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My Marji Gesick Experience 2024 - PART 2: The Race.

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“ Hey, sorry to bother you, are you the coach of…”

In all my years of coaching, I have received this email twice, and that's two times too many. Both instances were followed by very bad news—the kind of news no one ever wants to receive. In July of 2022, I received that message from the girlfriend of a guy I was coaching one-on-one for Marji Gesick. He had been hit by a truck and was in critical condition in the ICU.

As coaches, we must walk a fine line between investing enough in our athletes to understand them as people and maintaining enough emotional distance to serve as a voice of reason when emotions and sports intersect. Many coaching courses and experienced coaches advise against becoming friends with the athletes you coach. However, I enjoy connecting with people—at least those of a certain type—and strive to get to know them better. This often leads to a sort of friendship, though I maintain that connection from a distance as I am never really a part of the rest of their lives beyond sport

As I stand on the start line of the Marji Gesick 50, the national anthem plays live on electric guitar at 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning. The entire emotion of the scene envelopes me and fills me with peace. I’m about to do this thing, this race, that I should maybe be fearful of, or at least be wary of this beast’s reputation, but I’m simply standing there calm. I am one of the lucky ones. I have the opportunity to be here, and the sun is shining. The trails are dry and dusty, and there’s nothing else I need to focus on right now. No matter how daunting this might seem, I can’t be afraid because my day is filled with the privilege of simply being here and experiencing it all. I am deeply thankful for life and everything, including challenging bike races in distant places.

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The guitar stops, and we all put our helmets on. There’s a countdown, and the race begins. We sprint, but within a few seconds, I’m completely spun out. Riders zoom by, and I try to draft off their wheels. I spin, I coast, then spin again, and more riders pass me. One guy comes up alongside and starts to laugh. It feels like a comedy, and I can’t help but laugh too. My heart, however, is not laughing! It is beating away at what feels like 200bpm and I’m already starting to sweat.

The front of the race drifts away, and the first big hill of the day comes into view. As we turn into the first gradient, it becomes clear that the surface has improved significantly. It's either packed down or just wet, probably due to the heavy downpour yesterday afternoon. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for the traction, and I start moving back up the field of riders around me. 

However, the gradient hasn’t changed at all, and not long into the climb, I decide that it’s better to walk than to push myself too hard so early in the race. My pre-rides have taught me that I will pay for any mistakes I make here later. So, I hop off and walk, which turns out to be hardly slower than those around me on geared bikes who are still riding. I lose a place here, then gain a bit back whenever the gradient eases, allowing me to hop back on and ride. 

The top of the climb comes soon enough today, and we race down the other side, intact. We navigate through the campsite and enter the first maze of technical single track. Today, the pace is slower because I don't have the luxury of a clear track. However, this allows me to relax mentally; I can ride at a more comfortable speed, knowing I’m biding my time. I give the rider ahead some space, avoiding situations where I might have to unclip from the pedals to regain balance, and we weave steadily through the rocks and trees, getting closer to Jackson Park.

I only make efforts worth making in this section and don't try to close the gap on the rider in front of me. I understand the importance of conserving my muscles to minimize fatigue in exchange for forward motion while using the least amount of energy possible. When the track widens, faster riders sprint past, and I let them go. I feel comfortable here, reassured by 32 years of racing experience that this pace is right for me given the terrain. 

I use the easier sections of the course for eating and drinking, while the technical parts require my full attention to stay in the best shape possible. It’s a cycle of rinse and repeat, enjoying everything these trails have to offer. Before long, we find ourselves on the Ore Heritage Trail, finishing the last few miles to Jackson Park, which I consider the start of the real race. Someone by the side of the trail tells me I'm just inside the top 100 riders, and that sounds about right given my pace.

Sector 1 (approximately 20 miles) Complete. Official time: 2:02:39. Overall Position: 84th.

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To a Brit alone on a quiet day, the R.A.M.B.A trails feel like a true wilderness. There’s plenty of tree cover, rocks, and roots, with not much of an easy-to-navigate trail. It feels as if you're negotiating with the forest for passage. The area is quiet, and there are enough trails built out there that you can ride for hours without seeing another soul.

In reality, much of what you ride through is an industrial landscape from a bygone era. One moment, you might be on dirt, and the next, you’re navigating a giant pipe hurtling through the trees or dropping into a staircase from some long-gone building or street. It’s as if people once inhabited this space, but nature has reclaimed it.

Riding parts of the course alone evokes a sense of solitude and smallness, but race day is a completely different experience. You’re still in that wilderness that was once lost and is now found again, but you are anything but alone. Todd has a saying: “We are all in this together,” and on race day at the Marji Gesick, this sentiment truly resonates. 

You may be on your own and self-supported, expected not to depend on anyone or anything, yet the community present at and around this race makes you feel anything but isolated. There is no other place or race in the world where I've experienced this sense of camaraderie. It is a very special and humbling experience.

