Cross Country National Championships – Roanoke, VA

Three days. That’s all I had between Marathon Nationals and the Cross Country race—three days after winning a title and pushing my legs to the limit with cramping that felt like a freight train was tearing through every muscle. My recovery window was almost nonexistent. On top of that, I needed to squeeze in practice laps on the XCO course.

Photo credit: www.stevethephotographer.photos

The day after the marathon, my legs wouldn’t move. It wasn’t the usual kind of tired—this was different. I can ride all day and feel great, but this race had left me wrecked. It felt like I had just come off a week of lifting a thousand-pound barbell with my legs. Everything hurt—quads, inner thighs, calves—completely destroyed.

The heat in Virginia didn’t let up either. That entire week was just brutally hot. I didn’t even bother trying to ride the first day, even though I knew I should. The following two days, I pre-rode the course. Compared to the vast forest trails of the marathon, this course felt tiny—narrow, off-camber, packed with little roots and tight switchbacks.

My first pre-ride was on a slick track, and my tires slid sideways on the tiniest roots. Riders were struggling with the traction and line choices. A few steep climbs had that “you either make it or you don’t” feel. The one rock garden—always wet—sat just past a super slick drop into a creekbed. Traction was everything.

The trail conditions started improving the next day as things dried out. But just one day before the race, the weather forecast showed storms rolling in. Panic started creeping in across the field. This course becomes nasty with even a little rain. I kept second-guessing my tire choice until nearly the last moment. Do I stick with fast-rolling rubber or switch to something chunkier in case the rain hits mid-race?

From a mental or adventurous standpoint, I almost wanted the chaos. I love when extra elements of difficulty hit mid-race. That fight-for-survival mode is what my soul craves. It’s strange, I know. But perfect weather on a perfect course is great for a fun ride in the mountains. For racing? The worse it is, the better. That’s where real strength shows. Everyone can ride well when it’s clean and flowy. But when things get sketchy? That’s when you see who’s really willing to suffer.

I eventually swapped to chunkier tires.

And of course—it didn’t rain before or during my race. It was just hot and sunny again.

Thankfully, 99% of the course is under a dense tree canopy, which helped. The only exposed section is the paved start/finish.

I haven’t mentioned it until now—and might not get into the full story yet—but some heavy stuff happened in my life recently. It changed how I approached this race. I wasn’t thinking about who I was racing. I didn’t even care. When life smacks you in the face, even a national championship can feel small. So I wasn’t worried about results or my competitors—I was just focused on doing my best. And honestly, that’s the best mindset you can have on race day.

That said, I still felt some pre-race anxiety. Not from pressure or nerves, just because I knew what was coming. XCO racing is intense. Every second counts. Every slide, every mistake hurts more in this format. And if you’re focused on results, that stress multiplies.

We were lined up in our start waves, and I was in a sea of strong, inspiring women. I knew so many of them. But I didn’t get a call-up, so I was the last to pick a starting position. I lined up all the way on the left, and when the whistle blew, I got squeezed in the first left-hand corner. Riders ahead cleared the turn, and I had to sprint on the straight just to squeeze into the singletrack in third.

I liked my position. Now it was time to race.

Pretty quickly, I realized I’d need to pass the second rider. I did, and now I was on the leader’s wheel. She was riding really well. I studied her lines and pace. Then we had the strangest conversation mid-race:

The rider asked, “Is that Beata or Kim behind me?”

I said, “Beata.”

Then she said, “You already won.”

I replied, “No… what did I win?”

She said, “Three days ago.”

I said, “Oh, you raced?”

She goes, “Yes, I was 1.5 minutes behind you.”

Ha. That’s when I realized how unaware I had been of my competition. She was the one chasing me down during the marathon while I was battling the worst cramps of my life. Honestly, I had a lot on my mind and hadn’t even checked the results.

Then she added, "You always beat me."

I tried to steer the conversation to something positive and said, “Well, you’re riding well.”

She said, “You are too.”

That was that. We got back to racing. I followed her closely through the flowy berms, then we dropped into the steep, slick descent to the creek. You really had to stay on your line here to hit the wet rock pile just right and drop down to the bridge. Then came the longest climb of the course—steep and relentless, eventually spilling you out onto the exposed asphalt with crowds cheering.

We were just seconds apart and dropped into lap two together.

