The week between Nationals and MSA was jam packed. I celebrated my twentieth birthday in a mini Moab training camp that featured lots of gym time as well as some high intensity tune ups on the bike. Wednesday morning came quick and my bike was packed and loaded in the car. I drove to the airport at 6 am, watching the sunrise. I was less than enthusiastic, when after delayed and cancelled flights, I rolled into MSA at 2:30am to sleep on a friendly stranger’s couch without my bag or bike in tow. I spent Thursday on hold with the airlines trying to track down my bike and bag which had apparently been lost somewhere between Toronto and Quebec. I wasn’t even sure I was going to get my bike in time to race. It felt like some twisted turn of fate that after a rollercoaster of a season, my season could end this way. MSA may be one of the most legendary courses on the World Cup circuit and while all World Cups are demanding, MSA takes the cake. The first half of the lap you spend in the glowing forest. It features ducking into sandy berms, launching over rock gardens, long steep root drops and of course, steep switchback climbs. Its technical, fun and challenging. Then the course gets real. You traverse to two insanely brutal climbs which are not only heart pummeling but also extremely technical. Splitting those climbs decisively looms the infamous Beatrice, a steep rock drop into a rock drop that features many thread the needles between jutting rocks. After the last climb, are the three last technical sections featuring slick rock slab climbs and descents that require the equal attention. Let your guard down for a millisecond and you are going to get an ugly wakeup call. There is no hiding on this course. Only the best can succeed. When Friday morning dawned, a shadow sat in the doorstep. I ran outside to discover that my bike had arrived (my bag had yet to be tracked down…) and relief flooded me. I built it up in the early morning sunshine and hit course. 5:30am on Sunday morning brought a pancake breakfast, some meditation and a good pump up playlist queued. It was go-time. The morning was a little brisk but warming up quick. I found myself in the callup box, where I met my mom. I was so excited to be able to share this World Cup with her. The air was buzzing with energy and the sun was out in force. I was called up to the line in the third row. The gun blew. I surged forward but a close crash right in front of me made me squeeze the brakes and fall back. I was close to dead last entering the start loop. I worked to pick off riders and came around after the first two minutes in the top two thirds. From there, I kept calm. I knew the key to this race would be in riding smooth. After the second lap, I was sitting in 14th. I could see Savilia a couple seconds up the road with another rider. I focused on staying controlled on the descents. I knew I was being more cautious than usual but after a little time off the World Cup circuit, I just wanted to ride the technical sections well. Smooth is fast. I picked off a couple more girls for 12th. When I hit the steep climbs on the fourth lap, my legs felt like noodles. I was exhausted. I hung in for another lap and a half. I crossed the line in 12th. This past weekend was special to me. This was the first time I had ever lined up internationally with control over my migraines. Although this season does not begin to reflect the hours and discipline I poured into the sport, MSA was bigger than any result. I can’t quite believe it. I loved every minute behind the tape and was just happy to be able to do what I love most. The 2018 season has now come to a close for me. I am rolling away with so much gratitude for the team of people behind me. Thank you for enabling me to chase my dreams & do what l love most. I am so excited for what the future holds.
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Nationals left me with a burning hunger in my chest for more racing. The day after STXC, we piled in the car for the 15-hour drive to Vermont. The week leading up to the race flew by with recovery naps, rides that felt more like swimming due to the humidity, lots of reading, yoga and some berry picking. Friday: I hopped back on course. The track was full of punchy, rooty climbs, some natural rock gardens, a big rock slab A-line, a couple of jumps and lots of ripping single-track. The technical nature of the course assured that consuming focus would be essential for success. Take one corner poorly, lose a couple seconds. Daydream and miss the most direct line over the roots, wham! Another couple of seconds. Every crevice of the course would count. Racing on courses of this nature ensures no shortcuts which always provides an incredible learning opportunity. I couldn’t wait. Saturday: A leisurely morning before warming up. I find myself back on the line. I am fourth wheel when we hit the single-track. I can see a little gap begin to open up as Lea Davison begins to pull away from the pack. I make a quick pass to third wheel, riding behind teammate, Savilia. Savilia and I begin the chase. On the rock slab, I am able to pass and settle into my own rhythm on the roots. I am feeling pretty good and know I have more to give. I can hear Savilia behind me and its fun to be riding with my teammate. As we near the end of the second lap, she takes the lead. As we hit some swooping berms, my front tire gets away from me and I have a gentle slide-out. I lose some time but am back chasing. As we head on our final lap, I know this is it. Savilia is still in sight. However, I get a little ahead of myself. I am too careless and botch the first technical climb I have made every lap without fail. I awkwardly push myself up the climb and lose some more time. As the lap dwindles to a close, I am not quite as fast as I have been every other lap. I cross the line in third. Although I always love a tight battle to the end, right now, I am content with just being able to race with a clear head. Although I will always be working to manage the health problems I have long been struggling with, the difference is that now I have tools that enable me to manage this effectively. I am over the hump. And to be able to write that means so much more than any result every could- for right now: being able to do what I love is enough. I am still settling back into the groove of actually racing which takes a little practice (as opposed to surviving with my symptoms). Cross Country Podium! Short Track Podium! Sunday is Short Track. After a good warmup, we are back under the start banner. We are off! I am sitting fourth wheel as we hit the first corner. I hear the sound of a collision as somebody hits the barrier. I don’t look back. The course is one long grassy climb to a singletrack full of roots and quick, loose turns and then an exposed gravel climb. As we complete our first lap, I wait to see who will take the next pull. Lea has led the first lap and I don’t want the rest of us to just suck her wheel the whole race. The pace slows as Lea waits for someone else to pull. I wait for one of the riders sitting second or third wheel to go but when neither of them go for it, so I hop in front. I don’t go too crazy pushing the pace as the pack has already shattered and its still early. About 3/4 of the way through, Lea launches a strong attack leaving three of us in her wake. After the singletrack section, I notice we have dropped the other rider, leaving just Savilia and I. I quickly call to Savilia to work together so we can open up the gap. The race turns tactical and I am able to play my cards right as we come into the final climb. I launch my attack and grab silver behind Lea. Joined in for a Q&A session with the original chapter of Little Bellas. Incredible program and so cool to be a tiny part of it. It’s been an awesome weekend and I am thrilled to be back racing. Although its crushing to know that I will not be named to the official World Championships team due to the barriers I faced at the beginning of the season, I am beyond thrilled to have turned around the end of this year. I have one more shot at qualification at Mont Sainte Anne and will be focusing all my energy there. Thank you to Dario, Josh and my parents for their phenomenal support that makes this all possible. My sleepy eyes blink open to read the red numbers on my clock: 5:51 am. I freeze. I stare at those three numbers a little longer. 5:15 am? The time my alarm is supposed to be set to? No luck. 5:51 am it is. I have a 6:30 flight to make, and my alarm has failed me. In a whirlwind, I make it out the door and when 6:20 rolls around, I am counting my lucky stars to be seated on a plane. Luckily, that is the most stressful part of my travel day and ten hours later, I touch down in Washington Dulles, Virginia to begin the 4.5-hour drive to Snowshoe. I am very happy to climb into a real bed and get a good night of sleep. Wednesday arrives and after a morning of stretching on our sprawling balcony overlooking the stunning blue of the Appalachian mountains, I return to the course I remember so fondly from last year. I am not disappointed. The climbs waste no time: they are clean and efficient in getting suffering underway with steep, fire road pitches. The descents are classic East coast style riding, full of rocks and roots that keep you on your toes at all times. Race prep passes in a blur and before I know it, race morning is upon me! The roads are wet from last night’s rain and I know the course has transformed to slick, icy madness. The race will be all about who can stay the smoothest in volatile conditions. We are off! We surge up the ridiculously steep start climb and battle to be first into the singletrack. I fall into fifth wheel. When we hit the first climb, I make another pass and we begin to fight up the first climb. The first rooty singletrack is glassy and presents little to no traction. The rider in front of me slips and before I know it, we are pushing ourselves up the roots. We make it to the next climb and I begin to push to make a pass. However, it feels as though someone has their fist around my throat. I can’t breathe. I focus on taking deep, calm breaths and ride on. We hit the descents and I focus on making up time and my breath. When we hit the next climb, I push as hard as I can but still struggle to breathe. I can see the podium spot I desperately want 10 seconds up the road. The race continues in this fashion. I dig as hard as I can but can’t quite seem to close the gap. I cross the line in 4th, 100% spent and happy to have finally had a top-level race where I was able to fight for contention. Although not the result I was dreaming of, I got a taste of my recent health progress and I can’t quite put to words what it meant to feel more like myself while racing. I also can’t help but feeling grateful to cross the line behind some crazy fast ladies that push me to be better every step of the way. Congratulations to my teammate, Savilia, for taking the National title! Sunday is short track. I clamber on the bike and begin my warmup in an attempt to revive my sluggish, heavy legs from the previous day. Pretty soon, I am back on the line. The whistle releases us and immediately thirty of the nation’s fastest women are loose! I find myself in the front group after the first lap but on a wheel whose rider lacks the punch of the first group. The first split happens, and I am too late. I make a pass anyways and am now dangling in no-man’s-land. When two other riders find my wheel, the race is back on. I don’t know much, but I know I am maxed out to keep the pace. I pass the start and see “6 laps” counting down the time left. It seems like an eternity. I keep fighting. Despite gasping for air, I can feel a little more punch on the last climb that will determine the race. The final climb rolls around and I make my attack. I open up a small gap between me and the other riders and roll into the finish in 9th. It feels good to have been able to breathe a little more (with help of a new inhaler) and put down a race with a result that shows how hard I have fought this season. I am optimistic that I can solve the breathing problems with help of an inhaler for the exercise induced asthma I was recently diagnosed with and am more fired up than ever to finish this season strong. One thing is certain, the progress I have made this season has far outweighed the heartbreak. Huge thank you to the team behind me that has made each rung up the ladder attainable: your continued belief means the world to me. I cannot wait to get more of the full flavor of racing without health limits as I carry this momentum forward into Vermont this weekend and the Mont Sainte Anne World Cup!