Every racer I met was friendly and courteous, often pleased to see someone overtake them or pause for a moment. Spectators are scattered throughout the course, but they don’t just watch; they actively participate. Many bring supplies in huge coolers for strangers to help themselves. There are no official aid stations, but you’ll find more places to eat for free—better stocked than many races that pride themselves on rider support. 

Everything is rooted in community, all for the Marji Gesick.

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As a competitor, all I have to do is keep going. I ride, I walk, and I push my bike up steep gradients. Occasionally, I lose my grip and have to regain my composure. I eat and drink at regular intervals, ensuring I fuel myself properly. Humans are designed for endurance; in the animal kingdom, it's one of the few things we excel at. By regulating my pace according to my current fitness level, the challenge becomes manageable.

Earlier in the week, my experience taught me that it’s not necessarily the technicality of the track that poses a challenge, but rather the lack of places to recover. This means I have to approach the entire trail with a bit more respect and patience. I control my pace, never push too hard, and avoid trying to conquer any steep sections on my single-speed bike. I continue to make steady progress.

As I passed the water pump from a few days ago, I felt better than I did then, even after riding a shorter distance. It feels tough but manageable. I enjoy the experience and engage in conversation with other competitors. I stop to help a guy who has fallen off the track and take time to assist another with a mechanical issue because he forgot or lost his chain link. 

It’s a great day to be a bike racer, especially out on the Marji Gesick. As I roll through Jackson Park for the second and final time, I know I don’t need to stop or collect anything on my way through.

Sector 2 (approximately 43 miles total) Complete. Official time: 5:24:38. Overall Position: 34th.

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As I head out onto the final loop of the day, I know this is far from over. There are still about 20 miles to cover, and in the Marji Gesick, that likely means more steep hills and tight turns than anyone could ever imagine for one race, especially in the final sector. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tired at this point, but I was happy and truly enjoying the experience this race has to offer, which is quite a lot.

The first climb out of Jackson Park during the second lap seemed like it wanted to be a tough one, but each time it turned and went up again, I found myself strangely happy about it. I felt like I was in a unique state of flow, just floating through the woods, drifting along to the music. Wait—music? There it was again. Gangster rap blared through the trees, only to drift away as I turned a corner, only to float back at me with the wind. It added a fun element to the climb and given how it was changing; it could only be coming from someone behind me with speakers attached to their bike.

As I crested the top, the music faded away, distant and then gone. Heading into the next unavoidable upslope, I suddenly heard it booming down the hill in pursuit. I stopped and turned around. Two younger riders—one male and one female—in vibrant cycling kits that resembled Hawaiian shirts whizzed past me. They were riding exceptionally well, and it was the lad in front who had the tunes. I stepped to the side and watched as they rattled by.

A little later, I passed them as they were stopped, receiving support from parents, older friends, or relatives. Not long after, they caught up with me again and rode right by. This back-and-forth continued for a while, with me passing them while they were stationary and then overtaking me as they rode much faster and smoother. I realized that I had slipped into a comfortable cruising pace, drifting along like I didn’t want the race to end! 

I picked up my speed and discovered that I wasn't as tired as I had thought; I could descend much faster, just like I had at the start of the race—I had been dragging the brakes. I woke up a bit, stopped at the next Trail Angels, filled my bottles with Gatorade and Coke, gulped down a load of candy, and then set off to get the job done.

Throughout the entire final loop, I began to catch many riders from the Mini Marji. Families riding super technical trails surrounded me, and it was both inspiring and humbling—adding to the magic of the whole Marji experience. As I approached the final miles, I can honestly say I didn’t really want it to end. I was rewarded for that thought when an out-and-back appeared on my GPS screen. When I reached the junction, two guys were discussing the merits and potential pitfalls of cutting that section off. I stopped, put both feet on the ground, and told them, “If there’s an out-and-back in this race, you can bet every dollar you have that there will be a checkpoint up there.” They laughed and followed me to collect their tokens from the checkpoint.

From there, it was all downhill: dust, roots, a drop, a tight turn, and tarmac. More downhill on smooth tarmac, then a little more easy trail, leading straight into the finishing stretch. I could see the finish arch as I glided effortlessly towards it, and it blurred just a bit. It was worth a lot of emotion—this was the Marji Gesick, a unique, one-in-a-million experience in mountain biking. 

I crossed the finish line, showed my tokens, collected the finisher token, and placed my green dot on the board. #FINISHER

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 Race Complete. Official time: 8:33:51. Overall Position: 30th.

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One month has passed, and the dust has settled on the 2024 Marji Gesick, but I can’t shake the feeling that it never truly settles in those woods for long. There’s always a chance to participate in an event that transcends the idea of “just another race.” It takes me two days to get there and two days to return, but I’m already entered for the 2025 race, and I have my accommodations booked.

I still feel a glow from the experience because Marji Gesick must be felt to be understood, and I now have a sense of that growing inside me. Interestingly, this adventure has made me very happy to be home; I realize I’m not just content here but that experiencing a small adventure of the highest calibre now and then is truly enriching. I’m selective with my travels and races, but some experiences are definitely worth doing again and again.