I’m not sure where the word “doozy” comes from, but if there was ever a time to use this silly word, now would be the time. This blog post, this experience, this journey I’ve been on for the past several years, is a doozy, and we’ve all been waiting for this post for a while. So, dear reader, I hope you’re ready for the 2021 XCM World Championships, because I sure as heck wasn’t.
Chasing Dreams
Chasing a dream is a fool’s errand. It requires faith: belief in something for which you have no evidence. It requires commitment: a near-idiotic daily demonstration of consistency, determination, and dedication. It requires immense sacrifice and focus. The bigger the dream, the more likely you are not to achieve it. But I like to believe that the bigger the dream, the more likely you are to take a path that leads somewhere you never expected.
Let’s just say I’m a fool.
Since a very young age (maybe 7 years) I have fallen into the category of “athlete”. But only in my wildest dreams would I have called myself a world class athlete.
I dreamed as a middle school runner that I would run the Boston Marathon someday alongside my dad. When a career ending injury in college shattered that dream, I joined my collegiate cycling club and my dream morphed into becoming a professional road cyclist. Naturally, I lost that dream somewhere between graduation and becoming a full time engineer. I rediscovered the dream, reincarnated in the form of singletrack-chasing, endurance mountain biking, when I was 27. At 27, I watched the XCO World Championship race in Cairns, Australia and thought to myself “I can do that.” Just like that, the small pilot light that was always burning but hidden under old logs and soot, ignited into flames and the dream was alive once again.
(Friendly reminder: “XCO” means Olympic Cross Country, which is much shorter and faster than “XCM”, which means Marathon Cross Country)
At first, I dreamed of racing at the Olympics (which is XCO) and the XCO World Championships. But the truth is, I prefer longer races. I enjoy suffering and I feel more fulfilled and satisfied after a 4-hour (or more!) slog compared to a 90-minute sprint. That feeling of being fully spent, exhausted to the point of crying but realizing you have no energy left to cry, is oddly euphoric. As a result, I shifted focus to XCM racing after a few years of XCO. Thus, the most recent inflection point occurred, when my dream transformed to racing at the XCM World Championships.
Longer workouts, training rides, and races take more time. Time, the most precious of all my resources, is something I’ve struggled to manage since I was a child. But, I believed it was possible to get to XCM Worlds, and somehow this belief served as my guiding light for the past few years.
I say “years” like it’s been a lifetime but, the dream of XCM Worlds has only simmered in the stew of my athletic pursuits for about three years. However, three years feels like a lifetime when trying to blend a full time job with training, travel, and racing. (Yes, I’ve heard from many people recently that they did not know I work a full time, 9-5 job as an Engineering Program Manager at a medical device consulting company, in addition to racing. How do I manage it? Truthfully, not well, but that’s a whole different story)
I started working with my coach, Ben Turits of the Endurance Collective, at the end of 2020. When we discussed my goals and roadmap for the upcoming years, the XCM World Championships race was set as a stretch goal for 2022, maybe even 2023. I knew I would eventually get there if I worked hard enough, but we both knew I still had a LOT of growing and work to do. Neither of us expected or even dreamed I would be lining up with the world’s best in 2021. Yet, the US National Team for XCM Worlds was announced in mid-September and I made the cut—a testament to a set of very strong races in 2021.
When I received the selection email from USA Cycling, the news didn’t sink in. I was notified just before La Forestière, my first ever European race, which was consuming most of my mental energy at the time. Then, the moment I got home from France my job swallowed me whole and instantly overwhelmed me. I had less than two weeks until we had to leave for Italy, so my mind was quite pre-occupied.
Reality didn’t sink in until I tried on the Team USA kit for a photoshoot the weekend before our trip to Worlds. While beaming in front of the camera, the little girl’s voice in my head—the dreamer I’ve kept alive for so many years—started exclaiming “I am living my dream!” Indeed, this is a dream come true; I will be representing my country in the biggest race in the world for my race discipline.