A couple of my friends from Stanford had the wonderful idea for a group of us to write blog posts about our summer adventures. The blog can be found HERE but I wanted to attach my post on here as well. When I planned my 2018 season 10 months ago, today, July 2nd was circled in red pen. It was one of the days that represents the reason I wake up in the morning, ready. It would be the day that many of the world’s top cyclists would board planes from hundreds of different states, countries, & backgrounds to come together for the second round of World Cup mountain bike races the following weekend. I would be one of them. Ever since my toes skimmed the water of mountain biking, World Cup racing has been its heart. These races are the epitome of the sport. The names called out through the auditorium are the sport’s infamous legends; the athletes worshipped by the cycling world. These courses are the most grueling and relentless that can possibly be packed into 5km laps. They are designed for physical and mental suffering; no one crosses the finish line without fighting a battle. To get to this start line, you have to be the best. The best at suffering, the best at being tough, the best at being confident. You have to be the right balance of easy-going and high-maintenance. You have to be picky about your pancake mix but be ready to eat powdered eggs. You have to know the difference between 22psi and 23psi but be ready to gauge your tire pressure by feel and call it good. Grit, perseverance, focus and sacrifice are not characteristics; they are your construction. There is not a single athlete who makes it to these events by chance. Pinning on a number plate is a lifestyle built out of sacrifice, and, at the risk of sounding cliché, blood, sweat and tears. The stakes are the highest, and the pressure can be smothering. However, the minute the gun blows, the suffocating anticipation evaporates and the “point” of it all becomes impossible to miss. The passion is contagious, the rawness electrifying. I fell in love with cycling for the adrenaline, but I remain in love with cycling for another reason. When racing, I have an hour and a half to live the way I strive to every day: fearlessly. Racing is about pushing yourself past any preconceived notion you have of your limit. A 90-minute race is a rollercoaster of emotion: there are a million battles bookending the heartbreak and triumph. There is doubt and despair but there is also confidence and hope. Off the bike, I have a list of attributes I can pin to myself the same way I recognize my face in the mirror. I am tough. I am confident. I don’t bruise. I am fearless. But when I race, I am vulnerable. Every breath is a fight in itself, and riding as the bold racer I aspire to be can feel nearly impossible. At times, pulling off an effort that I can smile about after I cross the line seems unimaginable. However, then racing forces me to sift through layers in my heart I didn’t know I had and further tear my muscles to pieces. And to love that 90 minutes enough to devote every day to it. As odd as it is, there is a whole world of endurance athletes who feel the same way, some of whom have become my best friends. So today, my best friends board planes to chase their dreams. And when I looked at the calendar 10 months ago, I knew I was going to be one of them. I knew it like you know it has rained the night before by the way the air tastes and the color of the light. You don’t even have to see the puddles to know. But I am writing this today on a different plane. And not by choice. After the first World Cup trip this season, I did not qualify for the second one. Despite the fact that I am making real progress with the health condition I have been battling for the past four years and despite the fact that I am still usually able to perform as one of the top U23 women in the United States with this health condition, I was not seen as a viable candidate for this second trip. Which does more than just sting, but I understand. So today, I am not flying to Italy for the fifth World Cup of 2018 and I will not be in Andorra for the sixth World Cup. So as some of my best friends, those I have spent the past five years working with toward a common goal, pushing each other to new heights, board planes to race this weekend, I am flying to Baltimore, Maryland, to meet with a new doctor. At this point, this isn’t a story I’m necessarily ready to tell or really have the words for. If I were to try and describe this in one word it would be anger. Or frustration. Or hopelessness. But it could also be gratitude. Or confidence. Or passion. Long story short, one year into my cycling career I started blacking out during my races, experiencing symptoms like dizziness and feelings of removal. Needless to say, these symptoms make riding to one’s potential and racing on a world-class stage difficult. So, we sought help. What started out as a visit to my primary doctor turned into visits to UCSF and then to Stanford and then to New York and then to Texas, and as the flights added up, so did the diagnoses. Every doctor had a different explanation and every doctor admitted my symptoms were a little unusual. From medication trials and strange diets to MRIs, CT scans and EKG’s - we did it all. In the beginning, I would leave each visit bursting with hope, convinced we had found a solution. Then I would line up to race, and be more symptomatic than ever, doing everything I could just to drag myself over the finish line. As the appointments collected tallies, I left little pieces of my heart all over the world, and hope became harder and harder to stumble on. But this year, this season, has been different. I have been meeting with some new doctors who have propelled me forward. I have found a medication that has given me some relief. I understand certain triggers. Today, I am flying to see yet another renowned doctor, this time a specialist in the right field who I hope will give me more tools. For the first time, I have been making progress. That doesn’t mean this battle is over yet, but it means I am closer. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have days where I wake up feeling drained of hope. Like I have been swimming with 300-pound weights strapped on, prolonging drowning, prolonging suffering. My fight seems naïve and the mountain climb, never ending. On these days, I am drained. I am sick of my own sob story, of saying the same thing after every race. Of pouring my heart and soul and every ounce of my being in this sport to have it spit back in my face. So why am I still in it? Because I have other days. The days when I wake up with a fire burning through my chest, with such ferocity it scares me. It leaves no room for doubt. I have belief rooted in me, in a place so deep, sometimes it hides in the shadows. But it never, ever leaves. It destroys the heartache. And on those days, I know I have it in my soul. I know I can be at the top of these races if I can survive this a little longer. I am starving. And I know I will fight this until it’s over, and I have won. The embers in my gut are sparking, ready to ignite at any second. Whether they finally burn tomorrow or in a month or in a year, you can make damn sure you will feel their glow. This is me, doing what I love. And on the in-between days, I know racing is about the fight. It is about finding your limit and then beating your head against a wall until it shatters. Racing is about failing, your biggest worry unravelling, and then picking yourself off the ground to do it again the next chance you have. Racing is not defined by your paper results of success. Racing is about the way you pick yourself up; not how long you can stand in the top, bathing in the glory. And on these days, I have knowledge. I know I will swallow a hell of a lot more before I walk away from the reason my heart beats. And when the belief feels dusty, I know I have my proof in the data and my resilience. I know that this pulses through my veins and that my happiest place is on the start line. I know I will push through the shattering until the healing is complete. I don’t know what this doctor will tell me. What if he tells me I will never overcome this? For a split second, I think I would drop racing, but then I, it doesn’t (really) matter. This is the reason my heart beats. But not every day is race day, not every day feels desolate and not every day is bursting with hope. And so, most days are just about soaking in all the beauty that I have. I am (always working on) finding gratitude, patience, and peace. Luckily, there are a million things that make that easier. I wake up most mornings breathing easy. The dry Colorado wind rustles through the RV that is home this summer, carrying songs of the river and mountain peaks- the stories of rhythm and unsolicited grace. I can feel the passion rumbling through my blood, as sure as the river’s flow, the steady mountain peaks. I know that my day training will be well spent. I know that every pedal stroke, every drop of sweat, every heartache will be repaid with enough patience. But mostly, I focus on finding love in every moment. And sometimes that means remembering I am more than just a cyclist. And sometimes it means defining myself as a cyclist. Either way, I try to love as deeply as I can. The type of love that will make whatever outcome, wherever I end up in 15 years, worth this. Regardless of my obstacles, the biggest blessing I could have is love and I am so grateful to know the reason my heart beats. That knowledge means that despite it all, I am in the right place.