Photo credit: https://www.instagram.com/snowymountainphotography

At times, I felt like I could go faster. I tried to pass her on the climbs a few times, but she accelerated each time to block it. Maybe on the fifth try, I finally got around her at the top and dropped into the singletrack in first. I even said “I’m sorry,” feeling oddly guilty that I might have cost her a win again. I was feeling hot but steady.

But I couldn’t shake her—not on flowy parts, not on descents, not even on the climbs.

Photo credit: https://www.instagram.com/snowymountainphotography

Then came a tricky rooty section. A younger rider in front was slowing, so I asked to pass. She moved right. As I was just about to line up for the roots, something hit like a freight train—she came flying by me on the left, so close she nearly hit my bars. I got knocked off my line and couldn’t clear the roots.

That was it. She was gone.

At the beginning of the first lap, a rider had flipped over the bars and tumbled way down the mountain, it was three of us going by, but by the time i was at the spot the rider was already deep down off the hill. Unsure how it actually happened. I had been the only one to ask if she was OK. I don’t know if it was the same rider trying the pass unsafely, but now it seemed possible. 

She opened a gap. By the end of that lap, she had 30 seconds on me.

As I crossed the line again, the announcer said “One lap to go”— but we had been told we were racing four laps. Now I was confused. Was that call for me, or another class?

If it was the last lap, I had to give everything. If not, I couldn’t afford to blow up. So I rode the first part steady, then went full gas later. But I never saw her again. When I hit the top of the final long climb and emerged onto the blazing asphalt, it was obvious—this was the end. No more laps.

Just like that, the race was over.

Another second place.

I’ve lost track of how many silver medals I’ve gotten over the years at Nationals. Those were all strong finishes. Almost every time, it was good enough to win in another class—but not mine. And that’s racing. No guarantees. All you can do is keep showing up and giving everything.

It’s funny how stubborn we all are. How rare victory is. And still, we keep chasing it. Not all of us—but those of us wired this way. The ones who live for the fight. I always say: for a race to become the most brutal, soul-emptying battle, all it takes is one more person like you—just as stubborn, just as driven. It’s not about numbers. It’s about quality.

XCO isn’t my strength. I live for the long, slow burn of endurance racing. But once in a while, I throw myself into these short, intense fights. And even when I don’t win, I leave proud.

This week was long, hot, and emotional. I came out of it with a National Title and a hard-fought second place. I did everything I could. I raced with heart and grit—and I’m happy with that.

And right after I finished, the skies opened up. It poured. Buckets of rain just minutes after my race ended. The timing couldn’t have been crazier.

On the small stuff? I ate and drank well, got feeds from Pax, and loved hearing friends cheering me on.

Really huge prompts for Pax for setting up my bike as usual for the race and all that he does, even when he really shouldn't... 

Bike rode super well, and I loved my fast wheels...

With Chad from Gulo Composites at Nationals.
How lucky I am to have them in Brevard!

  

 

Heat, Hecklers, and Heart: My ORAMM 2025 Ride

ORAMM 2025 – 66 Miles | 8,900 ft Climbing | 6:47 hrs

2nd Place – Open Women

This year’s ORAMM was a wild one — record singletrack, mid-90s heat, and my third big race in just two weeks. But what a ride! Here’s how the day unfolded:

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Start to First Feed

 

We rolled out fast, and I was in the front group of 30–40 riders. I checked my power — it looked good, and I felt strong. The thought crossed my mind: if I bail now, I’ll skip a long day of suffering. But I felt amazing, and my mind flipped — I was all in. All guys plus Madison made up the front group. Nick  joked that the real race starts when we hit the gravel climb. He was right. That's where we began to separate. 

 

Bernard Trail came early. I’d only ridden it once, just after it opened years ago. Back then, it was smoother. Now it had rocky, exposed features but still held some of its original flow. I didn’t know one of the climb lines — Boris and another rider passed me and cheered me on. At the bottom Pax was cheering too. 

The Kitsuma climb was as usual painful and descent dry, dusty, and beat-up — but fun and techy, and I loved sending it.

Camp Grier to Deep Cove

Next, we entered Camp Grier’s new flowy trails — opposite direction from how I’d ridden them before. Somewhere here I had a train of guys sitting on my wheel. I asked, “Anyone want to pass?” and they said, “Nope.” I figured I was doing something right. At the second feed, I grabbed a bottle — and that’s when the first cramps hit. Only 3 hours in, and the heat was climbing fast.

