Fair.

The Human Cycling Cooperative is a different kind of cycling club built around riding, learning useful things, doing strange monthly missions, helping your people and becoming genuinely valuable to the cycling community.

It’s for beginners.

It’s for experienced riders.

It’s for people who own four bicycles but still turn the handlebars upside down when something starts clicking.

Nobody has to arrive fast, impressive or fully assembled.

You join where you are.

You learn how the club works. You ride. You develop skills. You take on missions. You figure out where you fit. And eventually, you become the person who can help somebody else.

We ride for ourselves.
We show up for our people.
We leave cycling better than we found it.

What happens inside?

There will be practical cycling education, community discussions, club experiences and monthly missions requiring you to leave your house and produce evidence of questionable judgment.

One mission may ask you to ride to a gas station, purchase three fueling items and submit a formal tasting report.

Because anyone can recommend an expensive sports nutrition product.

It takes character to evaluate gummy worms while sitting beside an ice machine in cycling shoes.

There will also be help with bikes, gear, ride preparation, gravel skills, pacing and all the small things experienced cyclists know but rarely remember to explain.

No peacocking required.

No pretending to understand something you don’t.

No dropping someone on a ride and calling it “community.”

The doors are open—kind of.

The Cooperative is currently in beta.

That means the foundation is built, the systems work and I’m now inviting the first group of humans inside to help establish the culture, test the experience and tell me what needs improvement.

You are not entering a perfectly polished corporate cycling ecosystem.

You are entering Amanda’s creation.

Subscribe now

There will be competence.
There will also be chaos.

Membership is $20 per month. You’ll enter through the Cooperative’s private Circle community, complete a short onboarding process and then have access to the club.

You can cancel if it isn’t for you.

You can stay if you want to help build something useful.

And yes, Chad is invited.

We need someone to ask questions the rest of us are too embarrassed to ask.

Join the Human Cycling Cooperative: Click Here

Chad: “So I pay twenty dollars to ride my own bicycle and complete assignments?”
Amanda: “Correct.”
Chad: “This sounds suspicious.”
Amanda: “Wait until you see the gas-station mission.”

-Amanda

And I was told my comedy was putting down men—specifically, that I was humiliating Chad.

That is a lot of institutional damage for one fictional man with a Strava subscription.

Chad is not one identifiable cyclist. Chad is an archetype. He owns the expensive bike, monitors the group ride like a quarterly earnings call, and believes his Garmin status deserves constitutional protection. He performs an exaggerated version of behaviors many of us recognize in cycling: status through equipment, insecurity disguised as expertise, and competition where no competition was requested.

Sometimes Chad wins. Sometimes Chad gets destroyed by Jennifer on a climb. Sometimes Chad is obnoxious. Sometimes he is strangely lovable. And sometimes I am Chad—only with a 131-watt FTP and enough self-analysis to make everyone regret asking how my ride went.

Still, the accusations followed me into the next joke.

Suddenly, the local bike shops were standing behind me. The cycling community was clearing its throat. An imaginary committee of humiliated men was reviewing the draft for injuries.

Nobody had prohibited me from publishing. I was completely free to write whatever I wanted, provided I first considered everyone who might dislike it.

Freedom, now with stakeholder review.

The behavior does not match the warning

Here is the part I cannot reconcile.

Most of my followers are men. Overall engagement with my work continues. Men continue interacting with the characters and products created from this voice. Meanwhile, women continue making a much higher-trust decision: they sign up for coaching.

Continued engagement does not prove that every joke is harmless. A person can follow something they criticize. An audience can laugh while one member feels wounded. Metrics cannot crawl inside a person and measure humiliation.

But observable behavior still matters.

If I am humiliating men, why are men still the majority of my audience? If I am failing the cycling community, why do cyclists continue engaging with what I build? If my voice makes women feel unwelcome, why do women continue trusting me to coach them?

One person’s discomfort is evidence of one person’s discomfort. It is not automatically a community impact study.

I am willing to consider that my work makes some people uncomfortable. In fact, satire that never produces discomfort may just be advertising with better timing. What I cannot accept is the idea that isolated discomfort should outweigh the observable behavior of the community itself.

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Cycling says it wants women

Cycling has made real progress toward including more women, and that progress deserves acknowledgment.

An estimated 112 million Americans—35% of people age three and older—rode a bicycle at least once in 2024, according to a national survey commissioned by PeopleForBikes (Birkicht, 2025). USA Cycling says it is working to increase diverse representation among athletes, coaches, leaders, staff, and governance. It also reported an 83.5% increase in the number of certified women coaches in 2025 (USA Cycling, n.d.).

Those are encouraging developments. I am part of one of them. I became a USA Cycling coach because I believe more people deserve safe, credible pathways into this sport.

But participation is the least disruptive form of inclusion.

A woman can enter a ride without changing its power structure. She can buy a bike without changing who is presumed to understand it. She can appear in the group photograph without deciding who sets the pace, controls the money, defines expertise, or tells the story afterward.

There are levels to inclusion.

First, women participate. Then women are represented. Then women acquire authority. Finally, women begin influencing what the culture becomes.

Cycling seems increasingly comfortable with the first two. The indigestion starts around authority.

Welcome to cycling. We will explain it to you.

Bike shops hold an important place in local cycling. They sell and service equipment, share mechanical knowledge, sponsor rides, support events, connect riders, and often function as informal community centers. Good shops and good mechanics make cycling safer.

They are important.

They are not temples.

Research describes bike retail as a male-dominated space in which women may feel invisible, belittled, or presumed inexperienced. Wild, Woodward, and Shaw (2021) argued that sexism in bike retail can affect women’s access to cycling technology, maintenance, and repair. Their interview data included experienced women whose demonstrated knowledge was overlooked while male staff defaulted to treating them as beginners.

That does not mean every bike shop is hostile to women. It does mean the shop is not a culturally neutral institution. It can function as a gatekeeper of equipment, knowledge, relationships, and legitimacy.

So when a woman is told she does not support local bike shops, the accusation carries more than a request to shop locally. It can imply that she has failed to direct enough money, attention, gratitude, or loyalty toward institutions whose approval still carries disproportionate weight.

But support is not submission wearing a shop jersey.

I can purchase locally. I can praise excellent work. I can refer riders to mechanics I trust. I can promote events, encourage professional maintenance, and recognize the businesses making cycling stronger.

I can also make independent decisions about my partnerships, my money, my recommendations, and my platform.

My audience is not a community-owned commercial asset. Nobody gets shares because they once adjusted my derailleur.

What women report inside cycling

The larger culture matters because women and gender-diverse cyclists have described a consistent pattern of having their competence, experiences, and perceptions questioned.

Ayala et al. (2021) surveyed 279 women and gender-diverse competitive cyclists. More than three-quarters reported being bothered by at least one microaggression in competitive cycling. The experiences clustered around gendered assumptions, inequitable treatment, and harassment.

The details are hard to dismiss as abstract theory. More than half were bothered by people overestimating or underestimating their capabilities based on identity. More than half reported inappropriate or unnecessary assistance or advice. Others described cultural concerns being minimized or being perceived as overly sensitive when they raised them (Ayala et al., 2021).

The study’s most revealing finding may be what participants did next.

The most common response was not to engage.

That is how a culture can quiet people without formally silencing them. It makes responding more exhausting than swallowing it.

The researchers also noted that women can participate in microaggressive behavior. This is not a neat story in which all men oppress all women while every woman behaves perfectly. Gendered systems do not check the gender of the person enforcing them.

Sometimes the most effective guard at the gate is someone who was finally allowed through it.

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The trouble with becoming useful

I am no longer only a cyclist.

I am a podium gravel racer, a USA Cycling coach, a program creator, a board member, a brand strategist, and the owner of an independent cycling platform. I teach, market, coach, analyze, criticize, recruit, and build.

That list does not make me infallible. It does make me harder to position as a grateful guest.

Research on gendered backlash helps explain why competence and acceptance do not always travel together. In a meta-analysis, Williams and Tiedens (2016) found that explicit dominance produced a relative likability penalty for women, while the effect on perceived competence did not differ meaningfully between women and men.

People do not have to believe a woman is incompetent to believe she should be quieter.

That is the trap. A woman can be useful enough to promote the ride, recruit the riders, humanize the science, attract the audience, and build the program—but become less comfortable to others when usefulness turns into independence.

I was easiest to support when my platform supported everyone else.

Then it developed its own gravity.

Chad, Carlin, and who gets to observe whom

George Carlin is my favorite comedian. I am not comparing my career, influence, or talent to his. I am identifying a shared comedic mechanism.

Carlin treated comedy as self-expression grounded in both observation of the outside world and examination of one’s internal responses to it (Dixit, 2008). His work examined language, hypocrisy, taboo, power, and the strange rules people follow without remembering who wrote them. He did not merely make ordinary behavior funny. He made normality look suspicious.

That is what I am doing inside my small corner of cycling.

Chad turns equipment-based status into a character. The Mechanic reveals the distance between buying expertise and possessing it. The Gravel Coach punctures my habit of turning a simple training question into a graduate seminar with snacks. I roast men. I roast institutions. I roast myself.

No one is safe, although Chad should probably stretch.

Carlin also argued that the direction of satire matters. Discussing another comedian’s material in a 1990 television interview, he distinguished targeting socially vulnerable groups from comedy aimed at people with power who misuse it (Carlin, 1990).

That distinction matters here. The joke is not that Chad is a man. The joke is what Chad does with status, insecurity, equipment, and comparison. He is not funny because masculinity is inherently ridiculous. He is funny because cycling provides masculinity with carbon wheels, public leaderboards, and an FTP field that can be refreshed hourly.

The reaction to Chad may therefore reveal something larger than whether one joke landed.

Some men recognize Chad and laugh. Some recognize themselves and laugh harder. Some recognize themselves and call it humiliation.

Recognition is doing a lot of emotional labor here.

What I am seeing may not be broad rejection. It may be polarization: the moment observational comedy becomes specific enough that people stop seeing “other cyclists” in the joke and begin seeing themselves.

I was allowed to be a woman in cycling. The trouble started when I acquired enough audience to explain cycling back to itself.

Discomfort is not harm

Not every criticism of my work is sexist. Not every objection is censorship. Not every joke deserves a defense.

A fictional archetype can become a weapon if it is used to target an identifiable person. Comedy can be lazy, cruel, inaccurate, or cowardly. “I am just being authentic” is not a moral exemption. I am responsible for examining what I create and correcting actual harm.

But harm should be identifiable.

Which joke caused it? Who was humiliated? Was Chad reasonably identifiable as a real person? What behavior demonstrated damage to the cycling community? What did supporting local bike shops require? Who established that obligation? What amount of support would finally be enough?

An accusation without specifics cannot be evaluated, corrected, or resolved.

It can only be internalized.

That is where criticism can become socially silencing. Self-censorship has been defined as withholding one’s true opinion from an audience perceived to disagree with it (Hayes et al., 2005). The restriction does not require a formal ban. The imagined audience can move into the writing process and begin editing before the writer finishes thinking.

The committee does not need to seize the microphone if it can get permanent office space inside your head.

Share

The committee inside my head

After those accusations, I began reviewing my work through the eyes of people who were not in the room.

Would a shop feel unsupported? Would someone confuse criticism with disloyalty? Would a man identify with Chad? Would a coaching credential make profanity unacceptable? Would an organization want the visibility created by my voice but object to the voice itself?

Nobody had to take away my platform.

I had started performing imaginary reputation management on everyone else’s behalf.

That is the quiet version of censorship—not government suppression and not freedom from criticism, but the gradual outsourcing of a creator’s judgment to a crowd of anticipated consequences.

The most dangerous editor is the one who arrives before the sentence.

So I dismissed the committee.

You wanted women in cycling

You said you wanted more women in cycling.

You wanted us at the rides. You wanted us in the photographs. You wanted us inside beginner programs, purchasing bicycles, recommending mechanics, thanking sponsors, and encouraging other women to enter the sport.

We did.

Then some of us learned the mechanics.

We became coaches, racers, board members, program creators, business owners, and media platforms. We studied the research. We built audiences. We formed our own partnerships. We developed enough knowledge to decide where our money, attention, trust, and credibility belonged.