When I shared the news on social media, the response was overwhelming. Support from nearly every corner of my world flooded my existence in the form of comments, posts, text, emails, phone calls, and visits to my office at work. It was evident that I was part of something much larger than myself. You know that village I have mentioned previously? It turns out my village is way bigger than I ever expected. Team KellCat is something truly special.
For many years, I have chased a dream in front of a lot of silent fans. My hope has always been to show the world that an average person can do great things, that you can make your own luck, you can chase your flavor of dreams even when you have to manage other commitments and priorities. Put simply, I believe and want to show the world that you can write your own script. Many of us allow external factors to write our life’s script; we let social norms, past experiences, and other’s expectations define how we behave and live our lives. You might not have crafted the script’s beginning, but I believe in challenging what’s been set before us and re-writing the middle and the end.
Wearing that Team USA kit was tangible evidence that my script was truly mine. It was the start of transitioning from having faith in my dream without evidence, to realizing that my dream is possible.
Unfortunately, in this script that belonged to me, I still allocated a large role to external expectations. I wanted to make my country proud. I wanted to make my sponsors and my family proud. I wanted to make YOU proud. All of this simmered in the days leading up to the big race.
The Long Journey Begins
I decided to treat Worlds with the respect it deserved, which meant flying for the first time ever with two bikes (my Seven KellCat full suspension and KellCountry hardtail). I didn’t know which bike would suit the terrain best, and I wanted to have a full set of spare parts just in case. I went into Worlds thinking I would race my KellCountry based on the smooth-looking photos of the Island terrain. Boy was I wrong. More on that later.
Another big change compared to most race weekends was that my parents joined us on this trip. This was a huge milestone for them because they had never been to a “big” mountain bike race (and this one was the biggest!), and they have never been to Europe. Ultimately, this trip brought lots of firsts for everyone involved.
The flight from Boston to Rome was relatively uneventful. Nothing can truly be called uneventful when traveling internationally during a global pandemic, but there isn’t much to share outside of the fact that I got to help the baggage handler load my bike bags onto the oversized luggage conveyor, which was equal parts satisfying and terrifying.
Full of smiles thinking about all the gelato I was going to enjoy over the next week.
One of the smoothest parts of our travel experience was retrieving our luggage, including the two bike bags. This is usually one of the longer parts of trips that include flights, so I was grateful. Naturally, though, everything balances itself out. The next step in our journey was the rental car pickup.
We rented a minivan, thinking that the space would be sufficient to hold four people, our luggage, and two bike bags. What we didn’t anticipate was that just like nearly all the other cars in Europe, minivans are also very “mini”. Our minivan was like an adolescent minivan who one day dreamed of being a full grown, adult minivan. After several hours of flying and navigating airports, we were all very tired, a bit grumpy, and incredibly frustrated to find that no matter how hard we tried, no matter how many configurations of seats-down, bags-stacked we attempted, we could not fit everything in the car. Moreover, this was the last “large” vehicle available at the entire airport, so we had no choice but to make it work.
Packing magic with Master Packer, Joe.
Luckily, we were smart enough to bring ratcheting moving straps with us, so we removed the bikes and wheels from the bike bags, somehow fit everything inside the car, and then strapped the two bike bags to the roof. Yes, it resulted in denting the roof, but it also resulted in four people making it to the ferry on time.
Many people have asked how the driving in Italy compared to driving in France, noting that Joe had a near meltdown a few times during the La Forestiere weekend. Joe reported that it was significantly easier than driving in France, but the frantic European motor chaos was not all lost. We still contended with weaving mopeds and motorbikes, trucks moving way faster than should be possible, and grumpy tailgating grandpas. That said, Joe seemed significantly more at ease on this trip compared to France as he drove the three hours from Rome to the Piombino marina.
The ferry boat that took us from Piombino to Elba island was an engineering marvel. I have never seen so many cars packed onto one space. As we waited for the ferry to unload before we could drive on board, I tried to imagine all of the off-loading vehicles fitting into the boat in front of me and I just couldn’t do it. I even started worrying that we weren’t going to make it on the boat because we were lined up with so many cars! FYI, I worry a lot more than I need to.