Deep Cove was brutal. It was fun in the opposite direction last time, but today it felt never-ending — all steep, punchy climbs. We were crawling. I missed one climb and a guy nearby said, “Thank goodness — I needed a break!” It was that kind of suffering.

Camp Rock to Star Gap

After a gravel section, we turned into Camp Rock. I thought we’d just head to Star Gap via Jarrett Creek gravel. I asked Boris, “What the heck is this?” and he said, “This is hell.” He wasn’t lying — more climbing. It dragged on and when I finally popped out on gravel, no one from our group was around. I was alone and focused on reaching Star Gap and the next feed.

I started climbing and was okay at first, but then I ran out of water. On one narrow switchback I lost balance and fell back — bike pinned my legs. When I stood, both calves locked up in spasms. I had to wait, then reset my chain, and a rider from our earlier group passed me. But I managed to pass him back quickly. Still, I was overheating and seriously thirsty.

Heckler Section + Creek Redemption

Finally, I reached the top and the descent began. When I hit the Heckler section, I didn’t know the new lines — hadn’t ridden it in two years. I dropped in blind. My line was gone, and I ended up doing what felt like a track stand on the rocks. I dropped an F-bomb, the hecklers laughed, and I somehow managed to recover without crashing. People were cheering — and laughing with me.

Right after the rocky mess, I crossed the creek. I couldn’t resist — I dropped my bike and flopped belly-first into the water like a tadpole. It felt like heaven. Only lasted a few seconds, but it was everything.

Pax handed me cold bottles — plain cold water never tasted so good. I thought I was saved, but then my legs locked up again. Took a minute to get going through the spasms. We were now climbing Mills River Road, repeating Bernard and Kitsuma.

Final Miles

I rode Bernard alone. The paved climb back to Kitsuma was long and lonely. Over 7,000 feet of climbing and six hours in, my mind wanted to be done — a river finish would’ve been great. But instead, I still had to climb Kitsuma.

Even though I was cooked, Kitsuma’s descent still brought fun. I rolled toward the finish on the road, through the Old Fort. It was the longest ORAMM yet — and one of the most brutal.

Crossing the finish, I was so grateful to place 2nd in a super strong Open Women’s field. I knew we all suffered equally, and many friends had dropped out.

But seeing Pax and my friends, eating from @kchn_kitchen, and finally getting that long creek soak — those moments made it all worth it.

Reflections

I passed so many racers on the side: one said, “I’m just tired,” and I thought — me too. Another was cramping — me too. Another said they ran out of water — same. We all suffered. That’s bike racing. Your body screams to stop, but your mind overrides. That’s what I love most about endurance racing — it shows you strength you didn’t know you had. And it changes you in every part of life.

Southern Cross 50-Mile Gravel Race

Southern Cross 50 Miles Gravel Race 50 miles, 6K of climbing, 3:22 hrs. 5th place finish in Open Women Category. Lining up at the start, I saw so many strong riders, most on gravel bikes, as expected for a gravel race. There were lots of teams, collegiate riders, and a record number of young racers, as race director Lisa pointed out, which was amazing. Around 50 women across all classes took on the 50-mile challenge, which is incredible. I knew I wouldn’t be fighting for the win, but I was ready for an amazing effort, a full-gas race, and the push that comes from riding alongside such a strong field. I set my eyes on the top five—last time I did this race two years ago, I placed 7th. You never know who will show up; you can end up on the podium or far from it with the exact same finishing time. This year, my time equaled last year’s winning time, but two years ago, it was only enough for 7th place.

Photo credit: dashingimages.com

The start was intense as a few hundred riders jetted down the swoopy, steep descent and into the painful climb out of the Montaluce Winery. Groups quickly formed on the road stretch. I had no chance of catching the first group; at least a couple of women disappeared with them, probably more. I was stuck between groups for a while until a small second group caught me, then a few more riders joined. I fought hard to stay, but I couldn’t consistently hold the wheel, drifting back and forth. I was the last rider hanging onto this extension of the front pack, with an endless stream of riders behind. Then we hit the first real climb—no more neutral rollout. The race truly began.