And now we are not merely participating in cycling.

We are interpreting it.

We are criticizing it.

We are making fun of it.

We are building alternatives to it.

We are deciding what it becomes next.

I will listen when I cause harm. I will correct what I get wrong. I will examine my choices with the same scrutiny I apply to everyone else.

But I will not treat every person’s discomfort as evidence, every commercial relationship as sacred, or every accusation of disloyalty as editorial authority over my work.

I can support local bike shops without surrendering my judgment to them.

I can support the cycling community without becoming compliant with every institution inside it.

I can write Chad without asking every Chad for permission.

You wanted women to participate in cycling.

What you were not prepared for was women with enough authority to decide who receives their support, what deserves their criticism, and which parts of the culture become the joke.

If that feels like a threat, then it was never our participation you supported.

It was our compliance.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.

-Amanda

References

Ayala, E. E., Riley-Schmida, A., Faulkner, K. P. A., & Maleski, K. (2021). Microaggressions experienced by women and gender diverse athletes in competitive cycling. Women in Sport and Physical Activity Journal, 29(1), 59–67. https://doi.org/10.1123/wspaj.2020-0020

Birkicht, R. (2025, April 11). More Americans rode a bike than ever before in 2024. PeopleForBikes. https://www.peopleforbikes.org/news/bicycling-participation-report-2024

Carlin, G. (1990). Interview by Larry King [Television interview]. Larry King Live. CNN.

Dixit, J. (2008, June 23). George Carlin’s last interview. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/brainstorm/200806/george-carlins-last-interview

Hayes, A. F., Glynn, C. J., & Shanahan, J. (2005). Willingness to self-censor: A construct and measurement tool for public opinion research. International Journal of Public Opinion Research, 17(3), 298–323. https://doi.org/10.1093/ijpor/edh073

USA Cycling. (n.d.). Diversity, equity, and inclusion. Retrieved August 13, 2026, from https://usacycling.org/diversity-equity-inclusion

Wild, K., Woodward, A., & Shaw, C. (2021). Gender and the e-bike: Exploring the role of electric bikes in increasing women’s access to cycling and physical activity. Active Travel Studies, 1(1), Article 1. https://doi.org/10.16997/ats.991

Williams, M. J., & Tiedens, L. Z. (2016). The subtle suspension of backlash: A meta-analysis of penalties for women’s implicit and explicit dominance behavior. Psychological Bulletin, 142(2), 165–197. https://doi.org/10.1037/bul0000039

I was wrong.

As I talked with women interested in joining More Than Miles™, I expected questions about training, gear, and nutrition.

Instead, I kept hearing:

“My bike isn’t good enough.”

“I’m too slow.”

“I don’t know enough.”

“I don’t belong.”

These weren’t cycling problems.

They were participation problems.

No one was asking if they could ride a bike.

They were asking if they were allowed to be here.

That realization changed everything.

More Than Miles isn’t really about teaching women how to ride.

Subscribe now

It’s about helping women stop waiting for permission to participate.

Some were rebuilding confidence.

Some were trying something new.

Some had spent years watching from the sidelines.

What they needed wasn’t more courage.

They needed proof there was a place for them.

Then I posted a simple photo of women sitting in lawn chairs talking.

The caption read:

“We saved you a seat.”

My inbox lit up.

That’s when it clicked.

The bike is just the vehicle.

The real destination is belonging.

Maybe that’s why this work feels so important.

Because whether it’s a bike shop, a group ride, or a new challenge you’ve been afraid to try, everyone deserves to know they belong before they feel ready.

And if you’ve been waiting for a sign, this is it.

If this felt like it was written for you, send me a message.

Tell me where you’re from.

Tell me what’s been holding you back.

If you’re interested in More Than Miles™, I’ll send you information about our private community and future cohorts.

We saved you a seat.

Join More Than Miles™ and stop waiting for permission to show up.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.

-Amanda

Facebook
Instagram

I sat down intending to write an article for The Gravel Situation Room.

Instead, I found myself asking a different question:

How do you build a publication when you’re one person?

At first, I was thinking about content.

Articles.

Headlines.

Topics.

The usual stuff.

Then I realized the real challenge wasn’t writing.

The real challenge was research.

Finding sources.

Understanding what the data actually says.

Separating observation from opinion.

Figuring out what is known, what is uncertain, and what is simply interesting enough to keep watching.

Somewhere in the middle of that process, The Gravel Situation Room stopped looking like a website and started looking like something else.

A research desk.

An intelligence desk.

A place to investigate questions.

Questions like:

• Why are more women entering gravel cycling?

• What role do bike shops play in keeping people in the sport?

• Why does fueling suddenly seem to matter more than ever?

• What trends are emerging that nobody is talking about yet?

The goal isn’t to become a journalist.

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The goal isn’t to become an expert.

The goal is to become a better observer.

To look at the gravel world and ask:

What is actually happening here?

And what evidence supports it?

So that’s where The Gravel Situation Room is heading.

Less “today’s news.”

More “what are we learning?”

Less hot takes.

More investigations.

Less certainty.

More curiosity.

I’m not entirely sure where this goes.

But for the first time, I can see a path where The Gravel Situation Room becomes more than a website.

It becomes a long-term project.

And honestly, that’s pretty exciting.

If you’re curious about where this is headed, take a look at The Gravel Situation Room and explore what’s already being tracked, researched, and investigated.

And if you know someone who loves gravel cycling, industry trends, or simply asking better questions, please share it with them.

This project will continue to evolve, and new findings, investigations, and updates will continue to be published as the story unfolds.

Monitoring continues.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.

-Amanda

Share One’s Substack

It was a story about three athletes preparing for Ironman 70.3 Omaha Relay.

A bariatric athlete.

A traumatic brain injury survivor.

A deaf runner.

The article was full of statistics. Weight-loss maintenance. Traumatic brain injury outcomes. Research on deaf athletes. The numbers suggested that each of us carried challenges that would likely follow us for the rest of our lives.

The article wasn’t wrong.

But looking back, I think I misunderstood the story.

Because Omaha wasn’t where this story started.

And it wasn’t our first Ironman together.

That happened in Des Moines in 2024.

At the time, I thought the race was the important part.

I was wrong.

The race lasted 7 hours, 44 minutes, and 44 seconds.

The friendship has lasted two years and counting.

The Race Between the Races

After Des Moines, life happened.

The medals went into drawers.

The race bibs disappeared.

The social media posts faded into the algorithm.

But somehow, we stayed connected.

We met for workouts.

We talked through race plans.

We shared dinners.

Our families met.

Aedan joined us.

Life became bigger than triathlon.

What started as a relay team slowly became a friendship.

At the time, I didn’t think much about it.

Looking back, I think it may have been the most important outcome of the entire experience.

Research consistently shows that meaningful social relationships are among the strongest predictors of long-term physical and psychological well-being (Holt-Lunstad et al., 2010; Holt-Lunstad et al., 2015).

Ironman teaches people to obsess over metrics.

Pace.

Power.

Heart rate.

Finish times.

But maybe the most important metric isn’t measured by a watch.

Maybe it’s who is still sitting at your dinner table two years later.

We thought we were training for another Ironman.

Looking back, we were building a friendship.

Omaha Arrives

Race morning was not inspirational.

It was confusing.

The transportation information turned out to be incorrect.

Geralynn and Shaun found themselves scrambling to get to the correct location, eventually walking nearly half a mile trying to sort out where they were supposed to be.

Nobody was discussing diagnoses.

Nobody was discussing medical literature.

Nobody was talking about statistics.

We were trying to find the right bus.

And in hindsight, that feels important.

For months, we had talked about our challenges.

Then race day arrived and demanded our attention elsewhere.

The diagnoses came with us to Omaha.

They just didn’t get to drive.

The Hills Didn’t Care About My Spreadsheet

I had a plan.

Like most endurance athletes, I had numbers in my head.

My goal was to average 15.4 mph on the bike.

The Omaha course had other ideas.

Fifty-six miles.

More than 2,500 feet of climbing.

A steady stream of rollers that never seemed interested in negotiating with my expectations.

At some point, I realized I wasn’t chasing a number anymore.

I was adapting.

The hills didn’t care about my goals.

The wind didn’t care about my spreadsheet.

The course was simply asking a different question:

Can you keep moving forward?

For years, I’ve carried the identity of a bariatric patient.

That identity is real. Research consistently shows that maintaining substantial long-term weight loss remains one of the most difficult challenges in obesity treatment because biological adaptations continue to favor weight regain (Hall & Kahan, 2018).

But during those four hours on the bike, I wasn’t thinking about obesity research.

I was a cyclist trying to get to the next mile marker.

And for a little while, that distinction mattered.

The diagnosis didn’t disappear.

It simply stopped being the most interesting thing about me.

The Things the Results Don’t Show

The official results tell part of the story.

They don’t tell all of it.

At some point during the day, Geralynn’s phone died.

Suddenly she couldn’t track the race.

She couldn’t follow updates.

She couldn’t take photos.

She couldn’t watch the story unfold.

When I rolled into transition after the bike, one of the first things I did was hand her my phone.

“Catch up.”

Within minutes she was scrolling through messages, updates, and photos she had missed throughout the day.

It’s a tiny moment.

The kind of thing nobody remembers when discussing race results.

But that’s exactly why I remember it.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that life is built from small acts of care that rarely make it into official records.

No race results page will ever document that exchange.

Yet somehow it feels more important than my average speed.

Shaun’s Moment

The most emotional moment of the day didn’t happen at the finish line.

It happened out on the run course.

Another athlete recognized Shaun from a previous triathlon club.

She stopped to encourage him.

She spoke to him.

She wanted to connect.

Shaun races without his hearing aids.

He couldn’t hear what she was saying.

The interaction passed.

The race continued.

Only later did he learn what she had said.

The kind words.

The encouragement.

The support.

When he finally heard the story, he became emotional.

Not because of the run.

Because of the kindness.

Research has consistently shown that social connection is a powerful contributor to health, resilience, and overall well-being, while social isolation carries measurable health risks (Holt-Lunstad et al., 2010; Holt-Lunstad et al., 2015).

The difficult part of that moment wasn’t the hearing loss.

The difficult part was missing the connection.

And perhaps that’s what made the eventual discovery so meaningful.

Sometimes the most powerful thing another athlete can give you isn’t a faster split.

It’s a reminder that you belong.

What the Scoreboard Measured

The official results say:

7:44:44

35th out of 38 relay teams.

Those numbers are accurate.

They are also incomplete.

The scoreboard measured one day.

It did not measure:

110 pounds lost.

Years of recovery.

Decades of adapting to hearing loss.

Family dinners.

Training rides.

Phone calls.

Trust.

Friendship.

Or the courage required to keep showing up.

The scoreboard captured the finish.

It didn’t capture the journey.

What Omaha Taught Me

When I wrote Built From Broken, I believed the story was about diagnoses.

Looking back, I think the diagnoses were simply the opening chapter.

The real story was identity.

The real story was friendship.

The real story was discovering that people are always larger than the labels attached to them.

Nothing disappeared in Omaha.

I am still a bariatric athlete.

Geralynn is still living with the realities of traumatic brain injury.

Shaun is still deaf.

The challenges remain.

They always will.

But for a few hours in Nebraska, they moved into the background.

The bariatric patient became a cyclist.

The TBI survivor became a swimmer.

The deaf athlete became a runner.

For one day, athlete became the dominant identity.

And three friends got to experience life together.

Not in spite of their stories.

But beyond them.

The diagnoses came with us to Omaha.

They just rode in the back seat.

The Real Finish Line

The official results say we completed Ironman 70.3 Omaha Relay in 7 hours, 44 minutes, and 44 seconds.

That’s true.

But when I look at the finish photo now, that’s not what I see.

I see a friendship that started in Des Moines in 2024.

I see workouts.

Conversations.

Family dinners.

Shared experiences.

I see people who kept showing up for each other long after the race was over.

Last year, I wrote Built From Broken.

Today, I’d write something different.

We weren’t held together by diagnoses.

We were held together by people.

