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!