... Fall seven times and get up eight ...
Many know me from the countless times I've tried to finish Across Andes, 2021-2022-2023, all DNF. Each one with its story, but this last one was different.
It begins in December 2022 when I was still processing my second DNF in Araucanía when the registrations for the 2023 edition opened. I felt that this challenge was not lost, that I still had strength, resilience, and more to give. All the learning from these challenges allowed me to not hesitate and go for more, so I signed up.
During January and February, I worked on recovering my body and mind, to continue with the necessary training in March to achieve this new challenge, considering that this time the difficulty would double. Firstly, it was in an unfamiliar place for me, and secondly, the weather was very harsh; I knew that wind and rain would be predominant while racing.
Given this scenario, I prepared both physically and mentally to face it in the best way possible. I sought advice, equipped myself with more technical clothing, worked on coping with the cold in my mind, and practiced new gravel techniques (to avoid a fall like the one that happened the previous year).
I felt safe and calm to face what was coming, I was prepared; it was 9 months of hard preparation, but a wrong decision during the race left me unable to finish.
Day 1: The weather was very cold in the morning, with some drops falling at the start. I was very focused on making everything go well. The route started with a short but intense climb, and suddenly, a rider crossed his bike in front of me, causing me to fall. Without thinking, I got up as quickly as I could, aiming not to lose the group. I tried to move faster, but I couldn't. My GPS wasn't finding the route, and I took the wrong turn at the first junction. It took me to another route with an incline. When I realized it, I turned back, and by then, I couldn't see anyone and understood that I would be riding alone throughout the race again. When I reached km 60, El Blanco, I tried to eat something and talked with some police officers who told me that it would start raining around 3 PM, so I hurried to reach the Coyhaique Alto shelter at km 140. When it started to rain, I covered myself with the waterproof clothes I had. The sunset was approaching, and the rain didn't stop but worsened, with strong winds becoming more intense as I ascended. I started to worry after a patrol warned me that the weather was very bad further up. I continued my journey, and about 5 km before the shelter, another patrol stopped me on the route and detained me at the shelter because it was dangerous to continue in those conditions. I'm grateful they did because the wind was really terrible.
At the shelter, they treated me with coffee and bread, and they offered me to spend the night there, an opportunity I took to dry my clothes and sleep.
Day 2: I set my alarm to wake up at 4 AM. It was still raining, but the wind had decreased, offering a chance to advance. I dressed warmly and began a new day heading towards PC1 in Ñirehuao, which closed at 6 PM. At dawn, I could see everything covered in snow; it wasn't raining but snowing. It was so beautiful and unforgettable, moments that will remain in my mind, witnessing the immense power of nature. I felt fortunate to live through all this. When passing through the pampas, a strong headwind slowed my pedaling, making it feel like climbing an endless hill, delaying my arrival time. I knew I was the last rider but still on time. When I arrived at PC1, to my surprise, there was nothing—no flags, no food, no cheer. Only the landowner was there to mark my card. I felt bad because I was within the time limit, and I always believe the party ends when the last guest leaves, but there was nothing I could control. I didn't let it affect me; I had to stay strong. I realized that my phone's cable was ruined by the rain, and I couldn't charge it. This was another complication as I wanted to stay in touch and had been out of contact for over 48 hours.
At PC1, they told me many riders had withdrawn due to the cold and rain, which surprised me a lot. I tried not to give it much importance, staying focused, resting a bit, and resuming my journey. The plan was to reach Mañihuales that day. I continued enjoying the path and arrived around 9:30 PM. It was still raining heavily, so I took shelter in the first place I found, ate, dried my clothes, and rested to continue early in the morning.
Day 3: After resting, I left at 4 AM heading towards Amengual. I stopped at the Copec in Mañihuales, hoping to find a cable to charge my phone, to check on my friends from the academy, and send messages to my family to let them know I was okay.
My plan was to ride all day and part of the night until La Junta. It was still raining, but for some reason, I didn't feel cold. On the route, I started crossing paths with other riders, which caught my attention as I believed no one was behind me. But I wasn't alone, and I began to feel less lonely. I took a short break for a hot chocolate, dried my clothes and shoes to cross Queulat as dry as possible to avoid the cold. On that stretch, I met and got to know Javiera Sepulveda. We exchanged a few words, and then I heard shouts cheering me on. I turned and saw three guys from the academy who told me they had abandoned the race, which surprised me even more! I couldn't understand and continued quickly to climb the hill—a beautiful place, a true paradise—the rain, the wind, the slopes! I didn't want to stop. I only did so to take a photo and immortalize the moment. I wondered if what I was experiencing was a dream. I cried with emotion (and still do while writing these lines). These were tears of joy for achieving what was already a feat. I finally finished the climb and began the descent, which brought happiness. But then the gravel curves came! At that moment, I wanted to let a truck pass, but the driver let me go first. It wasn't a favor, but I bravely took the lead, repeating in my mind, "controlled descent," "you control the brakes," "slowly." Every word, every phrase Tomás repeated in the academy's workshops and outings, I followed to the letter. Behind me were two trucks and some cars. Once I descended the winding road, I moved aside and let them pass. It was thrilling when they honked to greet me, those loud truck horns making me feel special and filling me with pride. Now I had a long road to Puyuhuapi, where I crossed paths with the lead rider, Ashley, practically lapping me (later I learned she withdrew a bit further ahead). Until then, I was running my race, so I continued on my path.
The route's scenery was truly beautiful, with giant cliffs covered in huge nalcas and fine waterfalls accompanying me until sunset. Being there with such a view was already a dream.
At one point on this route, I saw a car ahead that shouted at me again, "Go Pao! Go all out!" I saw Tomás in the car, who had abandoned the race. It saddened me, but I realized I was doing well, feeling mentally and physically strong. It was a morale boost, renewing my strength and determination to finally achieve my most desired goal: finishing Across Andes. Around 9:30 PM, I arrived at Puyuhuapi and decided to continue without stopping in the town. Before starting the upcoming climb, I had a snack, talked with Iván, telling him I would ride at night, reaching La Junta around 2 AM to eat and rest before starting the climb to Lago Verde. I needed 7 hours from La Junta to get there. I was still determined to do it.
At that moment, everything was going according to my plans. I checked my phone messages (something I rarely do while riding) and read one saying that Javi didn't want to ride alone at night and that we should go together. She was in Puyuhuapi, which surprised and worried me. Maternal instincts kicked in, making me turn back to help her. We had dinner, and she felt unwell, probably due to the cold and rain (Javi is very sweet, young, and brave at the same time). This was my breaking point, where emotions flowed a thousand miles per hour, where for a second your mind blocks and you make decisions, good or bad (depending on the perspective). I decided to continue but then chose to wait until Javi felt better. We waited until 3 AM to leave. But unfortunately, she couldn't recover, so I started my journey, knowing I wouldn't make it in time. The route was very tough, more like an endless roller coaster. I was close to La Junta, taking almost 5 hours, but still lacking time to achieve the goal. That's when I saw the organization's truck. At that moment, I broke into tears because I felt the challenge was slipping away again. I would arrive late at PC2, making it pointless to continue as I would be eliminated anyway.
Once again, I failed, overcoming many obstacles: the cold, the wind, the rain, the snow, the loneliness, the pressure to abort the race. I resisted receiving help, not wanting to be taken by vehicle out of pity or unnecessary concern. For this, I maintain my pride high.
“IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW SLOW YOU GO, AS LONG AS YOU DON'T STOP.”
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