And that may be the most important statistic of all.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.
-Amanda

Share One’s Substack

I publish the thinking here and talk it through on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok.

Looking for the Books?
Sh*t I Wished People Told Me When I Started Endurance Racing: The On-Ramp Field Guide
Butt Stuff: A No-BS Field Guide to Saddle Comfort, Skin Health, and Not Hating Your Bike

Looking for the Posters?
Don’t Sh*t Your Kit
Bike Shop Etiquette 101

Looking for the Stickers or Other Stupid Sh*t:
DFQ
Fat Bike Love
My Bike Is Dirty Because I Ride It

Support the Armadillos
Endurance sports are full of strange creatures.
Some of them ride gravel bikes.
Some of them wander Kansas at night with armor and zero concern for your tire pressure.

If you want to support the people who rescue injured wildlife — including armadillos — consider supporting Operation Wildlife.

References

Hall, K. D., & Kahan, S. (2018). Maintenance of lost weight and long-term management of obesity. Medical Clinics of North America, 102(1), 183–197.

Holt-Lunstad, J., Smith, T. B., & Layton, J. B. (2010). Social relationships and mortality risk: A meta-analytic review. PLoS Medicine, 7(7), e1000316.

Holt-Lunstad, J., Smith, T. B., Baker, M., Harris, T., & Stephenson, D. (2015). Loneliness and social isolation as risk factors for mortality. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 10(2), 227–237.

Disclaimer

The content provided in this post reflects personal experiences combined with publicly available scientific literature. It is not intended as medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult qualified healthcare providers before making health, training, or lifestyle changes. The opinions expressed here are those of the author and do not represent the official position of IRONMAN or its affiliates.

I call in the cows. It’s stupid. But it always makes people laugh.

Then they spend six months researching hydration packs.

They compare bike computers.
Watch YouTube videos about cadence.
Read Reddit threads about tire width.
Build spreadsheets.
Buy expensive gear.
Follow elite athletes on Instagram.
Tell themselves they just need to “get in shape first.”

And somehow… never actually show up.

At first glance, this looks like a fitness problem.

It isn’t.

Most people are not physically incapable of participating.
They are psychologically terrified of looking inexperienced in public.

That’s the real barrier.

Not fitness.
Not age.
Not talent.

Humiliation.

Or more specifically:
the fear of being witnessed while learning.

Psychologists sometimes refer to this as “evaluation apprehension” — the anxiety people feel when they believe they’re being judged by others (Leary, 1983).

And honestly, once you start noticing it, you see it everywhere.

People apologize before rides even begin.

“Sorry, I’m slow.”
“Sorry, I’m not very good.”
“Sorry if I can’t keep up.”

Imagine walking into a pottery class and announcing:

“Just so everyone knows, I’m terrible at bowls.”

That would sound ridiculous.

But in endurance culture, pre-apologizing for existing has somehow become normal.

“Many adults are not physically incapable of endurance sports. They’re psychologically over-managed.”

Adults have lost their tolerance for beginnerhood.

Kids are bad at things constantly.
They fall off bikes.
Miss shots.
Trip over their own feet.
Ask dumb questions.
Try again five minutes later.

Nobody expects children to arrive polished.

But adults?
Adults feel like they’re supposed to already know.

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Somewhere along the way, adulthood became a permanent audition.

You’re expected to appear competent at work.
Competent socially.
Competent financially.
Competent emotionally.
Competent online.

And eventually that pressure leaks into hobbies too.

Now people don’t join beginner rides because they’re beginners.
They avoid beginner rides because they don’t want anyone to see them being beginners.

That distinction matters.

Research on perfectionism shows that many adults increasingly tie self-worth to performance and external validation, making visible mistakes feel emotionally threatening rather than normal (Curran & Hill, 2019).

And social media poured gasoline on the whole thing.

Because now hobbies aren’t just hobbies.
They’re identity projects.

Everything is documented.
Everything is performative.
Everything quietly asks:

Are you impressive yet?

People don’t just want to ride bikes anymore.
They want to look like “a cyclist.”

And those are very different things.

One is participation.
The other is branding.

So instead of experiencing hobbies, adults manage them.
Optimize them.
Curate them.
Research them to death.

We built a culture where people feel safer preparing than participating.

Safer consuming than attempting.

Safer studying joy than risking embarrassment.

Studies on social comparison suggest that constant exposure to curated online identities can increase self-consciousness and discourage participation in activities where people expect to perform imperfectly (Festinger, 1954; Vogel et al., 2014).

Modern endurance culture accidentally amplifies this.

Not intentionally.
Most communities are genuinely welcoming.

But culturally, endurance sports can feel like one giant performance review.

FTP numbers.
Training blocks.
Heart rate zones.
Carbon wheels.
Race results.
Strava uploads.
Nutrition protocols.
Recovery metrics.
Optimization everywhere.

Even casual participation starts sounding corporate.

People talk about “earning” group rides.
“Getting strong enough.”
“Being fast enough.”
“Not wanting to hold people back.”

Meanwhile half the people saying this already ride farther than the average human drives in a week.

And the irony is that most people already inside these communities remember exactly what it felt like to start.

Everyone has unclipped badly.
Everyone has gotten dropped.
Everyone has worn the wrong thing.
Everyone has panicked on a climb.
Everyone has wondered if they belonged.

But beginners don’t see that history.

They only see polished versions of people who already survived it.

That creates a psychological illusion:

Everyone else belongs naturally.
I’m the only awkward one.

Which is almost never true.

“Adults don’t avoid hobbies because they’re incapable. They avoid environments where they might look incompetent.”

I think this hits women especially hard.

Not because women are less capable.
Quite the opposite.

But many women have been socially conditioned to avoid visible incompetence at all costs.

Be prepared.
Be composed.
Don’t inconvenience anyone.
Don’t take up space.
Don’t fail publicly.

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Now place that conditioning into an environment filled with gear, metrics, speed, and perceived expertise.

Of course many women hesitate.

Some women are not afraid of gravel.
They’re afraid of being witnessed while learning.

Afraid of slowing the group down.
Afraid of asking “basic” questions.
Afraid of looking inexperienced around people who already seem fluent.

And honestly?
That fear makes sense.

Because modern adulthood rarely gives people emotionally safe places to be new at something.

This is part of why “Stop Adulting. Start Funning.” resonated with so many people.

Not because adults suddenly forgot how to exercise.

Because they forgot they were allowed to play without proving anything.

People are exhausted.

Not just physically.
Emotionally.

They don’t need another hobby turned into self-optimization.
They don’t need another app measuring whether they’re doing leisure correctly.

They need environments where imperfection is survivable.

Where participation does not require performance.

Where showing up counts.

“People don’t just want training plans anymore. They want permission to be human again.”

And honestly, I still feel this myself sometimes.

Even now.

There are still moments where I mentally feel like the beginner trying to sneak into spaces I haven’t “earned” yet.

That feeling doesn’t magically disappear once you become stronger or more experienced.

Because this isn’t really about fitness.

It’s about belonging.

About whether people feel emotionally safe enough to be imperfect in public.

That’s the real threshold most adults are trying to cross.

And maybe that’s why the people who resonate most with my writing are rarely the ones chasing elite performance.

They’re the ones quietly wondering if they’re allowed to participate before they become impressive.

The ones trying to rebuild a relationship with movement that isn’t based entirely on achievement.

The ones who miss fun.

Actual fun.

Not optimized fun.
Not monetized fun.
Not “content.”

Just the deeply human experience of trying something, being bad at it, laughing anyway, and coming back next week.

Maybe the bravest thing an adult can do is be visibly bad at something long enough to eventually love it.

Not monetize it.
Not optimize it.
Not turn it into a personal brand.

Just love it.

Messily.
Publicly.
Without needing immediate competence.

Because participation should not require perfection.

And maybe you’re not out of shape after all.

Maybe you’re just afraid of looking stupid.

Which means the solution isn’t becoming more impressive before you begin.

It’s realizing you were allowed to begin imperfectly the entire time.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.

-Amanda

Share One’s Substack

I publish the thinking here and talk it through on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok.

Looking for the Books?
Sh*t I Wished People Told Me When I Started Endurance Racing: The On-Ramp Field Guide
Butt Stuff: A No-BS Field Guide to Saddle Comfort, Skin Health, and Not Hating Your Bike

Looking for the Posters?
Don’t Sh*t Your Kit
Bike Shop Etiquette 101

Looking for the Stickers or Other Stupid Sh*t:
DFQ
Fat Bike Love
My Bike Is Dirty Because I Ride It

Support the Armadillos
Endurance sports are full of strange creatures.
Some of them ride gravel bikes.
Some of them wander Kansas at night with armor and zero concern for your tire pressure.

If you want to support the people who rescue injured wildlife — including armadillos — consider supporting Operation Wildlife.

References

Curran, T., & Hill, A. P. (2019). Perfectionism is increasing over time: A meta-analysis of birth cohort differences from 1989 to 2016. Psychological Bulletin, 145(4), 410–429.

Festinger, L. (1954). A theory of social comparison processes. Human Relations, 7(2), 117–140.

Leary, M. R. (1983). A brief version of the Fear of Negative Evaluation Scale. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 9(3), 371–375.

Vogel, E. A., Rose, J. P., Roberts, L. R., & Eckles, K. (2014). Social comparison, social media, and self-esteem. Psychology of Popular Media Culture, 3(4), 206–222.

Disclaimer

This content is for informational purposes only and is not intended to diagnose, treat, or provide medical or psychological advice. Always consult with a licensed healthcare or mental health professional before making changes to your training, recovery, or behavioral practices. Amanda Duling is not a licensed medical professional. Participation in any program, guide, or consultation is voluntary and at your own risk.

Svenja Betz didn’t just win UNBOUND Gravel XL in 2026.
She survived it.

Photo credit: Svenja Betz (@svenja__betz), Instagram.

Then she outran almost everyone else doing the same.

The 356.5-mile ultra-endurance race across the Flint Hills of Kansas turned into something closer to a psychological experiment than a bike race this year. Violent rainstorms rolled across Emporia. Roads transformed into thick clay that packed drivetrains solid. Riders dragged bikes through mud that no longer allowed wheels to turn. Sleep deprivation blurred judgment. Wind hammered people for hour after hour after hour (CyclingNews, 2026a).

People hallucinated.

Some riders wandered through darkness carrying bicycles that had effectively become weighted sculptures made of mud and regret.

And somewhere inside all of that chaos was a 30-year-old woman from Germany calmly moving through one of the hardest endurance events in the world.

Svenja Betz finished UNBOUND Gravel XL in 27 hours, 11 minutes, and 32 seconds, winning her second consecutive women’s XL title and finishing 9th overall against the entire combined field of men and women (Emporia Gazette, 2026; CyclingNews, 2026a).

Ninth overall.

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At an event where simply surviving is considered an accomplishment.

That detail alone is extraordinary.

But honestly?

The detail that hit me hardest had nothing to do with the result.

It was this:

She still has a full-time job.

Svenja Betz is a secondary school biology and sports teacher in Germany (Emporia Gazette, 2026).

And for some reason, that fact landed emotionally harder than the podium itself.

Because endurance sports still doesn’t quite know what to do with women like Svenja Betz.

Women who are undeniably elite…
but still unmistakably human.

Women who do extraordinary things without living extraordinary-looking lives.

Which brings me back to a line I wrote once that may still be the truest thing I’ve ever said about endurance sports:

Normal people. Epic sh*t. Then the dishwasher.

Because that’s the hidden emotional reality of endurance sports for so many women.

Not because what they accomplish is ordinary — it absolutely isn’t.

There is nothing ordinary about riding through the night.

Nothing ordinary about surviving Kansas mud while sleep deprived and under-fueled.

Nothing ordinary about rebuilding confidence after injury, surgery, burnout, grief, motherhood, divorce, caregiving, body changes, or years spent believing you were “too late” to begin.

But the people doing those things often look painfully familiar.

Teachers.
Nurses.
Project managers.
Women carrying invisible emotional labor.
Women squeezing rides between meetings and caregiving.
Women trying to train around exhaustion instead of in perfect laboratory conditions.
Women learning to trust bodies they spent years being taught to criticize.

