The FAQ Series: What's the Secret to Success?

BIG DISCLAIMER: I’m no expert on success, and I don’t claim to be. But enough people have expressed their curiosity about what it takes to chase my dreams that I felt it was worth sharing some thoughts based on the limited experience I’ve gained in life and in my cycling journey.

In a pleasantly surprising number of instances, I’ve had friends and strangers alike tell me “You are inspiring and you make me want to pursue my own goal of [insert life goal / dream / passion] but I have no idea what to do. What’s the secret to being successful?”

So you want to know my secret to achieving a goal?

Build your “village.”

When it comes to pursuing goals and chasing dreams, success is never an individual endeavor. I’m sure you’ve heard the old idiom “it takes a village.” Well, chasing your own personal goals need not diverge from this time-tested guidance.

Don’t be fooled by what you’ve heard — no one has achieved greatness without having support and the benefit of climbing on the shoulders of the adventurers before them. Now, if your goal is to do 100 push-ups, then you can probably go it alone. But, if we’re talking about big dreams — the kind that give you goosebumps from fear and excitement — then the secret is to surround yourself with people who will help you on your journey.

While my Instagram and Facebook accounts are focused around #TeamKellCat and myself, my professional sport pursuits have been heavily enriched by relationships with remarkable people in and out of the cycling industry. Many of these people have placed immense trust and belief in me when there was absolutely no reason to do so (at least in my opinion). [Side Note: If you, dear reader, are already a member of the Team KellCat village, I hope you realize the incredible role you play in my life. Thank you a million times over.]

Without even realizing it, I have been subconsciously grooming (not literally grooming, that would be gross…) and refining my “village” to surround myself with people that lift me up, inspire me, and fiercely support me in all the right ways.

Don’t be fooled, though. As many fierce supporters as there are in this journey, there have also been the same amount of intense “discouragers” (that’s not a word, I know) and people who discounted my dreams. At the beginning of my professional cycling journey, in a subconscious effort to build my village, I would share my goals and dreams with people I met at bike shops, group rides, family events, and even grocery stores (especially when I’d show up in grocery store line to buy some ingredients for dinner with my smelly bike shorts and strange-looking bike shoes, because of course I always forget something important…).

The responses from the masses ranged widely. Interestingly, strangers who knew very little about mountain biking and even less about me, were supportive and enthusiastic, likely drawn to my passion and my energy with a strange curiosity. Even more interestingly, the people who knew me and knew about mountain biking were more often than not cold and unsupportive. I heard “it’s not worth your time” and “it’s really difficult for women in the cycling industry” or “you might want to just stick to racing locally for fun” and “how long do you think this will last? You’re only a few years away from 30; don’t you want to have kids soon?” (Don’t even get me started on this one).

Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m stubborn and resilient. And have an illogical amount of courage.

For a while, I even dreamed of going to the Olympics, and I truly believed it was possible. In fact, the handful of supporters in my early village helped me believe that anything was possible. So that was always a goal in the back of my head: 2024. Kelly the Olympian.

Actually, it’s funny how the brain and memory work. If my memory was truly accurate, my recollection of my early pro cycling pursuit would be flooded with negative feedback and discouragement. But, strangely, it’s not. On the whole, I remember being really well supported and surrounded by positive energy along my path. I suppose I’ve learned to craft my journey in a way that keeps me motivated and energized, which means stuffing some of that negative energy deep into the dark pockets of the never-recall gray matter.

If you came seeking inspiration from this post because you have aspirations of your own, let me assure your that I’m not sharing this to scare you. Au contraire! I’m actually trying to illustrate that despite external doubt and discouragement, self-approval and hard work can prevail. I’ve never been Kelly the Quitter, but rather Kelly the Clever Village Builder; you can do the same for your own dreams, too.

To be honest, I never reflected deeply about this effort to build my “village” until now. Looking back, I truly believe the doubters outweighed the supporters. There’s a lot of negativity out there, likely coming from a place of fear, or jealousy, or maybe from a place of protection. Had I let the doubters “win” (everything is a competition, remember), this journey would have been very different. Today, I’m proud to have created a tribe of people who lift me up. These people invite me to share crazy dreams, pursue my passions, and suggest ideas that defy a bit of rationality and common sense.

To help on your journey, here are a few tips about building your village:

1. Accept that it does take a village. As the Mandalorians say: “this is the way.” A community of support will bring out your best self. Stop resisting and embrace this reality.

2. Positive energy is contagious. So is negative energy. Accordingly, I’ve had to cut out sources of negativity in my life entirely. For negative sources that I can’t necessarily cut out entirely, I’ve had to be selective of what I discuss and monitor my interactions with them. For example, there are people who immediately cut down ideas and new opportunities with “realist” opinions and overall pessimistic perspectives, when what I really need is near blind optimism and support. So, now I don’t go to those people with new ideas. I go to them when I’m confident in my path and sharing news, not seeking approval.

3. Make REAL connections. Don’t look at relationships as just “what can they do for me?” Make people feel invested in your relationship. Be a friend, an ambassador, a positive force. Push yourself to be the inspiration that others need in their life.

4. Don’t be afraid to make a fool of yourself. Authenticity is key. Plus, you want to be surrounded by the “right” people who accept your true self in all it’s uniqueness — not people who are drawn to perfection and flawlessness (because, let’s be real: no one is perfect).

5. Lean into relationships that challenge you. Of course you need to find people who believe in you and your dreams, but don’t build a village of rainbows, marshmallows, and unicorns. Find people who aren’t afraid to challenge you and push you to be your best self. Mix in different perspectives and opinions because complacency and unanimous thought can make you blind to reality.