Also, the ferry company had a very strange relationship with American cartoons. I didn’t hate it.
Feeling extra safe with Batman watching over our ship.
I got to meet Batman. No big deal.
After the one-hour ferry ride, we drove off the boat and onto the narrow Elba Island streets. Joe spent a few dreadful minutes re-living the trauma of the French driving, but the island roads calmed and we were met with incredible views and sprawling in mountains. This was the Mediterranean, a first-time sight for all four of us. Of course, my parents didn’t have much of a “view” because they could barely move their heads in that cramped back seat, and I’m pretty sure my mom’s hair was getting stuck in a derailleur right next to her head, but we would have a few days to explore after we arrived at the Airbnb.
Our Airbnb was lovely and less than a mile outside of Capoliveri city, where the race started and ended. Unfortunately, we arrived a couple hours earlier than our host expected, so we were locked out for a while. None of us (especially Joe) had any interest in exploring the area after such a long day. So, he built the two bikes and we met our temporary neighbor, Lia. In her broken English, Lia introduced herself and brought us some cold water, which felt like a small miracle. She was the first real interaction we had on Elba Island, and she welcomed us genuinely and openly. I regret not getting a picture with her, because she will be one of the many shining memories from this trip I will hold onto for years. Lia was full of energy and excitement and she loved that we were from the US. She was helpful and generous in the neighborly sort of way you’d expect of home, which helped put us all at ease.
Not a bad view when stepping out of the Airbnb every morning.
It’s worth mentioning that unlike our trip to France, where I had some familiarity with French, I know absolutely no Italian. So, I did my best to memorize how to say “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian. Do you speak English?”. Unfortunately, every time I tried to utter that phrase, I usually reverted to French or—even worse—just garbled syllables. This made for some uncomfortable and embarrassing interactions during the trip, but I suppose that’s all part of traveling, right?
Pre-Race Exploration
True to my race weekend routine, I attempted to get to know the race course on my pre-rides. I had three rides before race day, which gave me time to explore the start and finish segments, and I hoped to preview the full 35km lap.
“3.100 D+” means 3,100m (10,171ft) of elevation for the 80km (49.7mi) course. OUCH!
During the first ride, which included a portion of the start and finish, I realized just how steep and technical the climbing was going to be. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good climb, but my favorite kind is the climb of gradual-to-moderate steepness, one where I can get into a rhythm and grind for a while. Not the I-ran-out-of-gears-and-can-barely-keep-my-front-wheel-on-the-road kind of climb. Sadly, Elba had only a few of the former, but plenty of the latter to offer on race day.
The theme of 2021 Worlds: climbing.
While pre-riding, I saw many strong men and women out practicing the course and trying different lines on technical features, just like me, even some women I recognized from the past several years of watching the XCO World Cup races on TV! To say I was intimidated would be an understatement.
On day two of pre-riding, I planned to explore the full race loop. At 35km (~21miles) with crazy elevation and lots of technical singletrack, this loop was no joke. The sandy and powdery terrain of the island was so unfamiliar to me--I’m much more comfortable with the wet rocks and roots of New England. The day was hot—way hotter than I expected—and dust was starting to cake on my legs, shoes, and all over my bottles and bike. The route was taking significantly longer to ride than I expected (those climbs are intense!) and I accidentally lost a water bottle somewhere out on the loose rocks on the backside of the island. With more than an hour left in my ride, I was out of water. On top of all that, my KellCat bike was making a noise and neither Joe nor I could diagnose the issue.
While standing in the middle of a dusty trail in the blazing sun, I finally reached a breaking point and called Joe. All I could say is “I don’t belong here” in between my meltdown sobs. I was so far from home (in so many ways) and I felt like a fraud. I couldn’t prepare properly for an easy pre-ride and my bike seemed to be broken. The reality sank in: I’m not worthy of this experience. I shouldn't be here until at least 2022. The US deserves better than me.
