The Dirty Kanza 150

Race report from Jess D'Amato

I’ve done five Ironman triathlons. I’ve competed in countless marathons, but the grueling Dirty Kanza 200 kicked my ass the hardest. I had some idea of what to expect. I knew that we’d be cruising over gravel and dirt roads, and that it would be a very long day. But I had little perspective on the real challenge of this race—the relentless miles of dusty doubletrack. We were also faced with a combination of mud, a river crossing (that was at least two feet deep), endless miles of rocks as sharp as shrapnel, countless climbs up and down and over the Flint Hills of Kansas, navigating in solitude and suffering through brutal winds for mile after tedious mile—and the occasional dead snake.

Needless to say, it was hard. But even I was surprised to learn that there was something more grueling, more difficult than an Ironman. The Dirty Kanza is the hardest thing I've ever done.

We had a stiff tailwind for the first 50 miles. We rolled into the first checkpoint in three hours at a pace that we couldn’t possibly maintain. Still, I knew it was going to be a long, windy day. The next 50 miles were a grudge match with the swirling breezes. It was relentless, and I was already getting tired. My lower back began to ache, I was getting cranky, and no amount of beautiful scenery could make the pain subside. But, the clouds were unreal, the grass the most vivid green I've ever seen; I can only say this now. In the midst of the agony, I knew I was really going to have difficulty doing this for another 100 miles.

I had never ridden 150 miles in my life, so I reasoned I should set that as my new goal, appreciate the fact that I could still get there in one piece, and make my own race, the “Dirty Kanza 150.” During the last 50 miles, I didn’t see another rider. It was lonely, and the wind didn’t quit. But neither did I. I kept looking at my Garmin after every mile, and continued to churn away. I’ll be honest, it felt like I was spinning away on a trainer, going nowhere. I wanted to stop right there, but knew that I wouldn’t be happy. I had set a goal and I wanted to achieve it. I just kept telling myself, "I'm almost done, I never have to do this again." It may sound negative now, but in the moment it was the motivation I needed to get me through a difficult day. Finally, I made the 150 mile mark in just over 11 hours. It was a feeling of freedom; I was proud of myself. But, I was done. There were not very many women out there racing the DK200, and this one had called it a day.

Looking back at it, I’m glad I did the “DK150” but I know it's not for me. Cyclocross? Yes, please, when does the season start?!