6. Be open to joining someone else’s village (when appropriate; don’t go knocking down the castle walls without an invitation). Compliment a friend who is working hard at a new skill or endeavor; reach out to someone you see struggling; connect with someone whose passion resonates with your own journey; share a blog or podcast that you really enjoyed; send a message to someone who inspires you; participate in an event or challenge that someone has worked hard to establish, even if it just means posting a silly picture of your workout socks every Wednesday... Whatever form it takes, being part of someone else’s journey can be inspiring and motivational for you and can provide an intrinsic sense of fulfillment that might drive you along your pursuits in unpredictable ways.

You’ll find that people are drawn to positive energy and enthusiasm. Everyone wants to be part of a success story. And, it turns out, helping others feels really great.

So, build a village. Hell, build an empire if you’re daring. Be authentic and seek out the people who will enrich your life and give you purpose while also challenging you. At least that’s what I’ve done.

Moral of the story: Build a village, but don’t groom your villagers. That’s gross and a little too personal.

The FAQ Series: How did you get here? (Part 2)

If I’m being honest, this post took significantly longer to write than I expected. I didn’t feel inspired or energized by the content, so I kept pushing it off to “the next day,” which subsequently turned into “the next week.” I believe this hesitation is rooted in feeling truly unworthy or at least the content feeling unworthy. What could I possibly share that is worth telling? Is my story even all that remarkable? Why does it matter?

Behold, the doom and gloom of a global pandemic has slithered it’s way into my creative process.

After some reflection, I realized that several parts of my story are shaped by this exact same feeling of unworthiness. This isn’t a new feeling for me, evoked for the first time ever by Covid-19. In fact, part of my story was made possible by overcoming the “imposter syndrome” and believing in my self-worth as an athlete and a community contributor. I find strength and hope knowing that, perhaps, even just one of my readers will feel compelled to ignore their own self-doubt after reading my story. Even if I can have a minuscule impact on one person’s confidence, then the story is worth telling.

My Path CE

I often think about how my life would be different if Joe’s response to my desire to become a pro mountain biker (see Part 1) was rooted in rationality or common sense. What if he said something like “Yes, but it’s going to be really expensive” or “Yes! But you’ll be plagued by sacrificing many things you love now, like time with family and friends” or “Of course, but you have a history of burning yourself out, so you’ll need to be careful”.

Would I still have moved forward with the same level of enthusiasm and blind optimism? Or would my journey look differently? Would I be happy now?

Frankly, it’s unproductive to spend time contemplating “what if’s”, but every once in a while I indulge. Needless to say, I’m incredibly fortunate to have a partner who has believed in me, and supported my blind optimism since Day 1.

After the decision to pursue Cycling at the Elite level (we’re now in CE, for those who have been following along since the beginning), I realized quickly that I had ZERO clue what I was doing or getting myself into. None of my friends were professional mountain bike racers, and the closest I had ever come to an elite cross country mountain bike race was the 18-inch gap between my trainer and the computer monitor in the basement.

But sometimes ignorance is bliss, right?

The super high-tech 2017 edition of my workout room.

After The Big Decision, the next logical step was to buy a really expensive bike. For those who don’t know, this is the logical next step in any mountain biker’s life, also known as “The N+1 Rule”.

Seriously, though, I wasted no time tackling the big question: How do I get from here to elite? (Fun fact: During the first several months, I would sing Disney’s Hercules “Zero to Hero” in my head when I need an extra motivation boost).

Charting a path from Zero to Elite, so to say, was a job for Kelly the Problem Solver. Oh and Kelly the Take-On-Way-Too-Many-Things-At-Once-er.

In true Kelly the Problem Solver fashion, I decided to create a spreadsheet and keep track of all the things I needed (and write a Pros and Cons list for each option in the decisions I faced, of course). Indeed there were MANY things I didn’t know I needed, but here were the first three necessities:

• A coach. The last time I had a coach who prescribed workouts and a training plan was during my college running days. I recognized that a coach would provide much-needed guidance and training structure, while also holding me accountable for the work, so I reached into my network for options. After several interviews with potential coaches, of course I decided to pick the one that intimidated the hell out of me. Kurt Perham of PBM Coaching is a no bullshit kind of guy, which freaked me out, but his confidence and experience made me certain that I needed him on my side.

• A race bike. Sadly, my original Santa Cruz Blur TRc with 26” wheels just wasn’t going to cut it for elite-level racing. After testing several models and brands, I settled on the winningest bike model in the world: the Scott Spark RC World Cup. A race machine. This bike was light and fast, while also terrifying and uncomfortable. The geometry was aggressive and definitely race-oriented, but it’s exactly what I needed. Actually, as someone who had never raced a mountain bike seriously, this bike was way more than I actually needed, but I was full-in on this dream.

• A team. I spent a lot of time searching for a local race team that had elite racers who could help me select races and “learn the ropes” from an insider’s perspective. New Hampshire-based State9 Racing p/b Vittoria Tires welcomed me into their squad and introduced me to some amazing sponsors and local cycling enthusiasts.

N+1 Day!

Looking sharp in my State9 kit.

Before I continue, let me clarify something. When I mention “Pro racing” to most people, they imagine racing is my full-time job. Racing is a full-time profession for very few women in the cycling industry (there’s a significant gender disparity I won’t discuss here but still feel the need to keep this acknowledgement of it…), but it’s very uncommon. Some successful racers make enough to travel for months at a time during the race season and then work part-time during the off-season. I am not one of them.

The Engineering career I mentioned in my previous post has not changed. Rather, my cycling endeavors have had to fit around my full-time job. I haven’t had the luxury of transitioning to part-time or even regular work from home (up until Covid, of course). Unfortunately, I need to work to be able to fund my passion. And, frankly, I expect that my life wouldn’t be quite as fulfilling if the only focus was training and racing.