This, of course, is textbook Imposter Syndrome. But it felt very real and true at the time.
Joe, being the amazing human he is, kept me calm and we planned a meeting point so he could pick me up. Luckily, I was close to the top of the nearby mountain, so I had only to coast for most of the way to him.
When I finally met Joe at our tiny van-car, I confessed to Joe with tears in my eyes: “I’m afraid of letting everyone down. What if I come in last on race day?” His immediate reply was “Who the hell cares if you come in last? Just being here is a huge deal. Just go and do the best you can.”
With some hesitation, I resolved at that moment on the side of the road to follow his advice and just do my best on race day. At the end of the day, last place at the World Championships is still a finish at the World Championships. Truly, when all is said and done, what would make you all proud? What would make the US proud? Being able to say that I gave everything I had by the time I crossed the finish line. Wouldn’t you be proud if you knew I started a race with the best in the world and ended after several hours of suffering at my limit? At that point, would it have been worth the trip, the hours training, the sacrifices, the stress of managing two jobs? Yes. A million times yes.
It’s worth mentioning that I was the only US female racer here in Italy, which is a heavy weight to carry, especially at my first ever World Championships experience. I wanted to make you all proud. This was probably the heaviest weight of all--I wasn’t going to be wearing the Team KellCat kit on race day; I was going to be wearing the red, white, and blue. With the resolution to just go out and make you all proud by resolving to give my best, I found some peace and could sleep a bit more soundly two nights before race day.
Some of that peace evaporated in the morning the day before the race. I had an emergency appointment with my sports psychologist, Kristen Keim and we discussed expectations, strengths, and mental strategy. She helped me develop a plan, remove some of the focus from the external expectations, and look within myself for motivation. Most importantly, she reminded me that I need to focus on having FUN. If I’m not having fun, was all of this truly worth it?
My Mental Strategy
Together, we broke the race into three parts, each with its own mantra:
Part 1 (the start segment and lap 1): “Patience is key” because I tend to go out too fast in races
Part 2 (lap 2): “This is my last race” so that I give everything as if this is the end of 2021 race season
Part 3 (finish segment): “Empty the tank” and leave nothing behind
We also discussed having a few key words on which I could focus during the race, especially when I started slipping into the pain cave. I decided on the following, partly because I love alliterations:
Focus
Fierce
Fun
While some professional cyclists tape the the race elevation profile on their top tube, I went old school and used one section to show the aid stations (in miles, of course) and one to show my keywords.
Masking tape: the classiest of all bike accessories.
I woke up on race morning and forced down my usual coffee, eggs, and pancakes breakfast. The maple syrup was AWFUL; so awful it’s worth making you read about it. While we all thought the maple syrup bottle said something like “real maple syrup from Canada”, it definitely tasted like “real Aunt Jemima’s from the US”.
After a just-barely-palatable breakfast, I put on my Amp lotion and my kit and tried to convince my nervous mind that today was the day it all came together.
My warmup, which I planned to be slightly longer than my usual insufficient warmups, started right after sunrise. The air was cool and more humid than the past couple days. This humidity was familiar to me, like an old training partner I’ve been riding alongside nearly all season long. Surprisingly, my legs felt better than I expected.
A New perspective
While pedaling by the ocean for my warmup, that little girl in my head reminded me repeatedly that I was living my dream. This is really happening.
Suddenly, I was struck by a powerful thought. What if I raced today to make ME proud? What if I ended this race and thought “you gave everything you had and you did it for no one else except yourself. Does it really matter if everyone else is proud? Do you enjoy the script you wrote for yourself?”
While I had my mental strategy already prepared, I modified the script once more, just slightly. The goal for the day was to “make me proud.” With that, I smiled a real, genuine, goofy-Kelly smile and reminded myself that I was, indeed warming up to go live my dream. It might be one year earlier than I expected, but I’m here just the same.