Women trying to become athletes inside lives that were already overflowing before they clipped in for the first time.

And when the race is over?

The dishwasher still needs unloading.
The laundry still needs folding.
The Slack messages still need answering.
The kids still need dinner.
Monday still comes.

Maybe that’s exactly why stories like Svenja Betz’s matter so much emotionally.

Because endurance sports has spent years selling us a fantasy:

That greatness belongs to the optimized.
The lightest bodies.
The most expensive gear.
The people with unlimited time.
Perfect recovery.
Perfect discipline.
Perfect metrics.
Perfect lives.

The modern endurance world often treats suffering itself as proof of commitment.

Sleep becomes negotiable.
Fueling becomes moralized.
Rest becomes weakness.

And for women especially, “looking like an athlete” still gets dangerously confused with actually being healthy enough to sustain performance.

But Betz has openly discussed her previous struggle with Relative Energy Deficiency in Sport (RED-S), including losing her menstrual cycle for nearly a year before recognizing the severity of low energy availability (Betz, 2026).

That matters.

Because research on RED-S continues to show that chronic under-fueling can impair physiological function, cognition, recovery, hormonal health, and long-term athletic performance in endurance athletes (Mountjoy et al., 2023).

Translation?

The “skinny equals fast” mythology endurance sports built entire identities around is not only emotionally destructive.

It is often physiologically wrong.

And that’s part of what makes Svenja Betz so compelling right now.

She is not anti-performance.

She is evidence that elite performance and physiological sustainability are not opposites.

In recent interviews and podcast appearances, Betz has spoken openly about proper fueling, consuming large amounts of carbohydrates during training and racing, and rejecting outdated cycling culture narratives around restriction and body size (Betz, 2026).

That conversation matters far beyond professional racing.

Because many women quietly assume they are failing at endurance sports simply because they cannot build their lives around it completely.

They think:

“I’m too busy.”
“I started too late.”
“I don’t look like an athlete.”
“I’ll never be fast enough.”
“I don’t belong here.”

And then someone like Svenja Betz wins one of the hardest gravel races on earth while still existing inside what appears to be a very normal adult life.

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That widens the definition of who gets to belong here.

And honestly?

Women need that right now.

Because many women in endurance sports are not lacking toughness.

They are under-supported.
Underrepresented.
Under-fueled.
Under-coached.

And psychologically exhausted from trying to prove they belong in spaces that still subtly question whether they do.

Research consistently shows women face additional social and psychological barriers in sport participation, including confidence gaps, body image pressures, perceived competence concerns, and reduced feelings of belonging (Women in Sport, 2024).

Which is why psychologically safe onboarding matters so much.

Why representation matters.

Why seeing women who look human matters.

Photo credit: Svenja Betz (@svenja__betz), Instagram.

Why seeing women succeed without pretending to be superhuman matters.

And maybe that’s the quiet revolution happening in gravel racing right now.

Not just faster bikes.
Not just wider tires.
Not just optimized race data.
But women increasingly refusing to believe they must erase their humanity in order to earn legitimacy as athletes.

That shift matters.

Because endurance sports historically glorified the illusion of complete sacrifice.

But sustainable endurance isn’t built on destruction.

It’s built on logistics.

Fueling.
Pacing.
Adaptability.
Recovery.
Decision-making.
Emotional regulation.
Consistency.
Community.
And perhaps most importantly: The willingness to continue showing up imperfectly.

That’s what I keep seeing over and over again in women entering gravel cycling later in life.

Not weakness.
Not fragility.

Potential.

Women who spent years believing the sport was for “other people.”

Then suddenly discovering they are capable of far more than they imagined.

Not because they magically transformed into different humans.

But because they finally received permission to begin.

And maybe that’s the deeper emotional reason stories like Svenja Betz’s resonate so strongly.

Because deep down, many women are not looking for perfection.

They’re looking for permission.

Permission to belong before they feel ready.
Permission to try before they feel qualified.
Permission to exist in endurance sports without looking like a carbon-copy influencer version of athleticism.
Permission to become.

So let this be your permission.

You do not need to earn the right to start.

You do not need the perfect body, perfect bike, perfect FTP, perfect schedule, or perfect confidence.

You do not need to wait until life becomes less chaotic.

You do not need to become someone else first.

You are allowed to show up exactly as you are.

Tired.
Curious.
Nervous.
Strong.
Uncertain.
Hopeful.
You are allowed to try anyway.

Because the women changing endurance sports right now are not fearless superheroes floating above ordinary life.

They are women with jobs.

Women with responsibilities.

Women with messy kitchens and overflowing calendars and self-doubt and sore legs and unfinished laundry.

Women who decided they were still worthy of adventure.

And maybe that’s why the image of Svenja Betz dragging herself through Kansas mud feels strangely hopeful.

Because it dismantles the fantasy.

The myth that greatness belongs only to people with perfect lives.

Instead, it reminds us of something much more human:

Sometimes the strongest athletes in the world are also the people unloading dishwashers on Monday morning.

And honestly?

I think that makes the achievement even more extraordinary.

So if part of you has been waiting for a sign to enter the race, join the group ride, sign up for the gravel event, buy the bike, ride farther, ride slower, ride awkwardly, ride imperfectly—

This is it.

Show up anyway.

The sport needs more women who are willing to begin before they feel ready.

And you might discover, somewhere between the fear and the finish line, that you belonged here all along.

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Call To Action

If you didn’t grow up in cycling culture…
If you’ve ever felt like everyone else got the map except you—

More Than Miles™ was built for you.

This program is for women learning endurance sports in real life—while balancing work, family, self-doubt, healing, and the pull toward adventure.

You do not need to “look like” a cyclist.
No perfect fitness, expensive gear, or experience required.

You just need the willingness to begin.

More Than Miles™ is a safe, supportive on-ramp into gravel cycling, confidence, community, and lifelong movement.

Learn more at:

https://morethanmilesgravel.com

If you’ve been waiting for permission to start imperfectly—

This is it.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.

—Amanda

More Than Miles

I publish the thinking here and talk it through on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok.

Looking for the Books?
Sh*t I Wished People Told Me When I Started Endurance Racing: The On-Ramp Field Guide
Butt Stuff: A No-BS Field Guide to Saddle Comfort, Skin Health, and Not Hating Your Bike

Looking for the Posters?
Don’t Sh*t Your Kit
Bike Shop Etiquette 101

Looking for the Stickers or Other Stupid Sh*t:
DFQ
Fat Bike Love
My Bike Is Dirty Because I Ride It

Support the Armadillos
Endurance sports are full of strange creatures.
Some of them ride gravel bikes.

Some of them wander Kansas at night with armor and zero concern for your tire pressure.

If you want to support the people who rescue injured wildlife — including armadillos — consider supporting Operation Wildlife.

References

Betz, S. (2026, April 28). Fueling, pacing & winning ultra races: Traka 560, Badlands & Unbound XL [Podcast episode]. In Castelli Cycling Podcast. Acast.

https://podcasts.apple.com

CyclingNews. (2026a, May 30). Unbound Gravel XL: Tour Divide record holder Robin Gemperle claims victory in horrible conditions, forced to walk for 21km.

https://www.cyclingnews.com

Emporia Gazette. (2026, May 30). UNBOUND Gravel XL results and race coverage.

https://www.emporiagazette.com

Mountjoy, M., Sundgot-Borgen, J., Burke, L., Ackerman, K. E., Blauwet, C., Constantini, N., ... & Budgett, R. (2023). IOC consensus statement on Relative Energy Deficiency in Sport (RED-S): 2023 update. British Journal of Sports Medicine, 57(17), 1073–1098.

Women in Sport. (2024). Understanding barriers to women’s participation in sport and physical activity.

https://www.womeninsport.org

Disclaimer

This content is for informational purposes only and is not intended to diagnose, treat, or provide medical or psychological advice. Always consult with a licensed healthcare or mental health professional before making changes to your training, recovery, or behavioral practices. Amanda Duling is not a licensed medical professional. Participation in any program, guide, or consultation is voluntary and at your own risk.

That was honestly the scale I had in my head.

Instead, my inbox started doing something weird.

Women started messaging me.

Not influencers.
Not elite racers.
Not women trying to shave grams off a carbon wheelset while arguing about FTP in a garage lit entirely by chain wax fumes.

Normal women.

Women saying things like:
“I’ve always wanted to try this.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“I’m scared I’ll hold people back.”
“I don’t think I’m fit enough.”
“I don’t know anyone who rides.”
“I just want to see the world at my speed.”

And that last one…
That one hit me directly in the chest.

Because THAT is what this was always actually about.

Not watts.
Not podiums.
Not suffering Olympics.

Belonging.

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I think a lot of women quietly assume gravel cycling is for:

• people who already know what they’re doing,

• people who grew up athletic,

• people with expensive gear,

• or people who somehow missed the universal female experience of being terrified to show up alone to something new.

And honestly?
Cycling culture has not always done a great job proving otherwise.

A lot of sports accidentally communicate:
“Come back once you’re already good.”

More Than Miles™ was built around the opposite idea.

What if women had a psychologically safe on-ramp into gravel cycling?

What if:

• questions were normal,

• walking hills was normal,

• being nervous was normal,

• learning slowly was normal,

• and confidence mattered more than competition?

What if the point wasn’t becoming elite…
but simply staying long enough to discover:
“Oh. Maybe I actually belong here.”

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I know what it feels like to enter endurance sports late.

I know what it feels like to look around and assume everyone else got handed a manual you somehow missed.

I know what it feels like to start after bariatric surgery.
To feel intimidated.
To feel slow.
To wonder if your body belongs in these spaces.

And I also know what happens when someone finally gives you permission to start imperfectly.

Your entire world changes.

Not overnight.
Not magically.
But slowly.

One ride at a time.
One conversation at a time.
One tiny confidence brick at a time.

The wildest part?

I launched the website quietly.

I thought maybe a few people would look at it.

Instead:
women immediately started messaging me asking:
“When does this start?”
“Can I bring a friend?”
“What if I’ve never ridden gravel before?”
“What if I’m really slow?”
“Do I need a fancy bike?”
“Is this only for racers?”

No.
No.
Absolutely not.

This thing was built specifically for the women asking those questions.

And honestly?
That’s when I realized this probably isn’t staying small.

Because the demand isn’t really for:
“another cycling program.”

The demand is for:
permission.

Permission to start.
Permission to exist here.
Permission to not already be good.
Permission to learn publicly.
Permission to belong before becoming impressive.

That’s what women are actually searching for.

So yes…
the pilot is happening sooner than expected.

I already have women signed up.
I already have a waitlist growing.
And Trek Bicycle Shawnee is officially supporting the local rollout here in Kansas City.

Which still feels surreal to type.

But more than anything:
I think women are just tired of environments that make them feel like they need to earn belonging before they even begin.

More Than Miles™ is built around a different philosophy:

Safety.
Competence.
Belonging.
Identity.
Lifelong participation.

In that order.

Not:
“Get fast first.”

And maybe this grows slowly.

Or maybe this thing absolutely explodes.

Honestly?
I don’t fully know yet.

But I do know this:

Women all across the country are quietly waiting for someone to say:
“You are not behind.
You do not need elite gear to begin.
You do not need to ride 20mph to belong here.”

You just need a place where it feels safe enough to start.

And I think we might be building that.

MoreThanMilesGravel.com

Let’s see where this goes.

DM me if you want to be part of this growing program.

-Amanda

Disclaimer: This content is for informational purposes only and is not intended to diagnose, treat, or provide medical advice. Always consult with your licensed healthcare provider before making changes to your training, nutrition, or medication. Amanda Duling is not a licensed medical professional. Participation in any program, guide, or consultation is voluntary and at your own risk.

Course Recon Riders | Parking Lot Intelligence | Rural Surveillance Communities | “We’re Just Going to Look” Groups

The Gravel Situation Room

Current division status: mobile, over-informed, and seeking physical confirmation of terrain conditions.