Photo credit: dashingimages.com

Finally, I was in my element—on gravel, on my hardtail Zerouno with Gulo wheels rolling so fast and smooth, I love my bikes. Within the first minute of climbing, I caught two collegiate riders. My countdown began. It took another 45 minutes of brutal climbing on Winding Stair Gap before I spotted another female rider. The rolling hills had turned into a relentless ascent. I passed a strong-looking racer from the front row, someone I had expected to be far ahead. That made three. The gravel became loose and dry, the climb steeper as I neared the first feed zone. There, I passed another strong rider—number four. After a quick bottle handoff, I hit a long stretch of rolling hills and a fast descent.

Photo credit: dashingimages.com

At one point, our race came to a near halt as 57 Jeep vehicles crawled up the middle of the gravel road while we were bombing down. I’d never seen that many Jeeps at once! Eventually, we spilled onto a few miles of asphalt descent. To my surprise, the fourth rider I had passed earlier flew by me on her gravel bike. A minute later, I was able to catch up and sit on her wheel briefly before we returned to rolling hills. That’s when the attacks started—repeated surges trying to drop me. I stayed patient, ensuring I didn’t lose too much ground. Soon, I worked my way back to her side. A quick exchange of words confirmed that there were four women ahead, meaning we were battling for 5th place overall. After that, I pushed forward and didn’t look back. This time, she didn’t follow.

Photo credit: dashingimages.com

Climbing my heart out to the second feed zone, I grabbed water and braced for the insane descent ahead. The course was torn up, with loose rocks, steep drops, and a hurricane-like wind making it even crazier. I sent my bike down like there was no tomorrow. The dust, speed, and wind made it impossible to hear if anyone was near. I was in full sprint mode for the final 18 miles. It’s a long sprint, one where effort management is key. I saw a few crash victims along the way and had no riders around me. Then, suddenly, I heard someone coming up fast—no way was someone passing me here! But it was a guy on a motorbike, giving me a huge cheer and a rad-on gesture before speeding off. That was both funny and motivating!

Photo credit: dashingimages.com

The last gravel sections had some punchy climbs that stung. Then came the long, endless-feeling stretch of pavement leading back to where we started. Everything felt like slow motion. A young rider I recognized from the start caught me. Earlier, he had joked about bringing marshmallows for a chill ride. As he passed, I asked, “So where are the marshmallows?” His turnaround and look were priceless—we both laughed. One last turn led to a grassy field, a muddy creek crossing, and a climb out onto gravel toward the finish. That final climb felt like riding through molasses.

I crossed the line at 3 hours and 22 minutes, feeling great. I hit my goal—5th place in an incredibly strong field, racing against road and gravel pros. Exactly what I set out to accomplish.

I saw familiar faces, made new friends, and soaked in the experience. I always do. No matter if it’s gravel or singletrack, the challenge of bike racing is always profound. You learn so much about yourself—not just what your body can handle, but how your mind processes pain, discomfort, setbacks, and surges forward. The moments that could break you but don’t. That’s the most amazing part of racing—the psychology of pain, turning it into something beautiful and meaningful.

Mountain Goat Adventures puts on phenomenal races, always well-organized and so much fun. I can’t help but keep coming back for more.

Uwharrie MTB Race – A Muddy, Wild, and Epic Ride!

This was my first time racing in Uwharrie National Forest, and wow—what an introduction! The entire week had been brutally cold, and race day was no exception, with temperatures hovering at 30°F. Lined up in a massive 180-rider start, bundled in plenty of layers, I could feel my breath turning to weird stinging coldness as my lungs filled with crisp air.

The race kicked off fast, the leaf covered gravel road immediately sending us scrambling for position. With one female rider ahead of me, I kept pushing, knowing that the real race would begin once we hit the singletrack. Only 1.5 miles of gravel later, just before we dove into the technical Keyauwee Trail, I made my move and surged ahead.

This was the kind of trail I enjoy—bumpy, rocky, and raw, with small rock gardens, slick river crossings, and two massive rock faces covered in moisture and ice. Every line choice mattered. At one point, I glanced back to see that Sarah, who I had passed, had fallen behind—but Annie was right there, just a switchback away. She was charging hard, and before I knew it, she was on my wheel, eager to push the pace even more.