Blending work and cycling has been an ongoing exercise in time and energy management and is, by far, one of the biggest limiting factors in my cycling success. That said, I’m going to spend very little time mentioning my Engineering career from this point on in the post because it has always existed in the ambient noise of my life; 40 hours a week plus a commute each way. And that’s the way it has to be if I want to pay my mortgage, my bills, AND pursue my cycling dreams.

When I decided to pursue pro cycling, it wasn’t a gradual introduction. Life became cycling.

One pillar of my pursuit that has remained foundational to my journey is the desire to be part of something bigger, something that serves a larger purpose. So, in addition to racing, I wanted to immerse myself in the cycling community and find ways to make a difference. I imagine that in the years and decades to come, my elite racing will eventually subside, and this drive to be part of my community in a meaningful way will grow significantly.

At first, I volunteered for Queen City Bicycle Collective in Manchester, NH. After becoming a regular volunteer for several months, I was asked to join the Board of Directors as the organization was incorporating. This was a very noble and meaningful organization full of hardworking, passionate people; just the kind of folk with which I wanted to surround myself. Joining the QCBike BOD was rewarding because I was a part (albeit very small) of a HUGE milestone in the organization and the continued success that they experience to this day. I eventually stepped down from my role on the BOD because I was unable to dedicate the time and energy that the role deserved, but the experience taught me a great deal about community involvement, developing business plans, establishing a mission, and creating a presence in an under-served community. These lessons are ones I carry with me as I craft my own brand through Team KellCat and carry myself on my journey.

Believe it or not, learning to fix bikes can be fun.

Also in early 2018, I connected with an amazing female cyclist (and now, friend) named Allie, who was a Liv Cycling Ambassador. She graciously allowed me to support her women’s cycling advocacy events, including a mountain bike suspension setup clinic, a mountain bike skills clinic, and a women’s group ride. Working with her was my first exposure to the incredibly rewarding path of women’s cycling advocacy. I always knew that women were under-represented in cycling, but had never pinpointed this reality as something that would give me purpose and fire. Through these Liv events with Allie, I saw women riders become empowered with information about maintaining their bike; I saw women conquer fears and build self-confidence through skill building. This was the true form of positive energy with which I wanted to surround myself, and it felt like the next step on my journey to be part of something that makes a difference.

Almost too much radness to capture in a single photo. This was one of the women’s mountain bike skills clinics in the summer of 2018.

Building on the momentum, I also started becoming involved in other local events focused on women’s cycling advocacy, eventually helping lead a weekly women’s group ride during the summer of 2018. Some of these women were seasoned riders, and some were beginners. Together, we rode for about an hour each week, and we talked about family, friends, and sports. It was an authentic and welcoming group and probably some of my more relaxing hours that year.

Selfie smiles on a late summer group ride.

Ok, so what about the racing?…I’m so glad you asked!

While pursuing these parallel paths of involvement in my cycling community, I was also training and preparing for my Pro racing dreams.

2018 was my first year racing at the Pro level, but I had to start the season with a Category 1 license based on my road racing years in college (for those who don’t know how racing works, a USA Cycling license enables you to race at a specific level and “Pro” is the highest level; Cat 1 is the next level down). In order to earn my Pro license, I had to perform well in a few USA Cycling-sanctioned races and petition for an upgrade.

My first race of the season was late March 2018 in Connecticut called Hop Brook. When it comes to cycling, this was the first race I had ever truly trained for, because I never had a structured training plan or a coach before Kurt. I ended up winning the Women’s Pro/1/2/3 race by almost 2 minutes, which was exciting and helped build my confidence that I was on the right path. In my second race—also in Connecticut—I won by over 6 minutes, and decided to petition for my Pro license upgrade.

The Fat Tire Classic podium, my last race before becoming “Pro”.

Surprisingly, the upgrade was approved, and by mid-April 2018 I had my Pro license. This progression was significantly faster than I expected, but I had no stories or paths for comparison, so I proceeded on at my own pace (similar to the mantra “ride your own race” that I often repeat when I’m trying to be patient on race day). If I’m being honest, I believe it’s good I had no expectations about my progression to Pro; I’m unsure what kind of artificial barriers I might have constructed to slow me down.

Within 3 weeks of receiving my Pro license, Joe and I decided to hop on a plane Salt Lake City, UT and participate in my first ever USA Cycling Pro-Level race: the Soldier Hollow XC Race (just outside of Park City, UT), which included a Short Track race and an XC Race the following day. This elite racing pursuit suited our whirlwind lifestyle well, and I was riding high after two local race wins. Ultimately, I felt confident in my ability to compete with the big girls.

That’s the weekend I learned the true pain that is a flat-lander racing at elevation.

I also learned that while I might be a big fish in the little local pond, I’m a very small fish in a very large pond, particularly when it comes to racing at altitude. Soldier Hollow was my awakening to the true strength and power of elite-level women. I was blown away by the confidence and fierceness of my competitors, and was hungry to train harder and push myself to my limits in a way I hadn’t imagined.

At least they had a good photographer to capture the moments when my butt nearly wiped the dirt off my rear wheel.

Look at that very small neon-colored fish in that very mountainous, thin-air pond…

Fast forward to the 2018 USA Cycling MTB National Championships in mid-July at Snowshoe, WV. This was the pinnacle race for 2018. While not quite as high as Soldier Hollow, Snowshoe was still at elevation, but this time I felt more prepared and energized to race my best. While the soon-to-be World Champion was in this race, among many other incredibly strong women, I still didn’t know my competitors well enough to really feel nervous or anxious (again, ignorance is bliss!). When I was about a third of the way into the race, riding in the 8th/9th position, I got a very untimely flat tire. Unfortunately, I was too far from the pit to run my bike (Joe would have resolved the issue much faster than me), so I was left plugging the hole and trying to refill some air back into the tire. Ultimately, I finished 13th, which was simultaneously exciting and disappointing.

