 miles across South Africa. It can be a new sport, a different route, signing up for something that makes your stomach flip when you think about it. The details don't matter as much as the decision: to enjoy feeling like a beginner, to stay humble, to stay hungry for growth.
Four years ago I stepped away from comfort and into the unknown. Cape Epic is where that decision led me. And oddly enough, I’m really sad that it’s over. But I’m incredibly grateful that I can say that I did it.
There's something else these events give me that I don't talk about enough — and it has nothing to do with fitness. For eight days in South Africa, there was no news cycle, no political noise, no social media scroll. Just trails, mountains, and like-minded people around me. Riders from all over the world (speaking different language), swapping stories at campsites, cheering each other up climbs, looking out for one another on the trails. Those are the connections I thrive on. The real ones, forged in shared effort and mutual exhaustion.
None of us can permanently remove ourselves from the stressors of daily life but events like this are a powerful reminder that we always have a choice. No matter how busy your life is, it’s important to step away from the noise, even briefly, and rediscover what actually gives you energy. Nature and travel do that for me. Genuine human connection does that for me. The constant pull of social media and news does the opposite.
A big thank you to everyone at Cape Epic (staff, community, volunteers and the various towns/villages) who provided us with four different venues and 8 unique routes to do what we love to do and to feel challenged while doing it. To everyone who followed along, sent messages, and cheered us on, thank you. It meant more than you know.