Despite the intensity, we still managed to exchange a few words in between laying down some serious watts! Annie chased me around with this awesome smile on her face! I loved it! When we hit a gravel stretch, she made her move, surging past me into the next trail—Wood Run. This trail was a whole different beast. It started out loose and pebbly, but then transformed into a peanut-buttery, tire-sucking mess. I had ridden it earlier when the ground was frozen, but now? It was a completely different animal, and I had no idea just how much worse it would get on lap two.

Somewhere in the middle of Wood Run, Annie had a bottle cage issue, giving me an opportunity to pass her back. I blasted through the feed zone, pushing into another fast, unfamiliar trail that led me straight into lap two—this time, with far fewer riders around.

With less traffic, I really started to enjoy myself. The river crossings, the rock gardens, the punchy climbs—everything just flowed. I caught myself hooting, and sending “yuppies” into the air, the way I always do when I’m truly in my element. My bike, now thoroughly caked in mud, tore through the slippery terrain, spraying chunks of earth into the air.

But I wasn’t alone. I knew I was being chased, and I still had to hold my lead. When I hit Wood Run again, it had turned into a full-blown mudslide. The switchbacks were insanely slick, and holding a line was nearly impossible. I had a rider right behind me, both of us making all kinds of ridiculous noises as we desperately tried to keep our tires down. It was hilarious and chaotic—the kind of racing that makes you laugh through the suffering.

Somewhere near the top of the climb, I spotted a beautiful plateau covered in blooming daffodils—a brief, surreal moment of peace before plunging back into the slippery madness. My bike was now so coated in mud that chunks were literally flying off into my face. The rider behind me shouted, “You’re a beast!”, and we both cracked up as we fought our way out of the muck.

Still holding a solid lead, I hit the final stretch, pushing hard but also just soaking in the moment—the challenge, the speed, the camaraderie, the absolute joy of racing bikes.

The day had been a battle—not just against my competitors but against the elements, the terrain, and even my own constantly changing body temperature. Frozen at the start, sweating on the climbs, chilled in the shade—I had never raced in so many layers, but for some reason, I just wanted to feel cozy out there. And cozy I was.

In the end, I finished in 2 hours and 33 minutes and took the win! 🎉

Next week, a new challenge awaits. And I can’t wait.

Return to Words: Capturing the Ride in Writing

 

It has been quite a few years since I last wrote on my blog. I love capturing my experiences in writing—riding, racing, and the adventures that come with it. Even when I’m in a race, I find myself mentally blogging, holding onto key moments—the thrill of making a pass, catching someone, noting the time or mile mark. After all, we can’t remember every detail of a race, but those small, special moments stick with us. Like spotting the first blooming pink Redbud tree against the gray stillness of winter or noticing a tiny purple wildflower tucked beneath a familiar root I ride over lap after lap.

I love bike riding and racing. I love being in nature. Even after all these years, I still can’t get enough. Life got busy, and I stepped away from writing, but maybe it’s time to change that. The thoughts, emotions, and experiences that unfold during a race feel too special not to share. The excitement, the energy—it all begs to be put into words. But why? To self-express, to share the moment, the passion, to inspire? Maybe to remind others how incredible it is to ride, no matter your speed or results. The pure joy of riding often surpasses the pressures of racing. Racing brings its own stress and expectations, but do we all need to succeed? Do we need to push our limits just for a medal?

After all these years, I’ve come to believe that racing isn’t just about winning. It’s about the feeling—the burn in the legs, the fire in the lungs, the heartbeat pounding in sync with the rhythm of the ride. It’s about the shared smiles with fellow racers, the small talk on the trail, the cheers from the sidelines, the rush of clearing a drop that once terrified you. Mountain biking and racing bring both mental and physical challenges, but above all, they bring joy. For many of us, this is a way of life. It defines who we are. The constant pursuit of the next adventure, the preparation, the sacrifices—it’s all part of the journey.

Is it worth it? Who can say? Is it worth going to the movies, working in the garden? We each find our own passions, our own sense of purpose. Whether it’s photographing waterfalls, writing poetry, teaching yoga, or racing bikes and blogging about it, what matters is that it brings us joy. It’s about filling life with the things that matter to us, even if they seem insignificant to others. The things that come from your heart and mind—those are the things that make you whole.