2018 National Championship race was full of surprises — flat tire, 13th place, and a lot more fun than I expected!

The race season continued on after nationals with several more mountain bike races, including some New England events, a fun Vermont stage race, and my very first ever season of cyclocross racing.

For the sake of your sanity, I skipped describing the remaining 2018 races, but I will say: Who knew riding a road bike with knobby tires in circles could be so much fun?!

I swear, under that game face is a girl having a blast.

After my first year of racing, I realized that it was time to part ways with State9. I had outgrown the club team model and wanted to find a way to support more domestic and international professional race goals in 2019. Thus began my sponsorship journey.

I actually began by seeking professional teams and writing to team managers, to fill their need for an eager, hardworking new teammate. After a few months of waiting on dead end conversations and countless ignored emails, messages, and voicemails, I realized my chances of finding a pro team were slim.

Feeling somewhat let down and dejected, I decided to pursue my own set of sponsors and create a privateer team of 2 (Kelly: the racer & Joe the manager/mechanic/pit crew/chef/chauffeur).

When seeking sponsorship, my guiding principle was to partner only with companies that I believed in, or could relate to their missions or values. For example, Vittoria Tires is a strong supporter of State9 and me in particularly during the 2018 season, and they are loyal supporters of women’s cycling with their "Women of Vittoria” program, so it was a no-brainer that I would want to work with them in 2019.

I created a professional-looking athlete resume and sent multiple emails daily to marketing teams, company executives, friends with connections, social media managers, customer support emails, and random strangers. I made some embarrassingly horrendous cold calls and truly tested my sense of self-approval. I was using the power of connection, and extending my reach wherever I could, hoping that something would stick. My approach was to be sincere, professional, and hopeful.

However, I was met with a lot of “no, sorry” and “no, thank you” or “you sound rad, but we don’t have the budget” and, of course, “ ” (that last one is an intentional blank space, meaning no response which was the people’s choice for most common response).

There was a long stretch of time when I felt an incredible sense of embarrassment. I felt ashamed for making myself believe that I was worth sponsoring. It’s remarkable how crazy that seems to me now. I should have been so much kinder to myself, because it was my FIRST EVER year of mountain bike racing, afterall.

Yes, my 2018 racing success had me convinced that I was on the right path, that the puzzle pieces were falling into place. But the walls came crashing down in the winter of 2018/2019 when every attempt I made to connect with potential sponsors seemed to be failing. Leads that I believed were certain had fallen through. What’s more, I was deriving my sense of worth from the level of support I received from so many of these companies — a whole lot of nothing. Was I really worth sponsoring?

In reality, I was behind the curve in many ways when it came to seeking sponsorship. I spent so long focused on finding a team that I missed the sponsorship application window for many companies. But the narrative in my head was “no, you’re not worth it”; I started believing that I wasn’t cut out to be a pro and I was just an imposter with a carbon race bike and fancy race shoes. And at several points, I almost decided to give up.

It’s critical to note here that seeking sponsorship is a powerful character building experience for everyone, as I came to learn from my competitors and future friends. If you’re ever looking for a good exercise in learning how to live with constant rejection, then start seeking sponsorship.

But, then, how did I connect with Seven?…Well, I’m glad you asked that, too :)

As I started exploring my 2019 options, my mother-in-law connected me to a complete stranger named Jim. Jim is a cycling enthusiast who heard about my race achievements through my mother-in-law. Through her stories, Jim felt strongly that I should be sponsored. I’m still puzzled by his willingness and enthusiasm to support a stranger he had only “met” through a handful of stories, but I’m incredibly grateful for him. We met for coffee (or in my case, water and a cookie, because I didn’t drink coffee then) and talked about my goals, dreams, and my path in the sport. I told him I had very little luck with finding sponsors for the upcoming year, and he suggested that I reach out to a list of connections he had from his cycling experience.

At the end of the list: Seven Cycles.

So, naturally, I researched a phone number online, called the next day, and boldly asked for the founder and owner of Seven Cycles. With the thick skin and cold calling experience I had been building, I might as well just jump in with two feet, right?

After several additional attempts at communication, the familiar radio silence, and regular check-in emails from an all-too eager Kelly the Problem Solver, Seven finally invited me to the factory for a tour. Joe and I met with some of the Seven family, and realized what a rad company this truly was. Imagine the comfort of a warm family gathering taking place in an insanely amazing workshop full of talented artists, craftswomen and craftsmen, and machinery that is both incredibly heavy and finely intricate. As an engineer, Seven Cycles’ headquarters immediately felt like home.

Wearing a space-age mask so I can watch Stef work her magic.

Learning from Dan about the amazing detail and craftsmanship in the Seven Cycles factory.

Right around the time of this visit is when I was at the lowest of my self-worth trajectory. As my prospects for sponsorship were dwindling, I faced my internal dialogue: “what if I don’t end up getting any sponsors?” and “what if I don’t have the support I was hoping to receive this year?” (hello, “what if”, my dear friend).

As if on cue, meeting the amazing team at Seven sparked something in me, akin to flicking a switch. The Seven team treated me with respect, like a the “real pro athlete” I was aspiring to be but felt was unattainable as the “imposter” that I was. Driving home from that visit, I exhibited unprecedented personal growth and gave myself grace; the simple act of being kind to myself and making peace with knowing that the progress I had made up to this point was exactly that: progress.