BATTLE AT NORTH FORK, I CUP- LIBERTY, UTAHAfter a quick flight to Marlyand for another doctor’s appointment, I hop in the car for the drive from Durango, Colorado to Liberty, Utah. 8 hours later, we arrive. A nice sunset spin and a good night of sleep later, it is time to get on course! The course profile is daunting, 7 miles and 1,350ft of climbing per lap. However, despite the 90 plus degree heat and brutal climbing, I soon realize that lots of climbing means lots of descending! The descents are long, with swooping berms and sharp corners that are easy to overshoot. The climbs are seemingly never-ending with lots of short punchy sections thrown into the sustained climb, just to make sure you never get a minute’s rest. The trail is a fine powder, making the dust a force to be reckoned with. Tomorrow promises a brutal race. Race morning dawns and I am excited. I get a good warmup and make it to the line. I am happy to discover that there are as many women as men on the line! The Elite Women will be racing at the same time as the Elite Men as well as the Masters. Since the course is mostly singletrack, this means that passing will be tricky. 3, 2, 1! We are off! I get the hole shot and begin the steep climb into the first singletrack descent. I am a little timid about digging too deep right off the line at altitude, so I allow two women to slip by me before the trail funnels to singletrack. We begin the fast descent and I realize a little too late that the extra match I would have burned to be first into the singletrack would have been well spent due to the gap I would have been able to build. Oh well… We hit the first climb and Sophia, the first woman, begins to pull away. My legs are itching to follow her, but I am stuck behind another rider. As soon as the trail opens up a smidge, I make a quick pass in the grass and begin to chase. I close the gap down to 15 seconds by the time we enter the big 800 feet climb. I am still charging but begin to feel a little hazy. I know if I push too deep, I will sink deep into my symptoms. I am careful to ride at my limit but not push past the point of no return in the stifling 95-degree heat. I know I am forfeiting time on the climbs, so I focus on making up time on the descents. I hit the last lap ready to leave everything on course. I destroy myself on the climbs and fly on the descents. I cross the line with a faster last lap than the leader, having lost the majority of time on the second lap. I am happy to have ridden a clean, fun race as well as with the progress I have been making in regard to my health. Two months ago, when I raced at this elevation in milder heat on more medication, I became so symptomatic that I was unable to finish my first lap. I know I am headed in the right direction and couldn’t be more fired up for Nationals in two weeks! Thank you to Dario, Josh and my parents for the support that enables me to race at this level! Mt. Ogden Midweek Series Just a couple days after the I-Cup, it was go-time again. Ever since I had started racing, I had heard tales from my teammates of the infamous Midweek series where many of my friends got their starts racing. It is exciting to have the chance for another race under my belt to tune up for Nationals.
6:30pm arrives and the sun is still hot at 6,500 ft at Snowbasin Mountain. The course is powdery and dry with some long, steep climbs and fast, rocky descents. I line up alongside the Pro Men as all the Pros will be starting together. It’s pretty cool to chat with long-time teammate Anders Johnson on the line. Finally, we are off! I am careful not to dig too deep of the line at altitude and just to hang with the men, but I quickly find my pace and begin to make some passes. I grit my teeth and push on the climbs and find flow on the descents. For the first time in the past four years, I feel like myself: I can use the power I have trained. I don’t feel symptomatic. I can’t stop smiling. I keep pushing across the line and take the win. Now it’s time to focus and get in the last crucial training touchups before Nationals. Thank you to those who continue to support me. Thursday: Travel all day. My plane touches down in rainy Vancouver where I am reunited with my parents. We drive the Sea to Sky Highway to Whistler and I quickly remember why I have such fond memories of this place… Friday: Sleepy morning building up bikes before course opens. I get on course and discover fresh cut singletrack (off camber, rooty, rocky, big drops and lotsa fun!), and brutal climbs, which adds up to a relentless track. I find flow on my second lap and can’t stop smiling. Saturday: The morning evaporates before my eyes. I head up early to the venue, so I can cheer for my mom during her race, which is pretty cool. She is off to a killer start and I warmup. I arrive to staging only to discover that our race has been delayed, 15, no 20, no 35 minutes! I spin around a little while longer and chat with some of the ladies. Finally, its go-time. We are off! I squeeze up to second place and find rhythm: flow on the descents and fight on the climbs. I am pleased to discover a clear (asymptomatic) head. I feel good but fall back to third. I ride with a solid gap in third until the 4 out of 5 laps when a nordic Olympian comes up behind me to ensure that there is a battle for the podium! I do everything I can to put up a fight. On the final climb of the lap, I put in a small attack and pull away, but a small mechanical stops my progress. She passes me, and it takes me another couple seconds to fix it before I am back on. I take a deep breath and dig with everything left. It’s not quite enough. I finish in fourth, pleased to have rode a fun, tactical race but hungry for more, knowing I am capable of more. Although I felt alright, upon examining my data, it is clear that there is still progress to be made with my health and I am ready to fight harder than ever to carry this momentum. Sunday: What a treat! We have a day after the race to check out Whistler. We join my dad in the bike park for a day of DH to wrap up a sweet weekend. This health journey ensures that I find the silver linings in every crevice and I am so lucky to have the continued support of the Whole Athlete program via sponsors, teammates Josh, Dario and my family through it all. Eyes forward to National Championships! Albstadt left me starving for more and thankful for my chance the following weekend: Nove Mesto. My first day on course quickly reminded me why Nove Mesto is by far one of my favorite races on the circuit. It isn’t just because the flow there is untouchable, the features as demanding as cross-country bikes can handle, the climbs grueling and the crowds wild, but because those components assemble to make a mentally and physically demanding race, everything a real mountain bike course should be. One thing is for sure, it is impossible to leave Nove Mesto without an entirely empty tank. One of the coolest parts of racing a similar circuit every year is that your improvement is tangible. Every rock feature feels just a little smoother, every root has a little more flow. I got two days on course and felt readier than ever. A quick spin in the morning, a good prerace meal and it was go-time. I got called up to the line 47th. The pre-race heartbeat erupted through the stadium and I couldn’t help but smile. We exploded off the line. I snuck up on the outside and picked girls off one by one. I felt good. I finished the start loop already having moved up 9 places. I kept fighting but could feel an all too familiar haze beginning to settle over me. I knew if I pushed at the pace I wanted to ride at, 110%, I would sink myself deeply into my symptoms and be unable to recover. Instead, I forced myself to ease up, back to 100%. I let off my brakes and found flow on the downhills (as best I could dealing with lap traffic), and passed as many people as possible. On the uphills, it was frustrating not to be able to ride the pace I knew I was capable of but did my best to hang on and keep moving up. I left everything I could on course, rode smoothly and finished 33rd. An hour or two after finishing, I was still having a harder time breathing than normal, and a trip to the medic tent revealed low oxygen levels. This gives me another path to chase and therefore an opportunity to make more progress in the medical world. Although I cannot express how frustrating racing at a compromised state is, I also am making undeniable progress for the first time in four years. I am so grateful for those to continue to believe in me year after year- thank you. I know I will continue to carry this momentum into the summer season as well as into years to come.
