I took part in my first ultra-distance race a year ago: from Mexico City's Zócalo to Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca—790 km through the Sierra Mixteca. It was a bit chaotic; I had little time to prepare, but I decided to go for it. I wanted to push myself to try something new, something that had been calling me for a while, even though I knew I might not have the training to compete. Why? To learn.

I’ve never really considered myself a very athletic person, so it’s hard for me to grasp just how much it takes—both physically and mentally—to take on an event like this. But what I do know is that I deeply admire those who make it happen, especially women, because dedicating the time and determination to challenges like these is no small feat.

Last year, when the experience was still fresh, I didn’t want to write much about it. I felt embarrassed, like I hadn’t performed my best, and I preferred to just let it go. But recently, I developed the 35mm film from the photos I took, and seeing them brought back emotions and lessons that I now want to share. I believe it’s important to share our experiences because we never know who we might inspire. In the end, what matters most is showing up for ourselves—without putting too much pressure on our expectations.

Overcoming fears

The race started at 1 a.m. in Mexico City’s Zócalo. They call it El Infierno del Sur—"The Hell of the South"—because of the brutal heat. I mean, what better idea than organizing a race in May through the semi-desert, right? Haha. I counted only six women at the start line, compared to around 50 men. Being there felt important for one simple reason: representation matters. The gender gap in these sports is still huge.

From the start to CP1, I spent most of the time thinking about quitting. I got lost multiple times in Puebla and rode completely alone for hours. Now I understand why so many prefer to ride in groups or pairs—riding solo is a massive mental challenge. When exhaustion sets in, the mind goes to strange places.

I was lucky—the universe sent me company. Between CP1 and CP3, I was "adopted" by incredible people. At first, I rode with Trucha and Tío Bele, and later, I matched pace with Sofía. I shared the toughest part of the route to Acatlán de Osorio with her, as well as my first-ever full night of riding. I always like to emphasize that without her company, I probably would have quit. I deeply admire her mental strength—she doesn’t break under adversity, and her attitude was contagious.

It’s also worth mentioning that riding at night in this country carries a different kind of fear, one deeper than what you might feel elsewhere. I’ll expand on this another time.

The darkness offered relief from the heat, but it also brought new challenges. At times, sleep would overtake me while riding, and my mind would completely shut down.

It was terrifying and dangerous, but the alternative was even worse—facing the scorching sun and temperatures above 40°C (104°F). In the end, the only option was to keep pedaling, learn to clear my mind, and accept suffering as part of the process.

Suffering on the bike is complicated for me because I like to see cycling as something enjoyable. But enjoyment takes a backseat when you have to cover such long distances.

The first day was my longest day on the bike—almost 30 hours and 330 km (205 miles).

The elevation gain? I’m not sure—only estimates—since my bike computer stopped working due to the heat and being on for so many hours. Still, just making it that far was a huge achievement for me.

When the Race Stopped Being a Race

I met my partner at CP3, and wow, he was having a tough time. He told me he was thinking about quitting; he felt he was too far behind and that it wasn’t worth trying anymore.

I met my partner at CP3, and wow, he was having a tough time. He told me he was thinking about quitting; he felt he was too far behind and that it wasn’t worth trying anymore.

But was that true? I didn’t feel like I was doing great either, but still, I thought it was worth continuing—not to win, but to complete the challenge and see what other lessons the road had to offer. So, I suggested we wait for him, slow down the pace, and accompany him—to see how far he could go without so much pressure.

I just wanted to finish; it was my first time in ultra-distance, and crossing the finish line would be enough for me. Even at a relaxed pace, we had to ride with extreme fatigue, under a scorching sun.

When we stopped at the little shops, people would take pictures with me. It was so sweet, especially seeing the little girls amazed to see me all dusty and dirty, riding through the mountains on my bike. I felt really grateful to be there, for those moments.

Final thoughts

This ultra taught me many lessons. I learned that endurance isn’t just about muscles, but about the mind. The body can withstand more than we think, and it’s willpower that carries us to the finish line.

On the bike, as in life, you carry what you choose: weight, fears, expectations. And sometimes, you have to let go of what holds you back from moving forward. Competing in ultra-distance doesn’t always mean going faster, but learning to move at your own pace and managing your energy wisely.

Every journey brings its own lessons, and in this one, I discovered that I have more endurance than I imagined. I also realized that you can even get tired of something you love, but it's important to set goals to measure where you are and keep trying to see your progress.

This year, I’ll try again. I want to see how far I can go on my own, to experience what it's like to race in solitude, although I know the road always surprises. Nothing is written. Let’s see what I learn this time.