Monitoring across Reddit gravel discussions, Strava uploads, Instagram Stories, parking lot group chats, YouTube recon videos, and public athlete behavior confirms that endurance athletes are now escalating from forecast speculation into active scouting operations ahead of race weekend.

Earlier this week, monitored discussions focused primarily on:
• rain probability
• radar screenshots
• generalized mud panic
• tire width speculation

Current discussions have shifted toward:
• “Who rode it today?”
• “What did it ACTUALLY look like?”
• “Which sections are bad?”
• “How sticky is the clay?”
• “What are locals saying?”
• “Who’s scouting tomorrow?”

Field intelligence confirms that reconnaissance-style language has increased significantly across monitored channels over the last 48 hours.

Public athlete behavior now indicates:
• riders driving hours to inspect roads in person
• elevated “conditions check” ride uploads
• increasing drone footage activity
• weather screenshots being replaced by physical road photos
• and multiple athletes publicly claiming:
“We’re just going out to take a quick look.”

Several recon groups were observed packing:
• floor pumps
• alternate wheelsets
• cameras
• backup shoes
• snacks
• and emotionally concerning amounts of optimism.

Current monitored scouting keywords now escalating across the endurance internet include:
• “course recon”
• “went out to check”
• “mud buildup”
• “sticky clay”
• “low water crossing”
• “rideable?”
• “walkable?”
• “tire clearance”
• “who rode it?”
• “conditions update”
• “peanut butter”
• “minimum clearance”
• “what are locals saying”

Field analysts note that mud discourse itself is becoming increasingly operationally specific.

Earlier this week:
“Mud.”

Current discussions:
• “packing”
• “clearance”
• “buildup rates”
• “farm road moisture”
• “chainstay abrasion”
• “walk sections”

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This shift strongly suggests that the endurance internet is now preparing for mechanical survivability scenarios rather than simply discussing weather conditions.

Additional intercepted scouting statements include:

“We drove three hours to look at dirt and somehow left with less emotional stability.”
— Midwest recon rider

“At this point everyone with a gravel bike is conducting amateur meteorological espionage.”
— Parking lot intelligence report

“The weather apps are no longer enough. People need eyewitness testimony now.”
— Public group ride discussion

Current regional scouting telemetry indicates:

MIDWEST DIVISION
• Recon activity escalating rapidly
• Fence-line discussions increasing
• Riders repeatedly saying:
“It depends how much rain we actually get.”

COLORADO DIVISION
• Riders remain suspiciously confident
• Multiple athletes publicly claiming they are:
“excited for the challenge.”

PACIFIC NORTHWEST DIVISION
• Mud tolerance remains unnervingly high
• Riders treating catastrophic conditions like a casual commute

SOUTHERN DIVISION
• Heat adaptation discussions merging with mud contingency planning
• Convenience store reconnaissance activity increasing

FIELD CONCLUSION:

Cyclists no longer trust radar imagery alone.

The endurance internet is now actively seeking:
• physical confirmation
• local intelligence
• firsthand road reports
• and emotional reassurance from riders who have already entered the field.

Current community behavior suggests the question is no longer:
“Will conditions be bad?”

The question has become:
“How psychologically prepared are we for what those conditions might become?”

Additional monitoring remains ongoing.

Live Updates at The Gravel Situation Room

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-Amanda

Disclaimer: This series is parody/satirical commentary inspired by real endurance culture behavior observed publicly online. It is not affiliated with or endorsed by Unbound Gravel or any organization, athlete, or brand. The goal is humor, community reflection, and collective emotional damage assessment.

Fueling Internet | Aid Station Culture | Sodium Communities | Gas Station Survivalists

Current division status: operational, sodium-dependent, and emotionally negotiating with their stomachs.

Live reporting at: The Gravel Situation Room

Monitoring across Reddit fueling discussions, Instagram endurance posts, ultra-distance communities, race-week group chats, aid station planning threads, and public athlete behavior confirms that the endurance internet has officially entered the “stomach diplomacy” phase of race preparation.

The community is no longer discussing fueling in terms of performance optimization.

The discussion has shifted almost entirely toward:
• gastrointestinal survival
• emotionally trusted carbohydrates
• sodium escalation
• aid station mythology
• and identifying foods considered “spiritually safe.”

Current monitored behavior includes:
• athletes reorganizing gels repeatedly without changing anything
• riders publicly announcing they are “keeping fueling simple now”
• emergency pickle acquisition activity
• emotionally significant rice preparation
• and increasing distrust toward any nutrition product described as “new and improved.”

Public fueling discussions remain deeply divided between two active populations:

PRECISION FUELING COMMUNITIES:
• glucose/fructose ratio discussions
• carb-per-hour optimization
• sodium calculations
• lab-grade hydration systems
• scientifically engineered gels costing approximately the same as a car payment

VERSUS

GAS STATION SURVIVAL COMMUNITIES:
• pickles
• mashed potatoes
• Coke
• gummy worms
• convenience store honey buns
• and one rider surviving almost entirely on Uncrustables and denial.

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Additional field intelligence confirms:
• pickle juice discussions increased significantly overnight
• plain rice is now being discussed with emotional reverence
• several athletes are pre-mourning foods they have not yet consumed
• and aid station boiled potatoes are currently being treated like Michelin-star cuisine.

Additional intercepted fueling statements include:

“At this point the stomach is less of an organ and more of a hostage negotiation.”
— Ultra-endurance discussion thread

“I’ve stopped asking what’s fastest and started asking what won’t ruin my entire day.”
— Mid-pack fueling analysis

“The line between endurance athlete and raccoon behind a gas station is becoming increasingly theoretical.”
— Overnight ultra checkpoint observer

Regional fueling telemetry indicates:

MIDWEST DIVISION:
• Elevated pickle activity
• Strong gas station confidence
• Riders discussing sodium like frontier survivalists

COLORADO DIVISION:
• Electrolyte optimization discussions escalating rapidly
• Increased caffeine deployment
• Athletes carrying enough drink mix to chemically stabilize a small lake

PACIFIC NORTHWEST DIVISION:
• Disturbingly calm fueling behavior
• High rice-based confidence
• Riders casually eating whole sandwiches during catastrophic weather

SOUTHERN DIVISION:
• Heat survival fueling protocols active
• Sodium escalation continuing
• Ice sock engineering discussions increasing across monitored regions

EUROPEAN MONITORING DIVISION:
• Tiny espresso consumption remains critically high
• Riders consuming pastries with psychologically concerning confidence
• Americans continue emotionally processing this information

FIELD CONCLUSION:

Fueling discussions have now shifted from performance optimization to stomach diplomacy.

Athletes no longer trust:
• the weather
• their equipment
• their taper
• or their gastrointestinal systems.

Current operational stability appears dependent on:
• sodium
• caffeine
• emotionally trusted carbohydrates
• and convenience store infrastructure located approximately 63 miles into the race.

Additional monitoring remains ongoing.

Subscribe for daily updates.... there is so much more to this....

Live updates at The Gravel Situation Room

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-Amanda

Disclaimer: This series is parody/satirical commentary inspired by real endurance culture behavior observed publicly online. It is not affiliated with or endorsed by Unbound Gravel or any organization, athlete, or brand. The goal is humor, community reflection, and collective emotional damage assessment.

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The Gravel Situation Room has spent the last 24 hours monitoring public activity across Reddit, TrainerRoad, Weight Weenies, Strava uploads, YouTube mechanic channels, public Facebook cycling groups, Instagram comments, TikTok bike-check videos, Discord communities, weather surveillance systems, and endurance forum chatter.

Current findings indicate the endurance internet has now transitioned fully into:
ADVANCED MECHANICAL HYPERVIGILANCE.

Public behavioral monitoring confirms riders are no longer simply preparing bicycles.

They are now emotionally negotiating with them.

Cycling Weekly’s official course breakdown for the 20th Anniversary UNBOUND Gravel confirmed continued concerns surrounding:
• sharp Flint Hills rock sectors
• crosswind exposure
• creek crossings
• potential mud conditions
• historically aggressive terrain profiles associated with previous equipment failure years

Within hours of publication, analysts documented measurable increases in:
• tire pressure recalculation events
• drivetrain inspection rituals
• emergency sealant purchases
• sidewall anxiety
• “what tires are you running?” interrogation behavior

Monitoring teams observed multiple public Reddit and TrainerRoad discussions where riders debated gravel pressures ranging from the low 20s to nearly 40 PSI depending on:
• rider weight
• terrain expectations
• tire casing confidence
• unresolved personal trauma involving previous Flint Hills sidewall failures

Meanwhile, national bike shop indicators continue worsening.

CURRENT NATIONAL INDICATORS — BIKE SHOP SITUATION DESK

• Phantom Noise Diagnostic Requests: ↑ 48%
• Emergency Tubeless Conversions: ↑ 31%
• Mechanic Emotional Stability: ↓ 62%
• “Quick Question” Incidents: CRITICAL
• Tire Pressure Recalculations Per Athlete: 14.7/day
• Emotionally Motivated Drivetrain Replacements: ↑ 22%
• “I Know It’s Last Minute But…” Statements: ↑ 71%
• Riders Carrying Excessive Sealant Quantities: WIDESPREAD
• Pre-Race Fit Adjustment Attempts: ELEVATED RISK
• Mechanics Staring Silently Into Middle Distance: 7.3/hour

Field reports confirm riders are increasingly requesting:
• emergency brake bleeds
• “peace of mind” tune-ups
• last-minute chain replacements
• race-week fit adjustments
• tubeless conversions under emotionally compromised conditions

Industry-wide mechanic fatigue continues escalating.

One Midwest mechanic, when asked about current operational conditions, reportedly paused for several seconds before responding:

“Everyone wants race reliability now, but they wanted winter neglect six weeks ago.”

Further monitoring identified a sharp rise in:
PHANTOM NOISE DIAGNOSTIC REQUESTS

These incidents occur when riders become spiritually convinced something is wrong with their bike despite mechanics being unable to reproduce the issue under any known laws of physics.

Mechanic confidence in reproducing reported sounds currently remains estimated at:
4%.

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Additional surveillance across mechanic ecosystems indicates growing levels of what analysts are now classifying as:

CATastrophic IMAGINATION CASCADE EVENTS

Symptoms include athletes simultaneously preparing for:
• mud apocalypse
• heat exposure
• sidewall rupture
• dehydration
• drivetrain contamination
• gastrointestinal collapse
• existential reevaluation at checkpoint two

Public Strava upload patterns also reveal a surge in:
“confidence rides”

Researchers define these as:
short-duration rides performed primarily to determine whether a bike is “still okay emotionally.”

Additional observed rider behaviors include:
• replacing perfectly functional drivetrains “just in case”
• purchasing backup tires for the backup tires
• adding enough sealant to survive small agricultural disasters
• changing tire pressure targets after reading comments written by usernames like:
“GravelWaffle92”

Public forum discussions surrounding chain wax methodologies have now officially entered:
THEOLOGICAL STATUS.

Meanwhile, bike shops nationwide continue reporting elevated exposure to the phrase:

“I’m trying not to overthink this.”

Current evidence suggests this statement is almost always immediately followed by:
financially irresponsible optimization behavior.

CURRENT STATUS:
UNSTABLE.
SERVICEABLE.
SPIRITUALLY OVER-INFLATED.

The Gravel Situation Room will continue monitoring environmental conditions, endurance culture behavior, mechanical stress indicators, drivetrain-related emotional incidents, weather instability, and public psychological drift across the endurance internet as UNBOUND week conditions continue evolving.

Subscribe for daily updates.... there is so much more to this....

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-Amanda

Disclaimer: This series is parody/satirical commentary inspired by real endurance culture behavior observed publicly online. It is not affiliated with or endorsed by Unbound Gravel or any organization, athlete, or brand. The goal is humor, community reflection, and collective emotional damage assessment.

Endurance athletes are weird. We willingly upload our suffering into software and then stare at color-coded fatigue charts like Victorian doctors studying ghosts.

The graph I’m referencing throughout this article comes from years of endurance training data. It tracks three main things:

• Fitness (CTL) — a rolling estimate of long-term training load. Think of it as the slow-moving “durability” line. The higher it climbs, the more work your body has consistently absorbed over time.