Breck-Epic - Breckenridge, CO

Breck-Epic - Breckenridge, CO - August  5-10

Champion - Team Open Women - Won 4 of 6 Stages and won overall by 5 minutes across 24 hrs / 220 Miles / 42k climbing

Teammate: Jennifer Moos aka Mooser

Write-up coming soon...

THE EPIC is a 6-day mountain bike race held in and around the backcountry surrounding Breckenridge, CO. Each stage begins and ends in town, allowing racers to stay in one place for the entire event.

In general, the race is 220-240 miles long and ‘features’ roughly 40,000′ feet of vertical gain (and loss!)

2018 STAGE ORDER:

    Aug 5: Stage 1 – Pennsylvania Creek  (Ice Rink/Carter Park) – 35 miles, 6000′

    Aug 6: Stage 2 – Colorado Trail (Lower Washington/B&B Lot) – 43 miles, 7200′
     
    Aug 7: Stage 3 – Guyot (Lower Washington/B&B Lot) – 41 miles, 8100′
     
    Aug 8: Stage 4 – Aqueduct (Lower Washington/B&B Lot) – 44 miles, 6300′
      
    Aug 9: Stage 5 – Wheeler (Beaver Run Parking Lot/Peaks TH) – 32 miles, 4900′
     
    Aug 10: Stage 6 – Gold Dust (Ice Rink/Ice Rink) 30 miles, 4800′
       

USA Cycling Mountain Bike National Championships - Snowshoe, WV

USA Cycling Mountain Bike National Championships - Snowshoe, WV - July 17-22

1st Place - National Title!
Top 5 Overall

Products used: 2018 ZeroUno Ambizone HT built and maintained by Riders Only in Jupiter Florida. Spaziale Diamante Handlebars, Seatpost, 25mmID Wheels and Ceramic Bearings everywhere. Castelli Custom San Remo Speedsuit. NewSchwalbe Racing Ralph and Racing Ray tires 29*2.25. Extralite 70mm Stem. Magura MT8 Raceline Brakes with Storm SL.2 160mm Rotors. SquirtLube Chain lube, Sealant and Barrier Balm. ND Tuned OVR Front Fork. SRAM 12 Speed Eagle drivetrain. Rotor Kapic 170mm Crank with 30t Q-Ring DM. Limar Helmet. Oakley Prizm Radar sunglasses. SelleSMP Carbon Saddle. XpedoM-Force 8 Ti SPD Pedals. ESI Fit CR grips. Clif Gels and Electrolyte drinks. Garden of Life supplements. Removu S1 Gimbal and a Gopro 6 to record the race course. TrainerRoad to train with on my Cycleops Hammer trainer.

We woke up early morning in Vallnord Andorra, just the next morning after the biggest race in my entire life. Hotel had to set us up with a small temp breakfast before regular breakfast hours. It was really awesome of them to do this. Last few looks around on the cold rushing river and we were off. It was going to be a very long day…

First was a drive to Spain where we were flying out from Barcelona and were having a connection in Morocco. Normally we will go direct but that was the best flight to get us on the National Championships site as quickly as possible and as close as possible to it. The “short” connecting flight was a little bit of a nightmare. When we were reaching higher altitude, we got into extreme turbulence's, probably the worst I ever experienced. The plane was being thrown left and right and up and down with great force for an endless what felt like about of time. It didn’t look good and I had no idea if we can get through it. We were literally jumping and getting air off the chairs and feeling lightness and being smashed back and to each side. All the children on the plane started screaming their lungs out and parents were just grinding the teeth as I was. I was also about to rip my husband’s shorts off I was pulling so hard on the fabric. It lasted for way too long but it stopped, it eventually stopped. We still had a long journey and had to fly over Gibraltar. Since then I could not relax even for the smallest moment and pretty much was counting every single second during the flight. We were approaching Casablanca now and the sky was just brown. It looked as a dust storm with no clouds, just dusty brown air all the way up where the clouds should be and all the way to the ground. I didn’t know if that would mean it would be a really rough landing but thankfully it was alright. Then we had the next flight on a Dreamliner all the way to DC. Most of it went smooth until the last couple hours. It still didn’t mean I was able to relax because I wasn’t. When we got to DC it was late evening and we still had a 4-hour drive to SnowShoe. It was another bag of problems considering how tired we were now. The dark, narrow, twisty mountain roads, sky full of billions of stars and our shutting down and over exhausted brains. It was really rough and we had to stop a few times just to pull ourselves together. Then we collapsed finally arriving sometime mid night at the race site.