Shortly after the visit, I convinced myself that even if I was an unsponsored racer in 2019, I was still on track toward my end goal. The pace of forward progress was just slower than I hoped. Thus, my big “what if” evolved into a “I’ll make it happen anyway.”

I would be remiss to omit that Seven Cycles is world famous for their handcrafted, custom bicycles, particularly their high-quality titanium frames. Their award winning bikes are some of the most stunning you will ever find, both in craftsmanship and in frame design crafted to suit the rider’s needs. The only hiccup was that at this time, Seven only manufactured hardtail mountain bikes (suspension in the front of the bike only) and I had only ever ridden a full suspension bike (suspension in the front and back of the bike) and I didn’t intend to compromise on that. So, sponsorship didn’t seem likely.

But, with my new found self-approval, I decided to ask the Seven team: “would you entertain engaging your R&D team in a new project to build a full suspension mountain bike that I could test for you?” My internal dialogue poisoned me with the thought — how very foreward of this random girl—but the truth is, if you never ask, then the answer is always “no”, right?

While I would love to believe it was me who convinced them, the Seven team was already secretly working on some full suspension concepts. I happened to be the perfect excuse to move forward with implementation.

After some early prototyping and feedback sessions, the KellCat full suspension race bike was born. Let me just say, the shock of having a bike named after me will follow me to my grave.

An extra special N+1 Day — Kelly Catale meets the KellCat.

With this amazing bike’s launch came the true beginning of Team KellCat.

Team KellCat’s only official team photo, taken at the tail end of a surreal photo shoot at the 2019 Sea Otter Classic in Monterey, CA.

The 2019 race season was a whirlwind and saw Team KellCat traveling across the country regularly for amazing races, including XCO (shorter, less than 2 hours) and marathon style (much longer, think 4 hours) cross country races. I starred in several photo shoots and was featured on Seven’s website in multiple places. To say the experience felt surreal and like a dream come true would be a harsh understatement.

Behind-the-scenes action from the Sea Otter photo shoot. Joe learns how the “free standing” bike photos really work (hint: it’s not magic, but it does require some coordination).

It’s amazing how this success as a “real pro athlete” transpired after I had already found peace with moving forward in 2019 without sponsorship. It’s poetic in a way; the world conspired to make my dreams come true after I let go of what I was trying to force into reality. Truth be told, it was self-approval and confidence that helped prepare me to make my dream a reality.

That said, I’ll forever be thankful for the belief and confidence that Rob Vandermark and the Seven family instilled in me as an athlete, ambassador, and person.

Throughout early 2019, I discovered that the races I enjoyed most were marathon style, the kind that took me miles and miles from the race start on a single 50-mile loop, rather than the multiple-loop shorter XCO style races. There is something rewarding about pushing your physical and mental limits out in what feels like the middle of nowhere while exploring all new terrain and trails.

Team KellCat traveled to Prescott, AZ, Grand Junction, CO, and Carson City, NV, for marathon races last year, and each adventure was more breathtaking and exciting for both of us. In fact, our most commonly-used sentence during our trips was “maybe we should move here.”

My bike takes me to some breathtaking places.

The pinnacle race for me in 2019, however, was the USA Cycling MTB National Championship race in Winter Park, CO. At Winter Park Resort, the race course started at 9,000ft+ of elevation, which terrified me.

I had a severe corneal abrasion just a couple days before we flew out to Colorado and wasn’t sure racing would actually be in the cards for me. But I trained with my glasses on (rather than contacts), and prepared for race day. On race day, I surprised the hell out of myself (and many other people too) with a 10th place finish. Not too shabby for a flatlander!

The face of someone who doesn’t have enough oxygen to lift the corners of her mouth to smile after realizing she just finished 10th.

The season continued on with a few more mountain bike races, an incredible gravel race in central Pennsylvania, and another fun season of cyclocross. During the second half of 2019, Seven surprised me with the launch of two new race-optimized bikes: the KellCross (a gravel/cyclocross/road race bike) and the KellCruis (a pure cyclocross race bike with an unprecedented, innovative frame design).

Oh and I also officially became Kelly the Moutain Bike Skills Coach after I earned my PMBIA MTB skills coaching certificate! I conducted several skills clinics throughout the year, mostly women-specific clinics, which led me to meet some incredible people in my community.

Probably rambling about something to a group of strangers…

2019 was undoubtedly a year to remember.

In a casual conversation last year, a friend told me he was inspired by my accomplishments and I replied “Thanks, it really feels like I’m living the dream.” His response: “No. You’re making the dream happen.” That’s the kind of support and wisdom I have surrounded myself with over the past few years.

With the wrapping up of 2019, I hit some pretty low points with a severe episode of depression. I had spent myself completely. The training, racing, traveling, sponsorship chasing, social media maintenance had left little to no energy for recognizing my mental health decline, taking care of my job, and enjoying life off the bike with my husband and family. Unfortunately, this engineer-by-day-pro-cyclist-by-night lifestyle is not sustainable, which meant that I faced 2020 with some tough questions.

What do I value most? What does the future look like for Kelly the Mountain Bike Racer and Team KellCat?

If 2018 and 2019 taught me anything its that my racing future has the potential be bright. But at what cost? I am capable of so much more than I dreamed was possible only 2 years prior. But, I also work full time and that realistically won’t change. I also love being involved in my cycling community and advocating for women’s cycling.

Upon heavy reflection about my career as a cyclist, I decided that I cannot (and do not) want to train like an Olympian. I love the blend of work, racing, family, community involvement, and women’s cycling advocacy that I’ve cultivated, and I want to stay true to the values I hold most dear.

