Why do I race? 

It’s a question I’ve been asked more than once. For me, the answer isn’t about standing on podiums or chasing medals. Racing is about passion, personal growth, community, and finding those rare moments where everything else disappears. It’s where I find my zen.

My love for riding started long before I ever pinned on a race number.

Growing up in Ohio, I would spend hours riding my bike—even before I was confident enough to ditch the training wheels. I’d ride to the stoplight at the end of the block, wait for it to cycle from green to yellow to red, then turn around and ride back home. Looking back, it seems simple, but even then I just loved being on a bike.

When my family moved to the country, I quickly discovered that training wheels and gravel driveways don’t mix. After asking my dad to take them off, I taught myself to ride on two wheels. My first real bike, straight from Walmart, became my ticket to adventure. I spent countless hours exploring our property and local bike paths.

But it wasn’t until a family trip to Steamboat Springs in 2008 that mountain biking truly captured me.

My uncle, who was living in Steamboat at the time, introduced me to the trails. One afternoon my grandmother dropped us off at Dry Lake, and we rode Spring Creek Trail. At the time, it was rougher, rockier, and more intimidating than it is today. I vividly remember standing at what is now known as “The Wall,” completely terrified.

My uncle rode it first, encouraged me to trust myself, and I decided to give it a shot.

I made it through.

I also came flying toward the creek at the bottom much faster than expected, grabbing a handful of brakes just in time. It was exhilarating. From that moment on, I knew mountain biking wasn’t just another hobby, it had become my passion.

Every summer after that, I returned to Colorado to ride. Eventually, after graduating high school in 2013, I moved to Steamboat Springs for college and skiing.

Like so many people who move here, I quickly learned the saying is true:

“You come for the winters, but you stay for the summers.”

When I first moved to Steamboat, I weighed nearly 245 pounds. I wasn’t the most athletic kid growing up, and I knew something needed to change if I wanted to keep up with my friends on the trails and ski slopes.

I invested in my first quality full-suspension mountain bike from Orange Peel Bikes, and it changed my life.

At first, I mostly rode downhill laps at the bike park. Eventually, I wanted more, so I started climbing Emerald Mountain. Those first climbs were brutal. There were plenty of moments when I questioned why I was doing it.

But every ride got a little easier. Every climb made me a little stronger.

By my second summer, I had lost nearly 30 pounds and discovered that the hardest part wasn’t the climb, it was convincing myself to keep showing up.

Around that same time, I started working at Hard Headed.

One of the perks was that the shop sponsored the Town Challenge Series, and employees could use extra race entries. I figured I’d give the novice class a try.

That Wednesday night race changed everything.

I wasn’t racing to win. I was racing against myself.

Being surrounded by riders who climbed faster, descended faster, and pushed harder inspired me to improve. Every race taught me something new, and every season I found myself getting a little stronger and a little more confident.

Eventually I moved up a class, not because I expected to win, but because I wanted to see how far I could push myself.

Then came the Emerald Mountain Epic.

For years, I thought the race was beyond my abilities. A 52-mile race sounded impossible.

When Hard Headed became the presenting sponsor of the event and a new 26-mile solo category was introduced, I finally decided it was time.

I spent months training after work, racing Town Challenge events, and putting in as many trail miles as I could.

Race morning finally arrived.

Standing at the start line at 7:30 a.m. alongside some incredibly talented riders was intimidating. When the gun went off, I focused on one thing: ride my own race.

I found my rhythm. Some riders passed me. I passed others. None of that really mattered. The only thing that mattered was continuing to pedal.

By the time I reached the top of Ridge and dropped into Rotary, I was riding confidently and making up time on the descents I knew so well. Beall Trail was every bit as challenging as I expected, but the encouragement from volunteers and fellow racers kept everyone moving forward.

Then, just when I thought I was home free, disaster struck.

My rear brake locked completely.

The final miles became a grind, forcing me to pedal constantly just to keep moving. But quitting never crossed my mind. When I finally rolled into the Stables parking lot and saw the finish line ahead, every climb, every training ride, and every challenge suddenly became worth it.

Crossing that finish line wasn’t about my finishing place.

It was about proving something to myself. That’s why I race. Not because I’m the fastest. Not because I expect to win. I race because every event reminds me how much I’m capable of overcoming.

I race because the cycling community is unlike any other. Whether you’re battling for first place or simply trying to finish, someone is always there with encouragement, a high-five, or a few words to keep you moving.

Most of all, I race because every finish line is really just another starting line.

Another chance to become a little stronger.

Another opportunity to challenge myself.

Another adventure with incredible people who share the same passion.

For me, that’s what racing has always been about.

And that’s exactly why I’ll keep showing up to the start line.