After a couple of long weeks of conferences with doctors and testing, I flew into Frankfurt on Wednesday and met up with USA Cycling with a solid plan for a new medication and ready to race bikes! 23 hours later, we finally arrived in Albstadt in time for dinner and a good night of sleep. Thursday morning rolled around, carrying dark clouds and rain that set the precedent for the rest of the week. Although I was no stranger to the brutality of Albstadt, its unforgiving nature was quickly reinforced as we hit the first climb, slick with clay mud. My tires quickly filled with mud and by the time we hit the first descent, I was already thoroughly splattered. The downhill was in no better shape with the rain. The mud was like ice and had been pushed aside to reveal slick roots. Any rock on course was tracked with more mud. My first day preriding the course, all of the A-lines except one were closed. I would have to wait. Sitting around the dinner table later that night, riders showed off battle scars from the day. Checking social media revealed even the top world class riders’ apprehension about the conditions. I got on course the day before my race for one more lap which revealed the course in worse shape than the day prior. Nonetheless, I felt dialed on the A-lines and the rest of the course and was excited about the added technical component. Our race start was 9am which meant an early morning. After a good breakfast and warmup, I was feeling readier than ever. I lined up 48th and knew it was going to be a brutal battle. The gun blew, and we were off. Well, actually, the front girls were off, but seconds passed before the sixth row moved. By the first uphill, I was off my bike and running. I came into the first downhill and the girl behind me had lost control and slammed into me hard, knocking the wind out of me. I slid a couple feet before coming to a stop, running back up the hill to my bike. I discovered that my stem had been knocked completely askew, a challenge in dry conditions but almost impossible to counteract in these ones. I managed to ride into the pits, so the mechanics could straighten my stem. However, amidst all the chaos, I couldn’t help but notice that the meetings with doctors seemed to be paying off as my symptoms were mild. I sprinted out and made up as many positions as possible. I came into the second descent feeling good, although skiing my bike almost completely sideways due to lack of traction. However, all too soon, I slammed back into the ground and my stem was crooked all over again. I made it to the pits again, none too soon. Standing in the pits, I watched as the girls I had just passed, passed me back. Back on the bike, I grabbed back as many spots as possible. Up the climb, I had another mechanical that cost me. The rest of my race settled into that rhythm. Mechanicals and the inevitable crashes would force me off my bike, but I would reconcile and make up times both on the descents and climbs. Before I knew it, I was getting pulled. Although I fought with everything I had, it was frustrating to not get much of a race starting so far in back, but that’s bike racing! Looking at the silver linings, this weekend was great experience and having a race with only mild symptoms is a win in itself. This weekend showed me that my form is where it needs to be, and I am starving for another chance this coming weekend.
After Bonelli, I have a couple days to try and recover from my Bonelli heat injury before I am back in the car, zooming towards Monterey for Sea Otter. Although Sea Otter is a bit of a madhouse, I always enjoy seeing the different disciplines of cycling mash together for one weekend. Sea Otter is the closest thing I have to a home race and it was the first national-level race I ever competed in, so it holds a special place in my heart. The race weekend starts a little early, Friday, so I arrive on Wednesday to check out the course. For being such an infamous event, the Sea Otter course always astounds me with its simplicity. The short track course is an unusual course in its long nature and consists of riding alongside the car race track. It loops in and out of the thick raceway gravel, sand pits and hard-packed dirt ruts. It is open and exposed to wind, making drafting an important element of the race. There is no room for recovery. For a short track, it’s a dangerous course due to its many quick, unexpected terrain transitions and limited line choice. The cross-country course is the same course, in reverse, with an additional loop up on the hillside that is reminiscent of a land mower gone rogue. It includes a couple of unreasonably steep climbs hacked into the side and a manmade rock garden or two just to remind everyone that this is indeed “mountain” biking. To say I am tired heading into the weekend is an understatement. I feel like I have been hit by a train. Nonetheless, race morning dawns and I am ready to race. Short track is up first on the calendar. I start at the back of the pack and come around the first lap sitting in the bottom third after the first lap. I watch the girls in front of me sit in and conserve energy, but I come around the sides, pick alternative lines and move up the best I can. Pretty soon, I am sitting in the group of the leaders. However, I am hanging off the back and am dropped in the technical sections, where the group strings out. I am unable to move farther up and when the first split happens, miss it. I have enough power to bridge up solo, but I know that if I am able to do so, I will be too blown from the effort to move far enough up to ride with the pack and just get dropped again. Instead, I conserve energy, drafting and wait for the group to split. When the next split happens, I bridge up and ride with them. I pick my way forward throughout the race and finish in 15th, excited for cross-country the next day. Cross-country morning. The whistle blows and I get a good start but when we hit the first climb, I miss the first split and lose some position. However, I pick girls off on the climbs where there is passing room and tuck in on the descents. I move up consistently. Pretty soon, I am riding alone. In front and behind me, I can see girls working in groups. I am stranded by myself, in a situation similar to yesterday. know that my smartest move is to conserve as much as possible on the flat so that I can punch the climbs. I dig deep and have a final burst on the last lap to close the gap down to the girl in front of me to under ten seconds. I finish 16th. After checking with various doctors throughout the week, I was ecstatic to have it be confirmed that I am not doing damage racing through my health condition and to be able to line back up less than a week later. However, I was still exhausted from the mental and physical rollercoaster as well as the previous weekend’s heat injury. I wasn’t sure my body would respond. However, I knew all I could do was give it my best shot. This weekend was sweet and simple. I did what I needed to do and rode a clean race. It means more than I can express to close a long racing block with a solid result.
Thank you to my family, friends, team, and coach for your unwavering support. Next up, the Spring World Cups! After Fontana, I have a mellow week with the team down in Los Angeles to recharge for Bonelli. Race morning is here before I know it. I am calm and centered. I can feel how ready I am in my bones. I am more determined than ever to fight and confident in my ability to do so. I line up to race among World Champions, Olympians, and some of the most talented in the sport and I can’t help but smile. The 95-degree heat is scorching but I don’t mind, I am so excited. I lose my pedal at the start but fight hard to make up places. The short start loop strings our field of fifty plus riders in a long line. My mistake has cost me. I am sitting in the bottom half of the field. Thick dust coats my lungs and lips. I sprint as hard as I can to move up. One at a time, I begin to move up. I let go of my brakes on the first, technical rock face and am able to pass a couple girls. About 10 minutes in, my familiar shadow of dizziness is clinging on. I welcome it with open arms. I want to prove that I can fight through this entirely. I know I can. As the minutes pass, the black spots become more vibrant, but I keep picking girls off. The agony is searing, but I don’t care. I hit the climbs and I shift up. I find flow on the unforgiving hard-packed, rutted, loose descents. I settle into a rhythm. My eyelids shudder on the descents and I fight the urge to succumb to closing my eyes. I grit my teeth. The third lap finds me sitting in the top twenty, but everything is fuzzy, and I can barely see. I dismount on a loose climb and it takes me a couple tries to find the balance to remount. I summon all my strength to head out on a fourth lap. A group of girls catch me, and I fight with every ounce I have left to stay with them. Coming into the feed zone on the fourth lap, I am not feeling good. Unbeknownst to me, I swerve back and forth, unaware of the riders I cut off or of my mom asking me if she could reach over the tape to assist me. Apparently, my pace slows down enough to where it looks like I am tipping over or about to stop. To me, I am just racing my bike. Finally, a switch flips in my brain: my body is shutting down and I can’t ignore it any longer. I make it to a shady spot and then collapse. I wait for my body to refire and to regain feeling but don’t seem to be making progress. I want desperately to be able to collect data on what is happening to my body so the doctors’ can further help me. My mom gets me in the car and we head to the hospital. They keep me overnight to monitor my heat exhaustion which exacerbated my symptoms. Although this result is surface-level disappointing, I proved something to myself this weekend that means more than a number ever could. I am more convinced than I ever have been that I will be able to fight this and come out of it stronger than I ever could have been without it. I have made bounds of progress in every race I fight this condition and will continue to do so. I will fully utilize my time off from school to make sense of this as best we can. I am fortunate to have a team of some of the most brilliant doctors in the country working with me and I am confident we will continue to shed light on this. After checking with multiple doctors on Monday, I have been cleared to race this weekend. The day after Sea Otter, I will head to the Stanford hospital for more testing. I will also be trying some new strategies this weekend.