This is exactly why I was not sure how good of the idea it was to even come here straight from Andorra instead of simply not racing at Nationals. 26 hours straight with no sleep, big time change and all this stress and travel. Not even to mention I just raced two days back in Europe the most important race in my life so far. But we went for it not knowing how my body will handle it and now we are here.

The next morning, I did my pre-ride and saw everyone out there. Track was very similar to what we had last year, minus the crazy rain at the moment, but it did rain the day before so whoever pre-rode yesterday was playing in mud. For me only those very shaded and my least favorite rooty sections were still wet, everything else was good to go.

I was different this time around, not the track but me. I actually didn’t hate it as much, I felt strong and confident on my least favorite section and made sure I can clear all those piles of slimy roots. The rock section toward the end didn’t bother me at all actually and I kind of enjoyed it. Everything in between was pretty fast, one super fun downhill section with berms that we all enjoyed so much last year and of course the climbs. For some reasons it felt like there were more of those this time around but really after what I saw and raced overseas those were really quite insignificant to me, almost like rolling hills than actual climbs, they didn’t bother me at all. Toward the end of my practice ride I started feeling them however in my still tired legs and body and though that maybe it was too much of the good thing and I should have not even ridden that much. But it was all done now and I was very confident with the course and ready to roll.

The race morning did come really soon, thankfully this time our balcony was overlooking a section of the course so I could just ride out from our room… That was neat and saved some nice time. I warmed up on and off the course with Ali who will be doing her first national event. We got really lucky this year, the weather did hold and it was beautiful and sunny the whole previous day and no rain predictions for today, so the course should be just perfect.

We got staged some 10-15 minutes before race start and lined up ready to go.

Some people in my class got race nerves and showed up really on the last minute. Glad you made it to the start line Kelly! 😊

I felt pretty good considering all the crazy hassle to get here this week and I was really looking forward to just make it happen.

Even though it was the only National Title that was still missing from my collection and it seemed to be for me the most difficult of all to obtain I was not stressed at all.

I was focused, composed, determined and just simply ready. I even smiled hard with having my husband on the side before the start cheering me on and goofing it out a little and doing little kangaroo hops with his big camera pack that was bouncing with him up and down… Loved it! But it was a go time, now or never!

And we were off. Right from the start we were going to the uphill on the dirt and some grass which become steeper toward the top and would determine who will go first to the next fast part of the course. We were all very even along the way and on the last few feet or so I felt I had to push even harder to make a move. It worked out and I fought my way through the front and next big downhills with berms and fast gravel path that lead us to really awesome, flowy and fast section with few spots where you could get some air if you really wanted to. Then there was a gradual uphill, steep tiny climb that checked everyone’s legs and bike down to the most dreaded rooty section. It had to be at least 0.5-mile-long, but I never bothered to check, it simply felt long and way longer than that. I was doing really good here and knew that this is where I lost my race last time. I was not going to let it happen again and was aware I have to stay in front and if I do, I should be good for the remainder of the lap. I did hear definitely a set of wheels behind me but I didn’t know who it was. I just kept on being as efficient, smooth and error free as possible. I started passing riders in front from other classes, that was good. Some people would fumble in front and actually mess up my lines, or they would simply slide off the root and fall, put the foot down and all the good that is associated with this crazy section. This did affect my riding slightly but not that much. I cleared it all, did come out of those mean roots on the bottom of the dirty and still muddy double truck in the lead. I put down the hammer, there was no stopping me now. I felt strong, surprisingly really strong and was not planning to slow down any time soon.

I managed the climbs so well, the fun section was just a blast and it made me forget I was actually racing, the rocks were just an awesome challenge as well as little timed down flat man-made rock garden. It was all good. I did cross the first lap with a nice lead and jumped strong into the second. It all went pretty well again, more passes, more people that I knew from classes before. Throughout whole lap I rode with confidence and set pace that was powerful but not overwhelming, I was not going to trash myself here, I was just set on a very manageable effort that possibly could be bumped up if it was really needed. I just wanted to be steady. It was all working out really well. It was good to see myself going by so many riders in the XC race, usually in the past it would not be the case.