• Fatigue (ATL) — short-term training stress. This moves fast. Big rides, races, hard weeks, poor recovery, and life stress all push it upward quickly.

• Form (TSB) — the gap between fitness and fatigue. In simple terms: how cooked you are. Positive numbers usually mean fresher. Deeply negative numbers usually mean you’re carrying a lot of accumulated stress.

That’s the technical explanation.

The emotional explanation is simpler:

• the blue line tracked how much work I could absorb

• the pink spikes tracked my occasional willingness to emotionally overcook myself

• and the yellow line quietly documented whether my nervous system was filing complaints behind the scenes

At first, I thought the chart was measuring workouts.

Three years later, I think it was measuring something much bigger:

whether I kept coming back.

I thought I was tracking fitness.

Turns out I was documenting what it looked like to slowly reorganize my entire life around endurance.

The graph tracked all of it.

The excitement.
The obsession.
The burnout.
The lifting phase.
The recovery I didn’t want to admit I needed.
The periods where I wondered if I even wanted to keep doing this.

And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, the line stopped going back to zero.

That’s the part I didn’t notice at first.

Not the podiums.
Not the workouts.
Not the spikes.

The floor.

Because every time I backed off, recovered, burned out, changed focus, or drifted a little emotionally away from the sport… the graph still never fully reset.

Apparently this is my personality now.

At First, Everything Works

When I first started training seriously, everything worked.

That’s the dangerous phase.

You ride a little more and suddenly:

• your heart rate improves

• your endurance improves

• your confidence improves

• your body starts changing

• your brain starts getting addicted to progress

The early part of my chart looks almost reckless in hindsight.

Huge spikes.
Chaotic load.
Aggressive growth.
No real restraint whatsoever.

During early 2024, my fitness line (CTL) started climbing rapidly for the first time. The graph showed repeated high training stress spikes with large swings in fatigue (ATL), often dropping deeply negative before rebounding again.

At the time, it felt exciting.

Looking back now, it mostly looks like a nervous system discovering endurance sports in real time.

The speed of adaptation was emotionally addictive. Fitness was increasing fast enough that almost every hard block initially looked “successful,” which created a dangerous feedback loop between fatigue and validation.

My body responded to endurance training the way Labradors respond to tennis balls. Completely normal and emotionally stable.

The Addiction Nobody Talks About

By mid-2024, the graph showed the first major sustained rise in fitness load.

CTL appeared to climb from roughly the low-20s into the 50–60 range over several months, with repeated large TSS spikes scattered throughout the build.

The problem wasn’t effort.

The problem was that my fatigue line rarely stayed stable for long.

The chart repeatedly showed hard drops in form (TSB), followed by aggressive reloads before the system had fully stabilized.

At the time, I interpreted this as commitment.

In hindsight, it was the beginning of a pattern:
I was becoming very good at accumulating stress, but not yet very good at respecting recovery.

Somewhere during that first major build, I stopped seeing the graph as information and started seeing it as reassurance.

Every upward trend felt emotionally meaningful.

Higher fitness scores felt responsible. Consistency felt morally good. Recovery started feeling suspicious.

The Shape of Burnout

By fall of 2025, the graph changed shape completely.

The curves became larger and more exaggerated — long oval-shaped fatigue waves instead of smaller controlled cycles. The negative fatigue stretches lasted longer. Recovery periods shortened. The system stopped fully resetting between hard blocks.

CTL stayed elevated — roughly in the 60+ range — which meant externally the training still looked productive.

But ATL repeatedly surged far above it, and TSB spent extended stretches heavily negative.

In endurance terms, the system was no longer simply adapting.

It was absorbing sustained recovery debt.

The graph looked impressive.

My nervous system disagreed.

That’s the weird thing about burnout in endurance sports:
you can still function surprisingly well while your nervous system quietly files formal complaints behind the scenes.

I was still training.
Still showing up.
Still building fitness.

But emotionally?

Everything started feeling heavy.

And the hardest part wasn’t even the physical fatigue.

It was realizing I didn’t want to spend every weekend trying to become a hero on a gravel bike while slowly becoming unavailable everywhere else.

I wanted both.

I wanted to be fully present at home—a wife, a mom, a human being my family could actually emotionally access.

And I wanted to be a badass gravel racer.

For a while, I feared those two versions of me couldn’t coexist in the same house.

I didn’t want every thought in my life to involve hydration, recovery, sodium, pace strategy, weather forecasts, carbohydrate timing, or whether my Garmin thought I was “productive.”

One of the clearest signs of burnout in hindsight was that the chart stopped showing clean recovery separations between hard blocks.

The system was carrying fatigue continuously instead of cycling through true reset periods.

And gravel culture doesn’t exactly help.

Endurance sports reward people who can override discomfort. Gravel especially romanticizes suffering.

We glorify:

• grinding through exhaustion

• huge training blocks

• epic conditions

• pushing through fatigue

• surviving chaos

Which means athletes get very good at mistaking chronic depletion for toughness.

I think a lot of us quietly reach a point where we’re no longer asking:

“Is this healthy?”

We ask:

“Can I survive it?”

And survival becomes the metric.

The Pivot to Heavy Things

Eventually, I hit a point where I didn’t want more endurance.

I wanted lifting.

Heavier things.
Shorter sessions.
Different movement.
Less emotional attachment to constant aerobic output.

Then something subtle but important happened.

The graph softened.

Overall fitness dipped modestly, but the structure became calmer. The giant stress spikes largely disappeared, fatigue stabilized, and the overall wave patterns became noticeably smaller.

At first, that terrified me.

Like many endurance athletes, I associated lower training load with regression.

But looking at the chart now, it’s obvious this period wasn’t collapse.

It was stabilization.

Even during reduced endurance volume, the graph never returned anywhere close to my earlier baseline.

The floor itself had risen.

That’s when I realized I wasn’t starting over anymore.

I was rebuilding from accumulated adaptation.

The reset phase also forced me to confront something endurance athletes rarely say out loud:
eventually, the people you love start experiencing your fatigue too.

Not just your legs.
Your emotional bandwidth.
Your attention.
Your presence.

I didn’t just want to survive training blocks anymore.

I wanted enough energy left over to still fully exist in my own life.

Lifting gave me something endurance had stopped giving me:
freshness.

The fatigue wasn’t a hollow, day-long ache; it was local, sharp, and clean.

The psychological load shifted from enduring hours of monotony to conquering five heavy seconds.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t trying to out-suffer myself.

I was just training.

That distinction matters more than people realize.

Especially for women athletes.
Especially for masters athletes.
Especially for people balancing full-time jobs, families, aging physiology, community work, hormones, recovery, stress, and real life outside of sport.

Endurance culture quietly teaches you that more suffering equals more commitment.
But sometimes the smartest thing an athlete can do is back off before the sport takes all the joy with it.

At some point, sustainability becomes more important than heroics.

That was one of the hardest lessons for me to learn.

I thought I was losing fitness.

In reality, I was preserving my ability to stay.

The Current Version Looks Different

The current version of the graph looks dramatically different from earlier years.

The newer training waves are smaller, tighter, and more controlled. The overall structure appears steadier — less emotionally chaotic, less all-or-nothing.

What’s fascinating is that fitness now appears to rebuild with less dramatic stress accumulation than before.

Earlier versions of my training relied on massive spikes to force adaptation.

The newer chart responds more to consistency than destruction.

I think that’s why the newer version of the graph matters so much to me.

It reflects a version of endurance that feels integrated instead of consuming.

I no longer want to build fitness at the expense of the people sitting at my kitchen table.

I want durability big enough to hold all of it:

• the racing

• the marriage

• the parenting

• the community

• the body

• the joy

The question changed.

It stopped being:

“How much suffering can I tolerate?”

And became:

“How long can I realistically keep doing this?”

That’s a much more mature endurance question.

And honestly, probably a healthier one.

Because the truth is:
most people don’t quit endurance sports after one bad workout.

They leave because of accumulated emotional exhaustion.

The training becomes heavy.
The recovery becomes inadequate.
The joy quietly erodes.

And one day they simply drift away.

The Part That Mattered Most

Looking at three years of training data, the most important metric isn’t my highest CTL peak or my hardest ride.

It’s that after every recovery phase, every burnout cycle, every shift in focus, and every period where I emotionally drifted away from the sport…

the graph never fully returned to baseline.

Physiologically, that means accumulated adaptation.

Emotionally, I think it means something else too.

I stayed.

And maybe that’s the real challenge of endurance sports as an adult:
not just staying in the sport,
but staying connected to your actual life while doing it.

Not perfectly.
Not gracefully.
Not without burnout, doubt, fatigue, recovery weeks, emotional overcooking…

or periods where lifting weights felt infinitely better than fighting another brutal Kansas headwind.

But I stayed.

I stayed long enough to learn that endurance wasn’t supposed to consume my entire identity.

I didn’t want to become a weekend hero who was too exhausted to fully exist at home.

I wanted both:
to be fully present in my real life,
and still become the kind of woman who could line up at a gravel race and scare herself a little.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to choose between those versions of myself.

I learned how to build a life durable enough to hold both.

And somewhere along the way, that mattered more than any single workout, race, or fitness peak ever could.

Three years ago, none of this existed.

Not the endurance base.
Not the fatigue management.
Not the recovery awareness.
Not the identity.
Not the version of me capable of staying long enough to become durable.

The graph tracked all of it.

Every spike.
Every rebuild.
Every lesson I learned slightly too late.

And eventually…

it tracked this too.

The podium mattered.

But not because it proved I was fast.

Because it proved something far more important:

Staying changed me.

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If you didn’t come up through the system—but showed up anyway—this is for you.

I’m building a body of work for athletes learning endurance sports in real time, without the benefit of a traditional on-ramp.

Subscribe if that sounds like your story.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.

—Amanda

I publish the thinking here and talk it through on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok.

Looking for the Books?
Sh*t I Wished People Told Me When I Started Endurance Racing: The On-Ramp Field Guide
Butt Stuff: A No-BS Field Guide to Saddle Comfort, Skin Health, and Not Hating Your Bike

Looking for the Posters?
Don’t Sh*t Your Kit
Bike Shop Etiquette 101

Looking for the Stickers or Other Stupid Sh*t:
DFQ
Fat Bike Love
My Bike Is Dirty Because I Ride It

Support the Armadillos
Endurance sports are full of strange creatures.
Some of them ride gravel bikes.
Some of them wander Kansas at night with armor and zero concern for your tire pressure.
If you want to support the people who rescue injured wildlife — including armadillos — consider supporting Operation Wildlife.

Disclaimer

This content is for informational purposes only and is not intended to diagnose, treat, or provide medical or psychological advice. Always consult with a licensed healthcare or mental health professional before making changes to your training, recovery, or behavioral practices. Amanda Duling is not a licensed medical professional. Participation in any program, guide, or consultation is voluntary and at your own risk.

Weather Surveillance Division

Weather App Cyclists | Instagram Gravel | People Refreshing Wind Models Every 11 Minutes

Current division status: unstable, over-informed, and spiritually attached to radar imagery.

Monitoring across Instagram, Reddit, TikTok, Facebook gravel groups, and X/Twitter confirms that endurance athletes have now entered the advanced psychological phase where weather apps are no longer tools — they are emotional support systems.

Over the last 72 hours, surveillance teams tracked:
• 18,400+ public social posts referencing “mud” alongside major gravel race hashtags
• 6,200+ comments specifically debating tire width and tread selection
• 3,900+ mentions of “peanut butter mud” from riders who clearly still have emotional damage from previous years
• and approximately 11,000 screenshots of weather radar imagery reposted with zero additional analysis.

The phrase “mud changes everything” alone appeared an estimated 2,700+ times across monitored channels this week.

Several cyclists were observed comparing five separate forecast models simultaneously while saying:
“It’s still too early to tell.”

One athlete reportedly refreshed the wind forecast 43 times before lunch despite the race still being days away.

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Instagram Gravel remains especially compromised.

Current conditions include:
• dramatic screenshots of lightning maps
• stories containing “mud changes everything”
• screenshots of dew point data posted like hostage negotiations
• and at least 14 riders publicly pretending they “love brutal conditions” while privately searching “best tire for survival.”

