Profile

About: I’m a Midwestern girl, through and through. I was born in Peoria, Illinois, but did most of my growing up in Lake Ozark, Missouri. I have the best family anyone could ask for. My mother, my sister, and my grandfather are not only a good source of entertainment, but also my support system. I grew up playing sports and being outside, thanks to a strong influence from my dad and grandpa. My grandfather was always really involved in the bicycling community where I lived. In fact, he bought me my first bike–a bubblegum pink Schwinn complete with handlebar tassels and training wheels. My grandpa is passionate about the sport; in his 50’s, he rode from Denver, Colorado to Peoria, Illinois in 9 days. When asked about his cycling trips, my grandfather does not brag about his ability to log hundred-mile days or endure the sweltering heat of Kansas in mid-July. Instead, he talks about the people he met along the way and the experiences that shaped his perspective on the world.

That bubblegum pink Schwinn has turned into a bubblegum pink Cannondale (sans tassels, I’m afraid), and now I’m a sophomore studying religion here at the University of Texas at Austin. During my first semester at UT, my father suffered a massive stroke and was taken off of life support shortly thereafter. My dad was, and continues to be, my hero. I was lost. Because I wish I had had someone to help lift me back on my feet, I feel the need to help others cope with trying times. The Texas 4,000 presents an opportunity for me to play the supporting role for those affected by cancer while shaping my own perspective through travel.

Why I Ride

I ran track in high school. I was frequently placed in the 4x400m relay, which is the last event of a meet. The crowd of supporters has thinned, the sun has set, and you have the expectations of your teammates placed directly on your shoulders. The back stretch is the loneliest. You’re far removed from the cheers of the crowd, and usually have only your competitor to keep you company. But, that wasn’t the case for me. The only voice in the crowd that could be heard on the back stretch belonged to my dad. His voice just carried–carried to the far side of the stadium, and carried me through the tough race during its loneliest moments. My dad isn’t here anymore, but I know he’s present in my loneliest, most trying times. Cancer is one long, lonely, frightening back stretch that shouldn’t have to be endured alone. I ride for those who have lost their biggest fan to cancer; I ride to be a voice heard across the stadium for those who need hope the most.


I ride for Stephen Harold Reiners, son, husband, brother, and the uncle I never had the opportunity to meet, who fought a losing battle with leukemia. I ride for Bernadine Elizabeth Reiners, mother to my mother and her biggest fan, who lost her fight with a brain tumor. I ride for Lou Walter, grandfather and closest confidant to my best friends Lauren and Shelby Walter, who passed away last year due to pancreatic cancer. I ride for Vern Eugene Frank, grandfather and role model, who succumbed to lung cancer. I ride for better treatment, for better preventative care, and for a cure.