This past weekend was challenging but made more than tolerable with the love and support I received. I remain shocked at the empathy people exude and I am truly taken aback at the lengths they go to be there for me. I am indebted in gratitude to the people who lend me their shoulders time and time again. Thank you. XC Elite Women: 23rd STXC Elite Women: 10th After Bear Mountain, I flew home for a whirlwind of a week and in-between the craze of packing and long training days, managed to fit in a Giants game as well as some time with my family. 6am sharp Thursday morning found me in the packed car hurling down into the LA smog. By the time we had grocery shopped, unloaded the van, fit in a quick spin around the neighborhood and reunited the team, it was time to crawl into bed. Friday morning found the team at the rock pile on the side of the freeway, the all-too-familiar Fontana course. But a surprise awaited us! Instead of racing the shorter Pro course that I had raced the past three years, we would be racing the longer course. The course consists of brutal, punchy climbs, rock faces, hard-packed, rutted berms and some flow sections. Although seemingly straight forward, this course is absolutely unforgiving. A small mistake is easy to make over the skittery brake bumps that morph to rock faces in a blink of an eye and the loose nature of the course means that such a mistake is almost unsavable. This course is always a bit of a cruel reentry into racing as it is hot, technical and excruciating. I love it. Race morning rolls around and after blasting my favorite hype-up playlist weaving through classic LA traffic on the way to the course, I cannot wait to race or stop smiling. My mind is clear, and my body is ready. This race offers HC points, which is the most prestigious category of points aside from World Cups. This means that racers from far and wide have travelled to come pedal in the dusty heat. I line up among 50 other women. The gun blows, and we are off. The loose gravel in the start causes girls to immediately struggle and I am pinched off on the first short climb and lose some places. As we hit the second climb, chaos unhinges further as wheels skid and rider after rider unclips. I work hard to make up time and am relatively successful until the course turns to single-track and one woman’s mistake costs the whole field again. I watch as the massive front pack pulls away as I stand still, holding my bike on my shoulder, waiting for the long line of women ahead of me to finish scrambling on their feet over the rocky climb. As soon as the road opens up, I begin to pick women off one at a time. I am sitting in the top 15 and am confident that I will be able to continue moving up as my legs feel good and I am making up time on the descents. However, on the second lap’s big climb, severe black spots cloud my vision. My eyelids begin to shudder, and I am fighting to keep my eyes open. My body is trembling, and I feel unstable. My dizziness collides with me. I struggle to keep moving forward. However, I can still see the riders in the top 15 ahead just seconds ahead and I continue to fight to catch them. I know I am losing time not only because of the dizziness but also because I hit the exposed, windy backside of the course every time solo whereas most girls are working together and drafting. I fall back but continue to grit my teeth and ride through the spots in my vision. A group of five women catch me on the last lap and I stick to their wheels the best I can. I come into the finish and outsprint the last girl of the group. I finish in 23rd, by no means what I was looking for but knowing that I did everything I could. The dizziness is what it is. I have been making progress and will continue to do so. This is an obstacle I will overcome that has given me perspective and makes me stronger with each day. The loose gravel in the start causes girls to immediately struggle and I am pinched off on the first short climb and lose some places. As we hit the second climb, chaos unhinges further as wheels skid and rider after rider unclips. I work hard to make up time and am relatively successful until the course turns to single-track and one woman’s mistake costs the whole field again. I watch as the massive front pack pulls away as I stand still, holding my bike on my shoulder, waiting for the long line of women ahead of me to finish scrambling on their feet over the rocky climb. As soon as the road opens up, I begin to pick women off one at a time. I am sitting in the top 15 and am confident that I will be able to continue moving up as my legs feel good and I am making up time on the descents. However, on the second lap’s big climb, severe black spots cloud my vision. My eyelids begin to shudder, and I am fighting to keep my eyes open. My body is trembling, and I feel unstable. My dizziness collides with me. I struggle to keep moving forward. However, I can still see the riders in the top 15 ahead just seconds ahead and I continue to fight to catch them. I know I am losing time not only because of the dizziness but also because I hit the exposed, windy backside of the course every time solo whereas most girls are working together and drafting. I fall back but continue to grit my teeth and ride through the spots in my vision. A group of five women catch me on the last lap and I stick to their wheels the best I can. I come into the finish and outsprint the last girl of the group. I finish in 23rd, by no means what I was looking for but knowing that I did everything I could. The dizziness is what it is. I have been making progress and will continue to do so. This is an obstacle I will overcome that has given me perspective and makes me stronger with each day. STXC:
Sunday afternoon warming up for the short track, the heat is already scorching, and my legs feel sluggish from yesterday’s effort. However, I am determined to give a hundred and ten of myself to today, no matter what obstacles I face. On the line, the sun further wraps its tentacles around the racers. The announcer calls that the short track will be 15 minutes plus 2 laps. This means 18 or so minutes of suffering like hell but then it will be over. I can do this. The call ups are based off an order no one can quite make sense of and as a result, I don’t get a call up. Our field is fifty riders and the gravely, loose start straight into a corner strings our field out along the course. Entering the first corner, I glance up and see my teammate Savilia, sitting fourth wheel, already through the first climb. I put my head down and push. Throughout the race, I pick off riders, moving between groups and doing a lot of work by myself on the courses’ open, windy sections. Finally, entering the last 4 two-minute laps, I make contact with the lead group. I am pretty blown from my efforts but am determined to stay in the running. The feeling of dizziness and eye-shuddering returns but the end of the race is imminent. I grab one more position entering the last lap and battle for another crossing the line. The race is over. I finish 10th, satisfied with my effort. Eyes forward to Bonelli next weekend. Thank you to the people behind me through this journey. I turn in my last couple papers for Winter Quarter at Stanford, move out of my dorm room, have a few quick days in Marin, throw the race essentials in a bag and board my flight to Victoria, BC. Thursday: A few delayed flights later I arrive and embark on the quest of fitting a bike, wheel box and suitcase in the back of a tiny sedan. After more than a couple shoves, we are whizzing through Langford. We pull up to a quaint little cabin overlooking Lake Victoria. The evening is spent building bikes and prepping to ride the next day. Friday: We awake to a gray, rainy morning and head out to preride. We spin up to Bear Mountain and discover the glowing green mossy forest. One lap done, and I am in love. A couple more and I find flow. The course is almost all single-track, making passing difficult. Its full of slick roots, rock gardens, swooping berms, lines zagging through moss and punchy climbs that promise to make muscles scream come race day. I can’t help but grin as I spin home. Saturday:
Race morning rolls around and I feel cool, calm and collected. I can’t wait to be back in the tape. I set a couple goals to ensure that my hour and a half on course will be fully utilized. I spin up to the venue and am reunited with some of my favorite people in the world. I line up amongst some of my best friends. The gun blows, and we explode off the line. Since I was the last callup to the first row, I am pinched off in the first corner and lose some time. Sprinting on the only long pavement climb, I begin to move back up. I am chasing the front group and enter the singletrack right behind them. Finding flow on the singletrack, I bridge the gap and make contact. The girl in front of me bobbles and contact with the front group is lost. I keep my head down and keep passing girls. Savilia finds my wheel and we ride together the next couple laps, pushing on the climbs and finding flow on the descents. I am proud of my progress with the my dizziness. On the climbs, the familiar fuzziness and blackout return, but I push through the best I can. On the last lap, Savilia puts in a big attack on the long pavement climb and I follow her wheel. The black spots become vivid but I grit my teeth. We pull away from the other girl we are with. I enter the singletrack with Savilia just ahead. I ride the last lap solo, pushing on the climbs and riding smoothly. I cross the line in ninth, happy with a top ten, proud to have such a strong teammate and excited to settle more into the race groove to build momentum this season. U23 Women XC: 16th Website: www.velirium.com Three different flight itineraries later and I finally find myself in Mont Saint Anne on Thursday afternoon. We grab some groceries, and drive the hour to the venue. I build up my bike in record time in order to get on the course that evening. 6:30pm and I am rolling! I am delighted at what I discover. Slick rock faces, rock gardens, gap jumps, rooty descents, pump track sections, creek crossings, and the infamous Beatrice feature make up the downhill portion of the course. The uphills follow a similar tangent of gnarliness. “This can’t be right,’ I think as I come to one of the climbs, ‘There’s simply no way we are supposed to go up this.’ But I am wrong. It is right. We will be going up it. Every lap. One thing is for sure: Mont Saint Anne is not a course for the faint of heart. This race would absolutely relentless. Waterfall exploring! I ride laps in the dwindling dusk until the forest sections become entirely dark. I feel flawless on course. Then, happy, sweaty and exhausted, I make it back to the hotel to decompress. Friday is my 19th birthday and I have a nice spin with Haley, do some yoga, read my favorite book and then head to the local waterfalls with Haley and Cole. Turns out its more of an ice bath then a soak but its lovely all the same. As we get out, the weather rolls in. In seconds, it is pouring. It rains into the night. Saturday, I get back on course and discover the technical element of the course has been three times amplified. Woah. The dancing feeling from Thursday’s preride sticks: my bike is another limb. I float over Beatrice and glide over the rest of the A lines. Not everyone is so lucky. The energy on course is electric as riders explore new lines. Riders everywhere seems to be on edge, apprehensive about our battlefield the next day. Many friends are nursing new bruises and two USAC riders get concussions and won’t be able to race Sunday. I close my eyes and visualize the floating feeling. I am ready. Sunday is here before I know it. A 5:30am wakeup call shoots me out of bed. I can hardly wait to get going. A peek out the window confirms my suspicions, it rained all night and is still drizzling. Ooooh it's going to be exciting out there. A good warmup later, we are on the line. The whistle blows and the group explodes forward. My legs don’t. I fall to the very back but then quickly settle in and start moving up. Through the pumptrack, through the first single track climb, over the gap jump, onto the rock garden… I grab a couple more places. I pass Nicole Koller, ex junior world champion and keep moving forward. I’m sitting in a pack of seven girls. I come into Beatrice and it’s like ice, I slip. Off my bike! I attempt to run down the slick rocks. It is not my most graceful, but I’m back on, charging. I lose the pack but close back in quickly. Lap two. I am sitting in 17th, then 16th. I can see a pack of six girls a couple seconds up. There it is. The top 10 I want desperately. The legs feel good and my strategy to keep moving forward is working well. Focus Kelsey, I tell myself. I dig deep and catch two girls battling it out on the climb. One makes a messy pass and it quickly results in a crash in front of me. Their bikes are badly tangled. After some scrambling, I slip by. I come into a garden of wet rock slabs and my tires are out from under me. Bam. Back up, deep breath. I hop on but something is wrong: my seat is missing. I can’t afford to lose that pack again but I am definitely a little slower without a seat. I get to the pits as quickly as possible. Julien changes the seat as I get a drink of Osmo and watch girls stream by. Back on! Now I just want to move up as much as possible. I catch the Canadian National Champion quickly and push past the leg burn. I come down hard on the new seat and my heart sinks as it tilts forward at a downhill slant. My mind races: Should I go to the pit again? No. This is fine. An angled seat is better than no seat. Plus, I have a race to do ;). Go, Kelsey, go!! My legs scream but I grab another position, and then another. Suddenly, I realize that I’m on my final lap. This is it. One last chance to give it everything. At last, I am back in my preride flow, riding smoothly. I cross the line in 16th, my best World Cup finish to date but wishing I had avoided the trip to the pit. Huge thanks to Team USAC for all the support this weekend! It’s always an honor to wear the red, white and blue. Now home for the first time in four weeks!
Post Nationals and I was back in the car, for another long day (12 hours). Finally, the small, winding roads turned to freeway and I found myself in Providence, where I would be staying for the week. I finished settling into the hotel when the bug bites that I had noticed first thing in the morning seemed to appear all over my body. Pretty soon, I have welts crisscrossing every surface of my skin. Still, I think: bad reaction to some bug bites, I’m fine. However, a restless night of sleep, and a feeble attempt at an endurance ride tells me otherwise. I feel awful. Something is wrong so I head to a clinic. They tell me I’m having an allergic reaction and that the welts are hives. Some strong antihistamines later, the swelling starts to subside. I take the next couple of days pretty mellow so I can race the coming weekend. Friday dawns and with it, the opportunity to ride the course. Awaiting me is a track full of rock gardens, swooping corners, roots and a drop. Although it starts on a fire road, it quickly funnels to single track and remains so for virtually the whole course. I know passing will be a challenge. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough. Sure enough, tomorrow does come. An HC event means that the start list is deep and stacked. I line up alongside women from the Costa Rican National Team, New Zealand National Team, Canada, Australia, and Chili. Among the ranks are newly crowned National Champions from Canada, US, Australia and New Zealand. I’m ready We are off! I get squashed in a corner and fall back but then move forward. I take the inside line into the single track and gain a couple more places. We are flying. Through the rock garden, through the rooty climb- faster, faster, faster. I can hear the gasping of the women behind me. I am riding in a group of six women. I patiently wait for a chance to pass. My legs feel great. Up ahead, I see the Australian National Champion, Rebecca Henderson. I make an explosive pass and push forward. Off the drop and I am almost done with the lap. ‘Wow,’ I think, ‘That was a really smooth lap, and I feel good. I am riding well.’ I quickly catch myself, ‘Stay focused,’ I tell myself, ‘The lap isn’t over yet.’ We come into the last rock garden on the course and BAM. I don’t get my front wheel up enough and I slam down, over the bars. I’m fine and recover quickly. Back on, chasing the group of girls I was with but can no longer see. However, I quickly discover that my brake levers are not only severely out of alignment but also knocked in completely different angles. By the time I figure this out, I am back on winding single track and don’t have the terrain to fix it. I ride a slower lap over the technical sections before coming into a straightaway, and hammering the levers back into place. From there, I stay on the gas as much as possible. At one point, Lea Davison, recovering from a mechanical passes me, and calls for me to stay on her wheel but her pace is a little too stiff for me. Before I know it, I’m on my last lap. I catch a glimpse of a rider ahead of me and dig even deeper to catch her but don’t quite get there. I cross the line, gassed in 12th. My best friend from Stanford, Julia, who is kind enough to let me invade her home for the week, takes me to her favorite beach for sunset and a swim. A perfect end to a perfect day. The next day is Short Track. A good warmup later and I am back on the line. The whistle blows and everything slows down for a second. I am determined to have a better start than yesterday. I inch my way up the outside and am soon sitting in the top five. Up the first (and only) climb at full sprint. I mistake the first right curve as the turn onto single track and slow down, losing positions. I fight to regain spots and move back up as best I can. Pretty soon, I am sitting in a pack of 5. I glance at my Garmin, six and a half minutes in (out of twenty plus) and I am already hurting. Oh man. A woman attacks and I follow. I follow all the breaks in the group and before I know it, the race official signals 3 laps to go. More attacks. Smooth over the rock garden. Into the last lap. Full gas. Sprint into the finish line but pinched off around the corner. Can’t quite get up to fourth but across the line in seventh. Looking back at my earlier season races at the other US Cups or HC events, I am excited about the growth I have experienced this year. This year has been full of new challenges but also abundant in opportunity to develop. I am so thankful for the people who have supported me on this journey. To Dario, Josh, and my parents who may not have been physically present, thank you for being there in spirit every step of the way. Also a special thank you the Schaepe's for welcoming me into their home, showing me around and all the support pre, post and during the races.