At first it felt like I was giving up and betraying myself. I’m not Kelly the Quitter! But I’ve come to realize that this isn’t giving up. It’s refocused energy. I have decided to focus on marathon MTB racing. Team KellCat will race at the elite level internationally, domestically, and hopefully at the UCI World Championships someday.

In addition to racing, I have been working on fostering genuine friendships, which is something that I’ve missed over the past few years.

Pre-pandemic days of group rides and big smiles.

I also have big plans to build the Team KellCat community; to bring people together and build a positive environment for racers and recreational cyclists alike, especially women (but men are allowed too, don’t worry).

One of the most remarkable parts of this story is that all my sponsors believe in my trajectory and they support Team KellCat’s vision for the future. I’ve created a village that stands by my side and lifts me up, in the best and the worst of times. In fact, Seven recently released their newest Team KellCat bike — the KellCountry, one of those hardtail race bikes I always vowed I wouldn’t enjoy but I’ve quickly learned to love.

Wait, did I say that I wouldn’t ever love riding a hardtail?

2020 will not be the year I race at the World Championships, but I’m making peace with that. Instead of focusing on races, I am re-focusing my energy toward building community and finding ways to create the “something bigger” that I’ve been desiring to be part of for years.

So how did I get here? I can tell you it wasn’t magic. It was hard work, blind optimism, and an amazing village by my side.

Is it a story worth sharing? I don’t know, so feel free to tell me. In fact, I would find great joy in knowing if my journey has touched you in any way.

What if you don’t like my story?

What if you do? Ah…that’s the question worth asking.

Frankly, it’s unproductive to spend time contemplating “what if’s”, but every once in a while I indulge.

The FAQ Series: How did you get here? (Part 1)

The most logical topic to kick off this series is the most common question I receive from friends, family, and followers: “How did you get to where you are now?”

Let me be clear. This is not “How did I end up at my makeshift standing desk surrounded by dusty old books from my undergraduate classes?” but rather “How have I found myself racing mountain bikes at the elite level, supported by amazing sponsors, with a line of custom race bikes named after me?”

So, how did I get here?

This is a question I reflect upon often. Some days, I am in utter disbelief. Other days, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. All days, I’m full of gratitude for the support, good timing, and hard work that has led me to “here”.

The answer to this very big question can be boiled down into three components:

1. Who I am,

2. My path BCE (Before the decision to pursue Cycling at the Elite level), and

3. My path CE (after deciding to pursue Cycling at the Elite level).

See what I did there?

#1 and #2 are heavily woven into my childhood and the formulation of my identity as an athlete, while #3 is the focused progression from amateur to elite racing, and the story of chasing dreams and finding sponsorship. Each part is equally important, but the sum of parts is way too long for a single blog post, so let’s tackle the first two. Keep in mind that this lengthy post is still a “Reader’s Digest” with a carefully-curated set of anecdotes about significant milestones in my personal pursuits. So let’s just get on with it, already!

Who I Am

It all started about 9 months before I was born (oh great, she has that sense of humor…no no no, just hear me out). When I was conceived, I was one half of a pair of identical twins. That’s a pretty significant moment in my life and it bears mentioning.

Growing up as a twin meant I always had a VERY close friend. We played together, dressed similarly, and our house was full of double everything. In the early years when my mom used to dress us in similar outfits, we were sickeningly cute, and shockingly difficult to distinguish (in fact, in his sleep-deprived stupor, my dad used to put us in the wrong cribs at night!).

That’s right, we were little Levi’s kiddos.

Having an identical twin also meant I faced a daily share vs. fight conundrum. I was sharing amazing life experiences while simultaneously fighting for affection. Despite my parents being very conscious about giving us equal attention, there’s something inevitable about the competitive nature of being a twin. At a young age, humans innately seek self-validation, but having to share that self-validation with your genetic identical leads to fascinating challenges, though I suspect the challenges were significantly greater for my parents. This became especially true after they had a third child: an energetic, little boy. I know they’ll be reading this post (hey Mom and Dad!), and I can say with certainty that I don’t envy what they endured. But I’m proud of them for persevering.

I imagine that a girl who doesn’t have an identical twin sister grows up trying to be faster, stronger, funnier, more popular than the rest of her friends. And when she comes home at the end of the day, she probably hears “of course you’re the [insert accolade]” from her parents. With twins, my parents couldn’t really say “Kelly, of course you’re the best” and then also say “Lindsay, of course you’re the best”, and have us feel like it was genuine and true. Statements like that would just blow a child’s mind. I do want to make it crystal clear here that while growing up with a twin was different than the alternative, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Too dang cute for captions.

So, naturally, there was always underlying competition in my life. Dammit, I wanted to be the best! For some, these circumstances manifest as deeper awareness for people around you (“I want to make sure everyone feels recognized”) or an unhealthy need for attention (“Hey! Look at me!”). Manifestation for me took the form of intense competitiveness.

Anyone who knows me well is aware of my perfectionist tendencies. I am Type A to my core. I love planning and excel spreadsheets, and I have a mildly photographic memory. I’m an engineer, and I have a soft spot for problem-solving and continued learning. However, my perfectionism and relatively high-strung nature is both a blessing and curse. It’s the reason I can push through pain and excel in sports, but it’s also the reason I struggle with some of the darker sides of my life.

FYI, Java here is a computer coding language, despite what the front cover donuts might imply.

That said, another important piece of that bears mentioning is my mental health. Growing up, I suffered from severe anxiety attacks. Certain triggering stressors would cause me to double over in pain with stomach aches and nearly paralyze me until the pain passed. In the fourth grade, I underwent several diagnostic tests only to find that I was in great health physically, but not mentally. At the ripe age of 10, I was relieved to put a label on the pain and work through it—at least partially—with a therapist. This is when I became aware of my more extreme tendencies and tools for managing my mental health.