As I approached the start line, the energy of my fellow competitors and the sidewalk-filled fans was palpable. I rolled around small alleyways and narrow streets of Capoliveri, trying to prolong my warmup as long as possible. I snuck into my start box with plate #41 just in time. These are arguably the worst moments of any race—the waiting. The knowing what is to come and the delay of it all while you stew in anticipation. The crowd lined the street, after just witnessing the men’s start, and everyone buzzed with excitement. I took a few deep breaths, forced myself to smile, and said “Focus. Fierce. Fun.” Time to make myself proud.
The Beginning
The whistle started the race and we immediately began climbing out of Capoliveri on a steep, paved hill. A helicopter hovered overhead and followed along to film the action. Within two minutes, I looked around and saw I was dead last—my biggest fear realized! But, I remembered my Part 1 mantra: “Patience is key” so I kept calm and started working my way up the climb. I focused on not overextending myself because so much of the race was still to come. Quickly, the group broke into small packs, and I was riding with women from Czech Republic, Germany, France, Switzerland, and Great Britain. After the first climb, the helicopter disappeared and we were on our own, chasing the leaders in their literal dust.
The race media helicopter, which split it’s time between the men’s and women’s races.
On the first descent, I found myself caught behind a German woman who was very timid and slow on technical features. It was shocking to see the #7 plate on her back, given that I was #41 and felt more comfortable and fluid on these technical features. I knew I was losing time and kept trying to pass her, but she would cut me off, making it very dangerous and sometimes impossible to sneak around her. Then, two women behind me found an opening and I took the risk and followed.
Just moments before passing the German woman in the lower left corner of this photo.
Shortly after the first descent, we started climbing again and I settled into a smaller group with Swiss and Czech women. We were ripping through Capoliveri Bike Park and a Swiss woman crashed right in front of me. I was mentally shaken, but told myself to stay focused and calm.
The Middle
Each lap ended with the “Wall of Legend”: a steep, short, dirt climb. This climb is reportedly famous in the area, I’m guessing partly because of how easy it is for fans to cheer and watch the racers. The announcer shouted each racer’s name as they entered the shute and let me say WHAT. A. FEELING. The entire climb was lined with vuvuzelas, megaphones, and wildly yelling fans. It was almost loud enough to hurt my ear drums. The craziest part: it was all for me (because by this point, the race had strung out and I was alone). Upon making this realization, I flashed my biggest smile, which served to turn the volume up even louder. As it turns out, smiling is the universal sign for “cheer louder!”
Lap 1 on the “Wall of Legend”. Not pictured: the worlds loudest vuvuzelas.
By the time I reached mile 22, it felt like I had ridden 45 miles. The course was rugged, the hills were unbelievably steep, and I was pushing myself harder than I thought possible for this kind of race.
One truly amazing aspect about the Worlds race was the number of fans lining the course and cheering for the racers. On even the most remote parts of the course, you couldn’t ride more than a few minutes without seeing someone cheering. And the coolest part? Everyone was cheering for all the racers, regardless of the country they represented. At the race start, when I was riding with a larger group, I figured the rowdy cheering was for the larger group or for certain people within the group. But by the second lap, I was on my own and everyone was STILL cheering. Typically, I’d hear cheers in native languages, like “Allez! Allez!” or “Brava!” or “Bravo!”. One common cheer (language undetermined -- maybe German?) was “Vie! Vie! Vie!”, which sounded a lot like “Die! Die! Die!” to me, which seemed somewhat apropos given how I was feeling almost the entire race.
Hands down, the most remarkable feeling was when someone would chant “USA! USA! USA!” as I passed. The first few times, it didn’t hit me until I had passed the cheerer. While passing them, I’d think “Ya USA!” and then I’d realize “Wait a second! That’s ME!” It’s not hard to imagine why I was smiling the entire day.
On the course’s steepest climb, which is right after the start/finish area (but we skipped it in the start segment), I was nearly in tears when I realized I had run out of gears and could barely turn the pedals. While my front wheel was popping off the ground, a man beside me yelled “I’m American! Let’s do this together!” and he proceeded to run alongside me for several minutes. He kept encouraging me with little lies like “You’re almost there!” (I wasn’t) and “It’s less steep once you get around this corner” (it wasn’t), but somehow it kept my spirits high and my legs turning. These are the remarkable interactions that made my race tolerable, memorable, and fun.