Next stop, Mont Saint Anne World Cup! U23 Women Cross Country: 3rd Elite Women Short Track: 16th Website: www.usacycling.org/2017/mountain-bike-nationals Pre-race spin. The drive to West Virginia winds us through snaking countryside roads where we pass through tumbling rivers, jagged rock formations and finally, the Appalachian Mountains. I finish unloading the team van when a crack erupts through the air, so close to us that we consider a gunshot. Wrong. Thunder announces dumping rain and lightning: weather that will plague us all week. The rest of the team arrives and we settle quickly and easily back into our race routine. I finally get on course. I can hardly contain my delight at finding slippery rock gardens, a couple of brutal climbs, and flowy descents. I dial in my lines and my mind. I cannot wait to race. Friday and Short Track race day arrives. Although Pro Women are scheduled to go at 3:30pm, the schedule waffles all afternoon due to bad weather. Finally, we are in the clear. We will race at 5pm. The Short Track lap is not only about a minute longer than a classic course, but also has a large descent, a large climb and a gnarly rock garden that is certain to wreak havoc as only the first rider or so will be able to ride it smoothly. No matter what happens, it will be an action packed 30 minutes of racing. Although initially the race official asks us to determine the call up order amongst ourselves, finally the actual list is presented. I am called up to the line 12th, in the second row. I know my chance at success in this race will be determined by the first lap: if I am able to be among the first to the rock garden. Bam! We are off. Everything slows. I sprint into sixth wheel and hold it there. The pace is already stiff. We hit the rock garden. I can hear the sounds of bars hooking and feet stumbling over rocks behind me but I don’t dare look back. Back on the bike and charging up the climb. My legs know what to do. I feel good. I am sitting in the front group of six as we enter the second lap. That’s when I feel it. My blood has stopped flowing. A rush of dizziness collides with me but I keep fighting. I hang with the first group for as long as possible, through the rock garden and up the next climb. However, I simply can’t seem to keep my pedals moving fast enough. I drop back. I fight with all my might and I drop further and further back. I can’t even seem to move properly. As I am passed, I try and hold my competitors’ wheels. No avail. Finally, I am pulled. Although I initially feel slightly gutted, there are good and bad days. That’s bike racing. I fought with my all and that’s what really matters. My start showed me where I can ride and the rest of my race is fuel for the fire for Sunday’s Cross Country. Although I don’t race until Sunday, my teammates all race Cross Country the next day. Our house overlooks the most brutal climb of the course and Anders and I head down to heckle. I watch some of my dearest friends and teammates race their hearts out and I can’t wait for it to be my turn. A 9am race demands an early wakeup call. I am up as the sun rises. The fog is so thick I can hardly see out of my window and the puddles are deep on the ground from last night’s rain. The course is guaranteed to be grueling and I cannot wait (the whole point of racing is the challenge, after all). On the line. Go time. Gun blows. I miss my pedal but somehow recover. I take the hole shot into the single-track and lead until halfway up the first significant climb. I settle into third, behind Clif Pro Team riders Haley Batten and Hannah Finchamp, planning on following their pace. We hit a rooty single-track climb and the rider in front of me is a little messy through it. Haley pulls away. There is no place for me to pass so I have to be patient. Next climb, I pass Hannah at the top, before the descent. I gap her on the descent and she has to work to catch up with me on the next climb. She puts the hammer down a little bit. My legs, although they feel good, tell me that at altitude, I won’t be able to recover from digging too deep so early. I let her go for now. I settle into my own pace and focus on riding smooth on the descents and digging on the climbs. The lines have changed pretty dramatically from the rain since last time I rode the course and as a result, I am not as efficient in choosing lines as I could be. There are new, faster lines that I miss the first two laps. I am in a rhythm by the third lap and finally start closing down on Hannah- a little too late. I cross the line third, proud of having ridden a solid ride after a rollercoaster of a season. Photos: Kenny Wehn We race because we embrace the unknown, we embrace the opportunity to pour our hearts out, to take it one breath at a time. We race because there is nothing like the feeling of satisfaction when you cross the line and have ridden outside of your skin, with 100% of your body and 100% of your mind. Although I have learned many things this season, the most important one remains simple: the bike is my ultimate happy place. The chance to race my bike means the chance to face new hurtles, to grow, to learn and to ask everything of myself, to live with my whole heart, to know what it means to be fully alive, to see the power of people united by one passion, and to be present. Racing is not simple. It doesn’t just happen. Racing takes a village of people. “Thank you” does not even begin to be substantial enough to everyone who has made it possible for me to race. To the coach who has analyzed hundreds of workouts by the second with me, to the family who has sacrificed ‘normal,’ to the friends who lend an ear when I struggle to grasp perspective, to the teammates with whom I prep for battle, to the mechanic who makes my bike flawless and keeps me laughing, I appreciate you endlessly and thank you for enabling me to chase my passion. Finally! No more cafeteria food! Back in my happy places. Initially I had calendared two Pro XCT’s after Europe. However, after some brutal races, I did some revaluating and decided that instead of rushing out of town during the throws of finals week to race at altitude, it would make much more sense to get some hardcore training in before National Championships. In the weeks following, I often felt like racing might have been an easier choice than the grueling training I was doing. Summer break quickly turned into a summer grind. I spent demanding hours on and off the bike working on my physical fitness, mental fitness, skills and health condition. After some solid weeks of training, I was more than ready to head to the East Coast for a block of racing (Williston, Vermont à Snowshoe, West Virginia à Boston, Massachusetts à hopefully qualifying for a World Cup in Mont Saint Anne, Quebec). I arrive in Vermont late Wednesday night after a cancelled flight, two delayed flights and lodging plans falling through. It is a relief to finally curl up in the sofa bed and crash for the night. Saturday’s race time rolls around and the thunderstorms have held off for us, if only for a couple hours. On the line: focused and excited for the next hour and a half which is guaranteed to push our field to the limits. The course is composed of rooty singletrack, rock gardens and A-lines. Every corner, every rock, every feature ridden smoothly is a time warp: ride it smoothly and gain a couple seconds but dare hesitate and the seconds quickly turn to minutes lost. 1:35pm, we are off. As the trail quickly turns to singletrack, I sit fourth wheel. Up ahead, through the twisty turns and dense forest, I can see Kate Courtney and Lea Davison already start to put in an attack. However, two riders sit between me and them. I quickly settle into a chase group of three riders but the technical nature of the course causes us to quickly spread out. By the end of the first lap, I am sitting in sixth. I focus on emptying my tank on the singletrack climbs and staying smooth on the descents. With each lap, I feel faster and smoother on the course. With each straightaway, I can see fifth just ahead of me. Spectators yell “15 seconds,” then, “12!” then, “10!” I want that top five finish. I am already suffering but I grit my teeth and suffer a bit more. We head out on our last lap and there she is. Just around the corner, and just like that, I have caught her. As we hit the first singletrack, she stutters. She puts her foot down and dabs around the next couple corners. An explosive pass and I am around her. I can hear her behind me and decide not to give her the option to regain confidence. I bury myself up each and every climb and continue to do so long after I stop hearing her shifting gears in the trees behind me. I cross the line in fifth and stand on my first Elite Women podium. Successful day. Short track is the next afternoon. My mom and I can’t get a late enough hotel check out, so we pack up the hotel room at twelve and kill an hour or so in the local coffee shop before heading to the venue. The heat is penetrating and the humidity is cloying. My warmup is an attempt at spinning out the cobwebs in my legs from the day before. Its 3:00pm and go time. The course is mostly singletrack and therefore, untraditional for a short track. The field is small, stacked and will spread out fast. I want to hang in as long as possible. The whistle releases us, I miss my pedal but miraculously don’t lose too much time. I latch onto the front group and hang on. I am again, sitting fifth wheel. I get dropped for a lap but grab back on. Repeat, repeat. Finally, I am off the back for good. I hang consistently off the back and cross the line in fifth again. Wiped but another successful day.