In the years that followed, my anxiety developed into sports-induced panic attacks before my running races. The stomach aches had almost completely subsided, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep the night before races. I wouldn’t eat. My nerves were so severe that I would hide in the bathroom before races and cry. Sometimes, I would cry until I vomited. Looking back, I wasted a TON of energy before the race even started (how silly!). I probably could have been the first high school runner to break the 4-minute mile if I hadn’t wasted all that energy. I guess we’ll never know…

“Cross-Country at it's Finest". The true question is: how far did I run like this with my eyes closed?

Jumping several years into the future, my anxiety eventually evolved into severe depression. There is far too much baggage to unpack with the progression and background behind this (I’m happy to share in a future post if there’s interest), but suffice to say that a part of my motivation to stay active and insanely busy is to keep myself away from the Darkness. I’m not saying this is a healthy reason to train and compete, but it’s a reason nonetheless.

Mental health issues are not all-consuming for me; in fact, that’s far from truth. But it’s important to recognize that this side of my life is woven into the foundation of who I am as an athlete, engineer, and overall person. I’m also a big goof ball, which is the product of a father and brother who both have a unique and hilarious sense of humor. I speak my mind, enjoy jokes and storytelling, I love public speaking (gasp!), and I seriously appreciate quality, fun workout socks.

A little angry, a lot creepy.

As you’ll learn, I dove head-first into the world of elite cycling. It was scary and overwhelming at times, but also thrilling and exciting. I’ve drawn significant inspiration to explore new endeavors, such as cycling, from my brother, Ryan. He has always been unafraid to try new things. Ryan is the king of learning (through mostly self-education) and mastering new skills. He’s taught himself how to play guitar, then repair guitars, and then build guitars. And little known fact — he was a sponsored athlete before me! He was a sponsored longboarder for a period of time in college, after only riding for about a year. My brother has proven that anything is possible when you’re passionate, committed, and driven. Ryan has the heart of an adventurer, and I’d like to think I’ve learned a thing or two from him.

Finally, to round out “Who I Am”, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I am the product of two amazing people. My parents are two of the most genuine, thoughtful, and authentic people you will ever meet. They are resourceful, respectful, and adventurous. Through their example, I learned there is no substitution for honest, hard work, and good dad jokes (of course!). They didn’t talk about it much, but I know we didn’t have a lot of money growing up. Yet, they still found ways to take us on Disney vacations, explore the outdoors through camping and hikes, and enjoy the company of each other. They crafted a life they wanted, for themselves and for their children. Most importantly—as you’ll learn later in this post—they believed in their children and encouraged us to lead lives that made us proud without compromising our true selves.

Fanny packs are still cool, right?

Alright, so, that’s me in a nutshell. Hmmm, maybe a nutshell is too small.

That’s me in a watermelon.

My Path BCE

I grew up in a very active and close-knit family. We were known as The Desharnais Family (pronounced by our family dah-harness, or because we have some Boston roots dah-hah-ness; pronounced by everyone else in the world as desh-arr-ness. For what it’s worth, I don’t blame the mis-pronouncers; who makes only one “s” silent in a name that contains two “s”s? More importantly, how do you write the plural of “s”?).

Naturally, I’m sure you want to know my first biking experience. Sadly, I have to report that there’s no magic bicycling story to be found here. My bike was just one of the many toys in the garage (along with jump ropes, roller blades, hula hoops, a pogo stick, and a prized Skip-It), and I rode it around our small neighborhood loop for enjoyment. In fact, I didn’t know that bike racing was “a thing” until my sophomore year of college! But, while we’re on the topic of childhood biking memories, I do have one memory that stands out among the rest.

When my dad took the training wheels off of our bikes, I remember building my two-wheeled riding confidence quite quickly. Dad was trying to manage teaching two kids to ride simultaneously (this is the true magic bicycling story, if you ask me) in our driveway. Super daring Kelly had the confidence to leave the driveway and ride toward the neighbors’ house. When I started to feel that I had strayed too far, I decided to try my first ever turn on two wheels. Wouldn’t you know, I made the turn smoothly and swiftly, right into a mailbox. That rusty, metal box and it’s mail flag dagger met my face with a cold apathy that only a mailbox could. And, so, my first ever perfectly executed left hand turn didn’t happen that day. And neither did the right hand turn. From what I hear, the mailbox clotheslined me pretty hard that day, but luckily, we both lived to tell the tale.

Legal Disclaimer: These are not Seven Cycles bicycles. Also, notice that my sister was the smart child, using elbow and knee pads, while I enjoyed my healthy doses of adrenaline.

Growing up, hiking was the family’s favorite weekend activity. I think my obsession for shoes actually began with a collection of hiking boots in the basement, thanks to our family’s love for trailside adventures. The Desharnais Family especially enjoyed trekking up Mount Willard with it’s relatively short trail length and breathtaking view. Without a doubt, the White Mountains in New Hampshire is where I cultivated my love for mountains, trails, peacefulness, and a respect for magnificent things that are much larger than myself.

Mount Willard’s stunning visitors and views.

Through my early years, I played every sport imaginable. I dabbled in highly competitive neighborhood kickball, rollerblading, and fort-building in the back yard. On a more serious level, I played tee ball, softball, school soccer, travel soccer, lacrosse, cross country running, and track & field. Many of these sports required teamwork, coordination, and well-practiced skills, which taught me discipline and accountability. During some seasons, I was playing up to four different sports at one time! All I can think now is WHY?! WHY, MOM AND DAD, WOULD YOU DO THAT TO YOURSELVES?!