The all-too-familiar grimace-smile. (Photo: Sportograf)
The rest of the race progressed somewhat uneventfully. The island air was so dry that I found myself needing to drink more water than usual. At each aid station, I asked for water in addition to the bottles I prepared with my Flow Formulas mix, and I swear it was the most glorious water I had ever tasted. Any water I didn’t drink I poured over my neck and back to help keep me cool and to improve the already intense dust marks all over my body.
The End
Toward the end of lap two, I heard the helicopter approaching behind me, signaling that the men were getting closer to catching me. Usually, I find myself accepting my fate and letting them catch me, but at Worlds I decided to put up the fight of my life. Pushing myself to stave off the approaching racers as long as possible required me to dig deep into the depths of my mental and physical strength. It required lots of focus and fierceness. Also, because the men were so close at the end of my final lap, all of the fans were waiting and ready to cheer for them, which meant that I was greeted in Capoliveri with energy and excitement unlike anything I had ever experienced. I used every muscle fiber in my legs to propel me forward and keep me ahead of the men. Small bursts of energy appeared each time I repeated in my head “make yourself proud. Make yourself PROUD! MAKE. YOURSELF. PROUD.”
The lead man and his following moto caught me at the top of the final climb, with just a handful of miles remaining and a long descent ahead of us.
Never have I felt more proud of myself after being caught by another racer. Given that the men’s race was almost finished, the media helicopter was hovering closely above the leader and the two chasing men. As a result, I was caught right in the middle of the chaos. Instead of being frustrated or embarrassed for being caught, I started joking with myself that the helicopter was following me, not the men (false). I then decided I needed to look strong and happy because anyone in the US who was up early watching the live stream (probably no one, but oh well) might see me on TV! This, of course, was me embodying the last keyword: Fun.
Look ma! I was on TV! (see top right corner) This was the moment Andreas Seewald passed me with only a few miles remaining.
With my own personal helicopter escort, I snaked through the final singletrack, descended back into Capoliveri and up the final, steep cobblestone climb. No one likes ending races on a climb, but this cobblestone monster was a thing of nightmares, especially after spending all my energy trying to stay ahead of the men, but I somehow found strength from the cheering fans and the island magic. Again I found that a smile is worth a thousand cheers. Even with pounds of dust caked on my body and bike, I floated up the hill and into the throngs of fans at the finish line, taking 35th place in the Women’s Elite field.
Pride for myself overwhelmed me when I finished. I recognized that feeling of wanting to cry, full of emotions for the day that just passed, for the years leading up to this very moment, for the sacrifices I’ve made, and for the support of my Team KellCat village. At the same time, I simply had no more energy for tears. Instead, I soaked in the incredible energy surrounding me, and gave my crusty water bottle to a child on the side of the course who asked politely (in English!) and had the most persuasive puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. You know you’ve made it in life when some kid wants your half-filled, janky water bottle after a race.
Dusty legs and bike sans water bottles.
Team KellCat + 1 dirt unibrow.
I don’t remember much from that evening except I ate some incredible caprese salad and lasagna at a quaint Italian restaurant in downtown Capoliveri. After dinner, we strolled through Capoliveri’s bustling alleyways, shops, and courtyards and I felt like I was both floating and also begging my legs to carry me through each step. Never had I felt so tired and SO PROUD of the script I now own and re-write every day.
35th isn’t 1st, it isn’t top 10, and to an outsider, it’s likely not remarkable at all. But guess what? I know what it took to get here and I’m pretty certain I was one of the few (if not, the only) women in that entire race who would call cycling a “second job”.
The journey to XCM Worlds was indeed a fool’s errand, so go ahead and call me a fool all you want, but I hope you call me a world class athlete too.
That’s what my script calls me, after all.