Introduction
I didn’t look like the riders around me at the start line. Their bikes gleamed, their kits matched, and their confidence seemed effortless. Less than a year ago, I hadn’t even trained seriously on gravel. But there I was in Emporia, Kansas, lining up for the Unbound 50.
If you’ve ever wondered whether you belong, questioned your strength, or feared you were in over your head, then you know exactly what I felt that morning.
This is the story of how I went from a rider still learning to shift on gravel roads to a finisher in one of the hardest races in endurance cycling.
Background
I started riding because I was searching for a healthier life and a stronger community. Three years earlier, I’d undergone weight-loss surgery, and while that helped transform my health, I still needed something to rebuild strength, joy, and identity. Gravel riding quickly became that outlet.
At first, I was completely lost. On my first group ride, I was dropped by mile three. I didn’t even know what a bike computer was, let alone that I needed one to find my way back. I remember nervously asking another rider, “Do I need one of those things?”
Then I saw the Unbound riders: ordinary people doing extraordinary miles on Kansas dirt roads. I grew up in a rural farm community, so grit, mud, and dust weren’t strangers to me. I even knew how to “call the cows” on my rides. For the first time, I thought — maybe I belonged here, too.
Gravel wasn’t just exercise. It became my way of connecting health, heritage, and community.
The Big Story
The first 10 miles of the Unbound 50 felt effortless. The course was flat, the energy electric. My mind told me, This is a piece of cake. I can do this kind of gravel all day. I even passed a few riders, my confidence soaring.
But by mile 20, reality arrived. The sun pressed down, the rolling hills hit hard, and my water was running low. Each climb felt longer than the last. My quads burned, my breathing grew ragged, and doubt crept in.
At mile 30, I cracked. I stepped off my bike, legs shaking. Pride told me not to walk, but survival demanded it. That’s when gravel community showed up. I recognized another rider I’d met at a previous race, and we instantly commiserated about how the 50 was closer to 55 miles. Misery had company, and suddenly I didn’t feel so alone.
To keep moving, I used what I call “chunking.” I stopped thinking about the finish line and started counting the gravel mounds one by one. Later, up the steep hill into Emporia, I focused on the sidewalk lines under my feet. Each one brought me closer.
By then, the course had thrown everything at me: heat, hills, cramps, and doubt. But with every small chunk, I pushed forward.
As I neared the finish chute, I heard my family cheering: “I’m so proud of you. You can do this.” I crossed the line not with perfect form or a podium place but with the quiet knowledge that I had proven something to myself.
Gravel wasn’t asking me to be flawless. It was asking me to keep going. And in that moment, I knew the truth: walking is not weakness, chunking is survival, and we’re all doing hard things — but we’re doing them together.
Closing Takeaway
The Unbound 50 didn’t make me faster or stronger overnight. What it gave me was belonging. In less than a year of training, I learned that gravel is less about watts or wins and more about persistence and people.
I’m not a pro. I’m a healthcare tech professional, a mom, and someone who still feels new to the sport. But gravel doesn’t care who you are — it just demands that you show up and keep going.
And that’s why I’ll keep riding. Because in gravel, the road doesn’t measure perfection. It measures grit.
Author Bio
Amanda Duling is a gravel cyclist and Unbound 50 finisher who began training on gravel less than a year before tackling the Flint Hills. By day, she works in healthcare technology; by dawn and dusk, she’s on the dirt roads of Kansas. Amanda brings an honest voice to endurance riding, showing that everyday athletes balancing career and life belong on gravel just as much as anyone chasing podiums.