Upon reflection, the answer is quite clear. My parents encouraged their children to build a life they were proud to live; to pursue their passions without compromising identity and integrity. So, naturally, my passion became: time management and multitasking. Ha!

In 6th grade, I tried out for the track & field sprinting team. My goal was to be the fastest runner in school, and if my memory is correct, I won every single sprint race during tryouts (we’re all the heroes of our own journey, so it’s possible—though highly unlikely—that I’m mis-remembering this just slightly). I would win, turn around and go back to the start line, ready for the next trial. Yet when the roster was posted, I did NOT make the team. Instead, I had earned myself a spot on the [dreaded] Distance team. On top of that, my twin sister DID make the team (for what it’s worth, she became an incredibly fast and talented sprinter). I cried. I told the coach he made a mistake, but he noticed I was not fatigued after all the sprint trials. I had endurance, and the distance running team was desperate for members.

Thus, I was thrust into the world of endurance sports. One of the best things that ever happened to me.

As it turned out, I enjoyed the freedom of running and endurance sports. I loved that you could take running with you, explore new places and get lost in thought along the way. It felt like an escape and also an outlet for my number-loving perfectionism. I enjoyed the discipline that running required. I loved that the sport fostered community and self-reliance simultaneously. So, starting in 6th grade, I became Kelly the Runner.

As I mentioned in a past blog post, I attended a Division 1 University (‘Ray Bucknell!) and was recruited to run for their cross country and track & field teams.

In my first season as a freshman, I over-trained, ignored a bunch of warning signs, exhibited disordered eating, and the stars aligned perfectly for a traumatic and extreme femur stress fracture. That’s right, the largest bone in my body broke. In the middle of a run, nonetheless. There was a crack up the entire shaft of the bone and a crack almost entirely through the base of the bone, right above my knee. I consider this injury to be most pivotal moment in my athletic career.

It took a year to physically recover from that injury, but I never recovered mentally. After that year, I had a hard time trusting my body to perform. I felt disenchanted with the commitment to early morning tempo runs and double days, and frankly no longer had the passion to be Kelly the Runner.

So, in what seemed like both a snap decision and a year-long deliberation, I quit running. A good friend convinced me to join my school’s road cycling team, the Bucknell Cycling Club. I bought a road bike during Winter Break of my Sophomore year, and the rest, as they say, is history. I will forever be indebted to the support, camaraderie, and teamwork that I experienced while on the Bucknell Cycling Club. Through this team, I became Kelly the Cyclist.

Bike racing was the perfect blend of speed, endurance, and skill. And, without sounding vain, I was pretty decent at it, especially without any structured training or coaching. I was winning a few races here and there while operating on minimal sleep due to my pursuit of a Biomedical Engineering degree and undergraduate research (oh, hey there, multitasking!).

After graduation, I continued to ride, but stopped racing while pursuing my career as a Biomedical Engineer. It was around this time that I went through a very dark period in my life (here’s where I learned what severe depression looks like). Strangely enough, it was severe depression, bad work experiences, a break-up with my high school sweetheart, and some overall poor life choices that led me to buy a mountain bike.

My first real mountain bike. A much nicer steed than I deserved at the time, by far.

I needed a fresh start, and I was fortunate to have a co-worker (let’s call him Bob) who was incredibly persuasive and explained with great enthusiasm that mountain biking would be the solution to all my problems (for what it’s worth, he was right in the end). Bob believed that if I could pedal a road bike fast, surely I could ride a mountain bike on technical New England singletrack without any formal lessons or background. That’s how it works, right?

The important part here is that I believed Bob, and he believed in me. 

A very poor quality photo of a very high quality moment.

I joined an all-male group of mountain bikers and started making new friends while learning a new sport from the ground up. Literally. I found myself looking consistently like the victim of daily gang beatings. Also, it’s important to note that my future husband was in that group of guys.

I loved mountain biking. It was immensely challenging. I was terrified on a daily basis and felt like a failure almost every ride (what? That doesn’t sound like fun?). However, mountain biking gave me an outlet for building strength, achieving measurable progress, and—perhaps most importantly—creating self-confidence again after a very, VERY dark time in my life. I learned that self-improvement is an incredible tool for healing. In fact, the self-confidence I was building on my bike was translating into other areas of my life, particularly my Engineering career (thanks, Bob!).

It took months of practice, but eventually I became Kelly the Mountain Biker. Oh, and Kelly the Wife, too.

Of course we had a bike at our wedding!

About a year after marrying Joe, I had reached a point in my Engineering career when I realized that I didn’t have control over my path, and I wasn’t headed in a direction that energized me. I wasn’t proud of the life I was living. This wasn’t a foreign realization for me, but rather than find a new job and force us to relocate (we had already moved cross country together…twice), I started to explore alternative paths to craft a life that made me proud without compromising my true self.

In the Fall of 2017, I had set up my road bike in the basement on the trainer, with Joe’s desk setup right in front of me so I could watch movies or YouTube videos on his monitor. One day, Joe stumbled on a link for the 2017 Women’s UCI Cross Country Mountain Bike World Championship, so we watched while I rode. This was the first time outside of the Tour de France that I had watched any professional bike race. To say I was captivated would be an understatement. I was mesmerized by the balance of strength and speed with grace and fluidity of these women on mountain bikes. In all my mountain biking adventures to this point, I had never encountered a women who was as skilled or fast as those on the screen. Such was my introduction to women’s professional mountain biking.

Without any filtered thought, I proclaimed to Joe “I could do that! I could be a pro mountain biker! I know it!” Without any hesitation, Joe responded “Yes, you absolutely could. Let’s do it.” One small affirmation rooted in unconditional support from the most important person in my life is all it took.

That’s when BCE became CE.