Being called queen of endurance had a reason, and also me trying to win the XC title for some time now and always being so close but never close enough had a reason too. I am more than happy to bring it all to this change, to the moment where I don’t have to look at the weaknesses and feel like I can’t do good in something because my body just doesn’t choose this distance as a preferred one. I decided to fight it off and make it also one of my strengths. It was definitely working and I for sure proved it just two days earlier in the massive and stacked to the roof race.

So here we go, we are on the second lap and it is a swap bottle time. Too bad my Pax decided to position himself nicely to snap a cool picture on the little rock garden which was unfortunately located few hundred meters down from the official feed zone. The sun was out and I really was getting thirsty and was looking forward the bottle and it didn’t happen. Now I went to final lap three with no drink and knew that the feed zone is sadly toward the end part of the lap. It did for sure occupy my mind for a long while, since I felt that I already had enough obstacles put in place for this race that really, I didn’t need another one. Being dehydrated, overheated on top of just plain exhausted and sleep deprived was just too much. But I had no choice but just stay calm, keep on working and look at the big picture.



After all it was a last lap and I had a good lead. I saw a lot of people struggling on the climbs, they were for sure getting to everyone now. Everyone was trying to just manage the energy the best way they could. What was funny when I was going through the rock sections there was a lady in pink in front and I don’t know why I kept thinking she somehow could be in my class. I was determined now to speed up and catch and pass her as soon as I could. By the time I got to her I smiled to myself realizing she was just completely different person from some different class who started at a completely different time than me long ahead of me. Either way my class or not I had to pass and from there coast to the finish line. On the way making two more spots overall in the process before crossing the finish line.

And finally, it happened! The history had been made once again and now the way I wanted it, the way I imagined it quite a few years back when we said to each other with my husband Pax. “How cool it would be to have three National titles in three different disciplines”.


So, it was that phrase that started this all, this little quest for something that only made sense, mattered to both of us and really no one else. And because we felt it was going to be cool when it happens.


And it did!

We attended the award ceremony at night and watched some other races. We admired the mountains, the views, the fresh air, the wildflowers around. Each time I looked I wish I could ride mountains more often.


We left home the next morning but it happened to be very overcast and rainy day. It makes for cool, gloomy and reflective right but sadly once again not for the best flight home.

For those who get bored with my plane travel complaints might end here but for those who enjoy my misery please continue!

We took off in DC and it started well, but it was not long into the flight when captain said “flight attendants take your jumpsuits” or at least it was what I heard. I saw flight attendant rushing by me to the back and was thinking that pilot has a great sense of humor and imagined it as some James Bond or Mission Impossible scene when everyone, by everyone I mean the whole crew will jump out on us and leave us here. Later on, we were informed that we were going through bad storm cells. Few minutes later captain announced “flight attendants take your jump seats”, since he said it some eight more times during the flight. It was clear now that crew was here to stay! Yey. But the flight was still too stomach turning. We were supposed to land in some 15 minutes and I didn’t notice us descending at all. I knew we supposed to be on the east coast over the Atlantic and when we pulled up flight data on our GPS we realized we were in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico! Holly cow, apparently, we were zigzagging and flying for an additional 45 minutes in order to avoid all the storm below. When we finally landed and started driving home it was an end of the world downpour that we had to drive through. We were told we were last plain allowed to land in Ft. Lauderdale and my neighbor told me that at our house there was a hurricane like storm and winds and she had no clue how we were flying in this and getting home…

But we got home, safe and sound…

The trip all over the world and back was eventful, exhilarating, exhausting, soul defining and something that will stay in our history books forever.

All of it is not an easy process and takes a lot to make it happen, but we could not have it any other way around. I am so happy that Team Mucha had another fantastic adventure under the belt!

Now it’s official, 4x National Champion!

Thank you to all of you who followed my crazy journeys and cheer me on!

Until next time!

Thank you goes to:

ZeroUno Bikes, Spaziale Compositi, Riders Only Bikes, Castelli, Magura, Removu, NDTuned, Limar Helmets, Schwalbe, Rotor Bike Components, Squirt Lube, SelleSMP, Trainer Road, ESI Grips, Clif, Xpedo, Garden of Life, Kuat Racks, Oakley, KMC Chains