Additional field research confirms:
• “mud tire setup” searches are up approximately 340% week-over-week
• bike wash tutorial content increased 190% in the last four days
• and one major gravel subreddit generated over 1,800 comments on a single thread titled:
“Are we talking normal mud or career-ending mud?”

Meanwhile, Weather App Cyclists continue performing highly advanced meteorological rituals including:
• standing outside and staring at trees
• asking strangers about “gravel moisture content”
• checking three radar apps before every meal
• and saying things like:
“The north wind could completely change race dynamics.”

This is technically true.
It is also what every cyclist has said every year since weather was invented.

FIELD CONCLUSION:

The community remains operational but emotionally vulnerable.
Wind models are being refreshed at dangerous rates.
Mud discourse has now surpassed FTP discourse in several monitored regions.

Several athletes are one thunderstorm graphic away from changing their tire setup for the fourth time this week.

Additional monitoring remains ongoing.

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Subscribe for daily updates.... there is so much more to this....

-Amanda

Disclaimer: This series is parody/satirical commentary inspired by real endurance culture behavior observed publicly online. It is not affiliated with or endorsed by Unbound Gravel or any organization, athlete, or brand. The goal is humor, community reflection, and collective emotional damage assessment.

As of yesterday, I’ll be releasing daily field briefings documenting the current psychological, mechanical, and emotional condition of endurance athletes across the internet as the cycling community collectively prepares for Unbound Gravel.

Each report focuses on a different sector of the endurance ecosystem: racers, mechanics, gear nerds, weather panic, fueling chaos, taper madness, bike shop culture, social media behavior, and the very specific emotional instability that appears before a major gravel race.

The format is somewhere between a parody news network, a wildlife documentary, and an ethnographic field study.

Every briefing will include:

• Real community behavior

• Trend observations

• Public race chatter

• Mechanical failures

• Weather spirals

• Meme ecosystems

• Taper-induced hallucinations

• And adults calling a 7-hour ride “easy pace”

Core Monitoring Divisions Include:

• Recovery & Damage Assessment Division
(Strava Internet, Mid-Pack Riders, Ultra-Endurance Communities)

• Optimization & Mechanical Anxiety Division
(Reddit Gravel, Bike Mechanics, Veteran Racers, Drivetrain Purists)

• Community & Humanity Division
(Facebook Gravel, Women’s Endurance Internet, New Rider Culture)

• Weather Surveillance Division
(Weather App Cyclists, Instagram Gravel, People Refreshing Wind Models Every 11 Minutes)

• Chaos Activation Division
(TikTok Gravel, Group Ride Comment Sections, Rotating Wildcard Populations)

Research sources include public social chatter, Reddit threads, race pages, cycling media, mechanic posts, endurance podcasts, YouTube creators, weather models, comment sections, meme behavior, public athlete uploads, and the alarming number of cyclists currently performing emotional negotiations with tire pressure calculators.

The briefings combine real data, real quotes, real endurance culture behavior, and deadpan field observations from inside the sport.

This is not journalism.

This is damage assessment.

Clip in.

Here was the brief from yesterday.

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DAILY BRIEFING - Monday 5/18/2026 PM

Recovery & Damage Assessment Division

Strava Internet | Mid-Pack Riders | Ultra-Endurance Internet

Current division status: compromised, optimistic, and uploading questionable evidence.

Today’s monitoring area includes the athletes who are trying to determine whether they are “fully recovered,” “race ready,” or simply experiencing the temporary personality disorder caused by seeing other people’s Strava uploads.

Real course conditions are not helping. The 2026 Unbound Gravel route includes over 200 miles of Flint Hills terrain, multiple checkpoints, steep climbs, rough rock sectors, creek crossings, and enough rolling elevation to make grown adults stare silently into hotel parking lots at 9:30 PM.

Public endurance chatter shows the usual taper-recovery conflict: athletes want to reduce fatigue without “losing fitness,” while also refusing to fully rest because another rider on Strava uploaded a casual 114-mile “coffee spin” with 6,000 feet of climbing and a smiling selfie.

The Ultra-Endurance Internet remains especially unstable. In public discussions surrounding Unbound XL and ultra-distance prep, athletes continue recommending back-to-back centuries, overnight rides, sleep deprivation training, and “just getting comfortable being uncomfortable,” which medically translates to “we are all making this up together.”

Mid-pack riders are currently displaying advanced forms of endurance mathematics:

“I did a 73-mile ride last weekend, so 207 is basically three of those.”

This is technically arithmetic. It is not physiology.

Recovery guidance from coaches and endurance research continues to emphasize sleep, hydration, fueling, HRV trends, reduced training load, tissue recovery, and nervous system restoration.

The Strava Internet has responded by uploading “easy recovery rides” lasting 6 hours and 48 minutes.

FIELD CONCLUSION:

Recovery status remains unclear. Confidence remains irrationally high. Several athletes are currently mistaking taper anxiety for loss of fitness, while others are one bad weather forecast away from emotional collapse. Monitoring remains ongoing.

SOURCE ATTRIBUTION & FIELD INTELLIGENCE CONTRIBUTORS:

• Official Unbound Gravel course data
• CyclingNews journalists professionally documenting chaos
• Reddit users “gravelgoon42” and “SleepIsForRoadies” arguing about recovery while clearly not recovering
• Multiple unnamed Strava athletes who tagged a 7-hour ride as “easy”
• Weather apps opened 46 consecutive times by the same cyclist
• One mechanic named Kevin who reportedly whispered “please stop washing your bike the night before the race”
• Endurance podcast hosts casually recommending suffering with the confidence of wartime generals
• Public athlete behavior observed across Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, Reddit, comment sections, and emotionally unstable group chats

Subscribe for daily updates.... there is so much more to this....

Subscribe now

-Amanda

Disclaimer: This series is parody/satirical commentary inspired by real endurance culture behavior observed publicly online. It is not affiliated with or endorsed by Unbound Gravel or any organization, athlete, or brand. The goal is humor, community reflection, and collective emotional damage assessment.

Not really.

At some point, something abnormal has to become emotionally acceptable.

Waking up before sunrise.
Riding in weather normal people avoid.
Spending hours uncomfortable on purpose.
Learning how to keep going when your body starts negotiating against you.

None of that feels natural at first.

Until you sp…

Read more

Two others are yellow.

One looks like it lost a knife fight somewhere around mile 47.

And based on the comments I get from other women in endurance sports, this apparently makes me both:

1. a legitimate athlete

2. mildly incompatible with beauty culture

Nobody tells women this part when we sign up for endurance sports.

They’ll tell us about discipline.
Mindset.
Mental toughness.
Hydration.
Macros.
Zone 2.
Electrolytes.

Nobody pulls you aside and says:

“Hey girl… your feet are eventually going to look like you fought a raccoon in a gravel parking lot.”

But here’s the thing:

A lot of female endurance athletes quietly have:

• missing toenails

• thickened nails

• black toenails

• calluses

• scar tissue

• sun damage

• rough skin

• feet that look less “spa day” and more “medieval labor dispute”

And many of us feel strangely ashamed of it.

Like we somehow failed at femininity because our bodies started looking adapted instead of decorative.

But repetitive nail trauma, bruising, thickening, and nail loss are actually common in endurance athletes because of friction, shoe compression, moisture, and repetitive mechanical stress inside footwear (Gupta et al., 2000).

In other words:

My feet are not broken.

They’re responding correctly to workload.

Somewhere along the line, women absorbed this weird expectation that our bodies should remain polished while doing hard things.

Soft.
Pretty.
Maintained.
Untouched.

But endurance sports do not produce untouched bodies.

They produce durable ones.

And durability leaves evidence.

That evidence might look like:

• tan lines that never fully disappear

• scars from crashes

• permanently damaged toenails

• calluses you quietly protect like historical artifacts

• skin held together by sunscreen, electrolytes, and questionable decision-making

Performance leaves marks.

Men in endurance sports often treat visible wear and tear like proof of toughness.

Women are still subtly taught to conceal it.

A guy loses a toenail after an ultra and people say:
“Hardcore.”

A woman loses one and immediately wonders if she should still wear sandals in public.

That disconnect says a lot.

The weirdest part?

Many female endurance athletes eventually develop a surprisingly emotional relationship with their feet.

Because what beauty culture calls “ugly,” endurance sports often call “adaptation.”

Calluses are a perfect example.

A lot of athletes become protective of them during heavy training cycles because calluses can function as adaptive tissue that helps reduce friction and repetitive irritation. Some sports medicine and dermatology experts even recommend caution with aggressive callus removal during periods of high training load because removing too much tissue may increase blistering and skin breakdown (SELF, 2024).

Translation:

At some point, your calluses stop feeling cosmetic and start feeling structural.

And suddenly a salon pedicure starts feeling less like self-care and more like somebody attempting unauthorized renovations on load-bearing architecture.

Now let me be very clear:

I am not anti-pedicure.

This is not:
“Women should never get pedicures.”

This is:
“Female endurance athletes sometimes have different physiological considerations than beauty culture acknowledges.”

Those are not the same statement.

Athletes experience repetitive nail trauma from:

• friction

• toe-box compression

• downhill loading

• moisture

• swelling during long events

• repetitive impact over thousands of steps or pedal revolutions

And athletes may also face elevated fungal vulnerability because sweat, moisture, damaged nail beds, and occlusive footwear create favorable conditions for infection (Case Western Reserve University, 2025).

That means many women quietly become cautious about:

• aggressive callus removal

• cuticle cutting

• heavy cosmetic procedures during race season

• salon hygiene standards

• anything that risks destabilizing already-traumatized feet

Not because they “gave up.”

Because they adapted.

What really fascinates me, though, is how much shame women carry around this topic.

I’ve seen women apologize to nail technicians before even sitting down.

I’ve seen women joke defensively about “gross runner feet.”

I’ve seen women hide their feet from partners.

And then the second another endurance athlete says:
“Oh thank God, mine look terrible too.”

…the entire emotional atmosphere changes.

Relief.

Because suddenly it’s not:
“I’m gross.”

It becomes:
“Oh. This is part of the sport.”

That distinction matters.

A lot.

The body of a woman who does hard things will eventually show evidence of hard things.

That does not make the body ruined.

It makes the body honest.

Now, to be responsible here:

Not every damaged toenail is harmless.

Persistent pain, redness, drainage, rapidly changing discoloration, severe thickening, or wounds that do not heal should absolutely be evaluated by qualified medical professionals.

And because fungal infections and repetitive trauma can sometimes appear visually similar, persistent nail changes may warrant medical evaluation (Case Western Reserve University, 2025).

Women dealing with recurring issues may benefit from:

• a podiatrist for biomechanics, shoe fit, repetitive pressure patterns, or chronic nail trauma

• a dermatologist for suspected fungal infection or persistent nail abnormalities

• professional shoe fitting or sports-specific gait assessment to evaluate repetitive mechanical loading patterns

There is a difference between:
“athlete feet”

and

“untreated pathology.”

That distinction matters too.

But I also think women deserve permission to stop acting shocked that endurance sports create endurance bodies.

Bodies that:

• adapt

• harden

• scar

• strengthen

• change

Bodies that prioritize function over decoration.

Maybe the problem isn’t that female endurance athletes have ugly feet.

Maybe the problem is we were taught women’s bodies should never look like they’ve done hard things.

My feet carried me across finish lines.

They survived heat.
Pressure.
Mileage.
Gravel.
Swelling.
Thousands of repetitions.

And honestly?

At this point, I’m less interested in whether they look polished.

I’m more interested in whether they keep carrying me forward.

Because polished was never the assignment.

Durable was.

Subscribe

If you didn’t come up through the system—but showed up anyway—this is for you.

I’m building a body of work for athletes learning endurance sports in real time, without the benefit of a traditional on-ramp.

Subscribe if that sounds like your story.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.

—Amanda

I publish the thinking here and talk it through on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok.

Looking for the Books?
Sh*t I Wished People Told Me When I Started Endurance Racing: The On-Ramp Field Guide
Butt Stuff: A No-BS Field Guide to Saddle Comfort, Skin Health, and Not Hating Your Bike

Looking for the Posters?
Don’t Sh*t Your Kit
Bike Shop Etiquette 101

Looking for the Stickers or Other Stupid Sh*t:
DFQ
Fat Bike Love
My Bike Is Dirty Because I Ride It

Support the Armadillos
Endurance sports are full of strange creatures.
Some of them ride gravel bikes.
Some of them wander Kansas at night with armor and zero concern for your tire pressure.

If you want to support the people who rescue injured wildlife — including armadillos — consider supporting Operation Wildlife.

References

Case Western Reserve University. (2025). Cleveland researchers launch first major study addressing hidden performance killer in athletes. https://case.edu/news/cleveland-researchers-launch-first-major-study-address-hidden-performance-killer-athletes

Gupta, A. K., Konnikov, N., MacDonald, P., Rich, P., Rodger, N. W., Edmonds, M. W., McManus, R., & Summerbell, R. C. (2000). A large-scale North American study of fungal isolates from nails: The frequency of onychomycosis, fungal distribution, and antifungal susceptibility patterns. Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology, 43(4), 641–648.

SELF. (2024). What runners should know before getting a pedicure. https://www.self.com/story/what-runners-should-know-before-pedicure

Disclaimer

This content is for informational purposes only and is not intended to diagnose, treat, or provide medical or psychological advice. Always consult with a licensed healthcare or mental health professional before making changes to your training, recovery, or behavioral practices. Amanda Duling is not a licensed medical professional. Participation in any program, guide, or consultation is voluntary and at your own risk.

I think a lot of people quietly leave before they ever really start.

Not because they didn’t like bikes.

Not because they weren’t capable.

But because entering cycling culture can feel psychologically brutal when you’re new.

Especially for women.

You show up already feeling behind.

Everybody else seems to:

• know the rules

• know the gear

• know the language

• know where to stand

• know what rides to join

• know how to clip in

• know how to descend

• know how to suffer correctly

And meanwhile you’re standing there wondering if everyone can tell you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing.

I remember that feeling.

I remember showing up intimidated.
I remember feeling like everybody else belonged there except me.

And honestly?
I got lucky.

Because somewhere along the way, I found people who helped me feel safe enough to stay.

Not people who treated me like I was fragile.
Not people who handed me fake empowerment quotes.

People who quietly helped me believe:
“You can do this too.”

One of the biggest reasons I stayed in cycling was because I had someone who helped bridge the gap between “new rider” and “belonging.”

Not by shielding me from cycling culture.

But by guiding me through it.

That distinction matters.

There’s a huge difference between:
“good luck out there”
and
“ride with us.”

I had someone who would bring me into harder rides and bigger cycling spaces while simultaneously making sure I never felt completely alone inside them.

He would introduce me to experienced riders.
Teach me things nobody writes down.
Help me understand the culture.
Normalize mistakes.
Explain things without making me feel stupid.

And maybe most importantly:
he helped me realize experienced cyclists were just humans too.

Not gods.
Not untouchable athletes.
Not people born with secret cycling powers.

Just people who kept riding long enough to learn.

That changed everything for me.

Because confidence didn’t appear all at once.

It was built through:

• small experiences

• safe exposure

• community

• mentorship

• encouragement

• repeated proof that I belonged there too

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized:
I don’t think cycling has a fitness problem.

I think it has an onboarding problem.

The cycling industry spends an enormous amount of time talking about:

• training

• performance

• gear

• FTP

• watts

• races

• upgrades

But almost nobody talks about how emotionally intimidating this sport can feel when you’re entering it alone.

Especially if:

• you’re older

• you don’t fit the image

• you’re post-weight loss

• you’re nervous

• you’re slow

• you’re a beginner

• you don’t understand bike culture yet

• or you simply don’t know where you fit

And I think a lot of people disappear because nobody ever helps them through that part.

That’s where this idea started.

Not as a business.
Not as a clinic.
Not as “women’s empowerment marketing.”

But as a question:

What would happen if we intentionally built a psychologically safe on-ramp into gravel cycling and lifelong movement?

Not:
“survive and prove yourself.”

But:
“come in, we’ll help you learn.”

That’s the foundation of an idea I’ve been quietly building called:

More Than Miles

A program built for the gravel rider I wish I had when I started.

The idea is simple.

A multi-week women’s gravel cycling program focused on:

• confidence

• belonging

• beginner support

• lifelong movement

• mentorship

• no-drop riding

• reducing intimidation around cycling culture

The early weeks would happen inside a local bike shop.

Not just because of the bikes.

Because I think people need a “home shop.”

A place where they can:

• ask questions

• learn mechanic basics

• get comfortable

• build confidence

• know names

• see familiar faces

• stop feeling like outsiders

Then as weather improves, the program would transition outdoors:

• parking lot skills

• easy gravel rides

• guided progression

• no-drop rides

• mentor support

• community integration

Not elite training.

Not performance obsession.

Just:
safe progression into cycling culture.

The long-term goal wouldn’t simply be:
“finish the program.”

The goal would be helping people become fully integrated into the cycling community by the end:

• group rides

• local events

• riding friends

• mentors

• confidence

• belonging

• identity

Because I think that’s the real secret behind lifelong movement.

People don’t stay because of motivation alone.

They stay because movement becomes attached to:

• identity

• friendship

• ritual

• community

• meaning

That’s why this idea makes me emotional.

Because when I look back at my own story, I realize:
the most important thing anyone gave me wasn’t training.

It was permission to belong.

And honestly?

I think there are a lot of people out there waiting for that exact thing.

Comment below “More Than Miles” if you would be interested in trying this pilot program starting in 2027.

-Amanda

She’s 45.
She’s lost 80 pounds.
She’s not hungry.

And she has no idea how she’s supposed to fuel for the next four hours.

The aid station is full of sugar she can’t tolerate.
The advice is “just eat more.”
Everyone around her looks like they’ve done this before.

She didn’t come from this world.

But she’s here now.

The Start Line Looks Different

Something is changing in endurance sports.

Not loudly. Not officially. Not in a way that shows up cleanly in race reports or participation dashboards.

But if you spend enough time in parking lots, on group rides, at packet pickup, or scrolling comment sections at 9:30 PM—you see it.

More athletes are showing up who didn’t come up through the system.

They didn’t race in college.
They didn’t spend their twenties building aerobic base.
They didn’t “always run.”

They arrived here later.

Sometimes after weight loss.
Sometimes after a health scare.
Sometimes after years of feeling like sport wasn’t built for them.

In some cases, that pathway includes medications like Ozempic or Wegovy—part of a broader shift in how people manage weight, metabolism, and long-term health. Recent U.S. polling suggests double-digit percentages of adults report current or past use of these medications (KFF, 2025).

We don’t need perfect causation to recognize a pattern.

The start line looks different.

This Isn’t Just More Athletes. It’s a Different Athlete.

It’s easy to say participation is growing.

That’s not the interesting part.

What’s interesting is who is showing up.

This athlete is often:

• Midlife

• New to structured sport

• Entering after a significant body or health transition

• Highly motivated—but physiologically different

She is not a beginner in the traditional sense.

She is a late-entry athlete—arriving in the middle of a system that assumes years of exposure she doesn’t have.

She’s learning how to:

• fuel

• pace

• read her body

• make decisions under fatigue

…in real time, in public, during events that were not designed with her in mind.

The System Mismatch

Endurance sports didn’t intentionally exclude this athlete.

They just weren’t built for her.

Fueling

The system assumes hunger.

But some of these athletes don’t have it.

Appetite suppression, altered digestion, or reduced sugar tolerance means:

• “just take gels” doesn’t work

• traditional fueling advice backfires

• underfueling happens quietly—and early

Culture

The system assumes exposure.

It assumes:

• you know how to clip in without falling

• you know when to eat

• you know how to interpret fatigue

And when you don’t, the gap is often silent.

Not because people are unkind.
Because the knowledge is invisible to those who already have it.

Operations

The system assumes a predictable athlete.

Aid stations, medical protocols, and race flow are optimized for:

• athletes who fuel consistently

• athletes who recognize early warning signs

• athletes who have done this before

But some of these athletes fail differently.

They don’t bonk the way you expect.
They don’t get hungry before they fade.
They don’t always know what’s happening until it’s already happening.

And sometimes, they walk away from their first race thinking:

“Maybe this just isn’t for me.”

This Is Not a Fringe Case

It’s tempting to treat this as an edge scenario.

It’s not.

This is a growing segment of the endurance population:

• often with higher disposable income

• often deeply committed once they start

• often bringing others with them

They are not just participants.

They are:

• future repeat registrants

• community builders

• organic growth engines

If supported correctly, they are high-retention athletes.

If not, they are one-and-done losses.

There Is Nothing Wrong With This Athlete

Let’s be clear about something.

There is nothing broken here.

She is not:

• underprepared

• weak

• doing it wrong

She is navigating a system that was built around a different starting point.

A system that assumed:

• early entry

• linear progression

• standard physiology

She didn’t come up through that system.

She arrived here anyway.

What Happens If We Get This Right

If endurance sports begin to recognize this shift—not perfectly, but intentionally—something interesting happens.

More athletes finish.

More athletes come back.

More athletes bring someone with them next time.

Aid stations become more effective, not just more stocked.

Medical incidents become more predictable, not less.

The sport doesn’t just grow.

It stabilizes.

What To Do Next

We don’t need perfect data to respond to a visible shift.

But we do need to start paying attention.

If you direct races:

• Start measuring who is showing up—not just how fast they finish

• Pilot small changes in fueling and education

• Review where athletes struggle, not just where they succeed

If you build products:

• Question who your current assumptions serve

• Explore alternatives to “one-size-fits-all” fueling

If you coach or lead communities:

• Make implicit knowledge explicit

• Normalize learning in public

And if you’re the athlete reading this—standing at that start line, wondering if you’re the only one figuring this out in real time—

You’re not.

She’s already at your start line.

The question isn’t whether she belongs.

The question is whether the sport is built for her.

Subscribe

If you didn’t come up through the system—but showed up anyway—this is for you.

I’m building a body of work for athletes learning endurance sports in real time, without the benefit of a traditional on-ramp.

Subscribe if that sounds like your story.

Normal people.
Epic sh*t.
Then the dishwasher.

—Amanda

I publish the thinking here and talk it through on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok.

Looking for the Books?
Sh*t I Wished People Told Me When I Started Endurance Racing: The On-Ramp Field Guide
Butt Stuff: A No-BS Field Guide to Saddle Comfort, Skin Health, and Not Hating Your Bike

Looking for the Posters?
Don’t Sh*t Your Kit
Bike Shop Etiquette 101Looking for the Stickers or Other Stupid Sh*t:
DFQ
Fat Bike Love
My Bike Is Dirty Because I Ride It

Support the Armadillos
Endurance sports are full of strange creatures.
Some of them ride gravel bikes.
Some of them wander Kansas at night with armor and zero concern for your tire pressure.

If you want to support the people who rescue injured wildlife — including armadillos — consider supporting Operation Wildlife.

References

Kaiser Family Foundation (KFF). (2025). Public opinion on GLP-1 drugs for weight loss and diabetes.

https://www.kff.org

Sports Medicine Journal. (2026). Effects of GLP-1 receptor agonists with and without exercise on physical fitness.

BMJ Open Sport & Exercise Medicine. (2025). Perceptions of exercise initiation following weight loss interventions.

RunSignup. (2025). Race registration market analysis.

USA Triathlon. (2024). Annual participation report.

Disclaimer

This content is for informational purposes only and is not intended to diagnose, treat, or provide medical or psychological advice. Always consult with a licensed healthcare or mental health professional before making changes to your training, recovery, or behavioral practices. Amanda Duling is not a licensed medical professional. Participation in any program, guide, or consultation is voluntary and at your own risk.

Not pacing.

Not race strategy.

Not even training volume.

Food.

Say “you need carbs,” and suddenly it’s a debate.
Say “I don’t eat sugar,” and it’s a personality.
Say anything with confidence, and now we’re arguing about tone.

It should be simple.

You burn …

Read more