A 13 hour drive and soon to arrive in Snowshoe, West Virginia for National Championships! Wahoo! Monday: We spend another day in the car, driving nine plus hours from Nove Mesto, Czech Republic to Albstadt, Germany. We arrive late but in time to walk in the cooling twilight to dinner. Haley and I make the discovery that we have black-out shades in our room! Exploring town. Quick trip to the local castle! Tuesday: Our bed and breakfast is classic Europe: quirky wind chimes, elegant curtains, flower bouquets spilling over countertops, and Elke, the owner of the bed and breakfast. Elke bakes us homemade bread. I head out on a beautiful spin solo. The forests here radiate green. Paths extend across every rolling hill. The hills burst with fields of yellow wildflowers and you can look out and see the whole city of red shingled roofs and whitewashed buildings. Yoga. Long walk after dinner checking out the city featuring lots of giggling. Wednesday: I get on course for the first time! After finally dialing in tire pressure, I feel dialed on the grueling course. Thursday: A short spin and a long coffee shop expedition. More yoga. More laughter. Friday: Last time on course- fluid. Legs are finally open. Castle adventure with the boys! We get to wear giant slippers inside so as not to damage the floor and soak in the 360-degree view from the top. Saturday: A good spin to the castle. Haley and I go watch the boys. Definitely a brutal day but inspiring to watch them ride with so much heart. The heat is commendable and a taste of what tomorrow will be like. Photo: Ego-Promotion Sunday: 6am wakeup call to church bells. The sun is already beating down. My legs are open and I’m excited to give this hour and a half everything. I quickly glance around on the line, I am sitting at the very back of the pack. That’s fine. Plenty of time. The gun explodes and with it, pandemonium. I get sucked backwards and then have a chance to fight. I move up but pretty soon, we are standing still on the steep climb. Dizziness collides with me and hangs on. Off and running. I run the entire first climb, until finally, I am back on. I hit the first descent and am again, barely moving, waiting for lap traffic to settle. Start lap is done and now five more laps stand in front of me. Traffic is still brutal and I give each climb my all to move forward. The descending pace is still painfully slow but I have to be patient. I fight my way up to the climbs and keep working my way forward. I stay hydrated and fueled in the brutal heat and do my best to close in on those in front of me. When I come into the grass section on lap three, the whistle blows, I am getting pulled. Although it’s a cruel to be pulled, I did my best and kept fighting. I built off my experience last weekend and can only hope to keep growing as an athlete. I moved up from my initial position at the start and I know I am capable of so much more as I learn to manage my health condition more efficiently and can focus on some of the things holding me back. I am confident I will be back stronger much stronger. I am flooded with gratitude for the army standing behind me. To my family and friends who never stop believing. To my coach for working with me in the roughest times. For USAC for providing me with wonderful opportunity to race my bike at the most elite stage in the world. For the chance to learn and grow not only as an athlete, but also as a person. Thank you to everyone for making a difference.
May 21st, 2017 Cross Country: U23 Women Result: 42nd Sunset ping-pong tournaments. Town exploring during our spins. Monday: A bright Monday morning found Team USAC loading up the van and headed to the Czech Republic. After driving all day, it was a relief to finally arrive back to Nove Mesto Na Morave. Tuesday-Friday: The week flew past- full of beautiful spins through the lush, rolling Czech hills, leisurely dinners outside, ping-pong tournaments, and most importanatly, lots of giggles with good company. Getting back on one of my favorite courses was a treat. I feel dialed on the rock gardens, drops, root sections and climbs. My happiness level soars, and I felt readier than ever to line up on one of the elite start lines in the world. Saturday: I get in a good spin and head to the course to watch the U23 men race. Haley and I have an absolute blast cheering the USAC boys on and watching them ride their hearts out. It is the perfect way to prep for tomorrow’s race. Sunday:
Sunday morning dawns. After a good spin, my legs are firing. I am so dang happy to be racing and to have this opportunity. I am called up to the line. The announcer yells in Czech and I can’t stop smiling. Through the loudspeaker, the heart beat begins to thunder through the stadium. Adrenaline pulses through my system, the gun fires and chaos explodes. Right off the line, I swerve to avoid a crash. Bodies shove into me and I shove right back. Handlebars overlap. More close crashes I avoid. Chaos. Dizziness engulfs me and I push through. I am stuck behind a huge group of riders. Pass a few. Stuck behind more. I move forward and then fall back. I am off my bike running, then I am back on. I feel smooth and fluid on the descents but am held up by the traffic ahead of me. I follow this pattern for the entirety of the race. My legs are sluggish, my head is sluggish but I keep pushing. I am deep in the hurt locker. Everything is a little blurry but I keep fighting. I blink and I am on the fourth out of fifth lap. Finally, I can process what is happening. I move up a couple spots. The US boys chase me up the first climb heading on the fifth lap, and I keep digging. I cross the line 100% spent, having checked off my goals of giving it my all and staying focused. I have not finished where I want to, but I have controlled everything within my power and that’s all I can do. Keep learning and eyes to the future. May 14th, 2017 Cross Country: U23 Women Result: 3rd The most beautiful spin. After Sea Otter and finishing my initial block of Spring racing, I had some quality time back at Stanford to catch up on my studies, recover and then fully immerse myself in training. Before I knew it, I was all packed up again, this time with a slightly farther destination in mind: Europe. More specifically, I was headed to Obertraun in Austria, Nove Mesto in Czech Republic, and Albstadt in Germany. We would race the first weekend at an HC race and then head to the second two for the World Cups. After a relatively smooth travel day, I was united with Team USA, consisting of six U23 men and two U23 women, including myself. Another four hours in the car and we arrived in the stunning, snowcapped Austrian Alps, with our hotel sitting right on an immense lake. I felt like I was dreaming, and after riding the course the next day, I was convinced. The course was perfect, full of brutally steep climbs and challenging descents with all terrain, flowy berms, root labyrinths, rock gardens and drops. I was stoked. In a blink of an eye, race morning rolled around. After a good warmup, I was ready. The gun blew and the race begun. After the first hill, a clouding blackness settled over my vision. I backed off accordingly but did my best to keep pushing. After a while, my head cleared and I focused on pushing myself on the climbs and descending smoothly. The course’s features were relentless and I barely had time to think. Crystal focus at all times was not a choice but a requirement. Before I knew it, I had crossed the line in 3rd, having left everything out on the course but also excited to improve. Now we head to Nove Mesto! Even from a couple thousand miles away, my gratitude for my support system is overwhelming. Although racing appears to be an individual sport at times, I would be nothing without the people behind me. To all the people supporting me, you make the difference, thank you. April 21st and 22nd, 2017 Short Track & Cross Country: Pro Result: 14th and 17th The week in between Bonelli and Sea Otter presented itself with some much needed recovery/chill time from a busy first couple weeks of Spring quarter. Arriving to the Sea Otter course on Thursday, I found the classic Sea Otter meld of all cycling disciplines accompanied with an explosion of tents containing diversity of cultures, gear and communities. My weekend began with the Short Track race on Friday. Although I was sitting in the last line at the start, I was stoked to race. As soon as the gun blew, chaos erupted due to the nature of the course. The course circled the whole track and had some thick, muddy sections as well as a sand pit. Off the line, I avoided a couple of crashes and then become caught in a deep mud pit which took a while to pedal through. I was able to bridge back up to the main group and sit there for a couple laps. However, about halfway through the race, coming through the sand pit, I slowed to avoid the women struggling in front of me, lost too much momentum and lost the main group. I sat solo for a bit but then hung with the next chasing group to conserve energy. Coming into the last section of the course, our pack shattered as Evelyn and I picked up the pace. I entered the pavement sprinting Evelyn and got her, finishing 14th. The next day, Saturday, was Cross Country. Since I would be racing elite, my course was new to me: carved by a lawn mower, full of off-camber, grassy twists and turns, a long tempo track section, a long climb, a couple rock gardens, and last but definitely not to be forgotten, an uphill sand pit! There was no doubt about it: this race would hurt a lot! My legs took a while to warm up after the previous day’s race but I was feeling good. The gun sounded. I didn't start super hard but was riding with the enormous front group (20 plus riders). When the singletrack came around and the riders were forced to funnel, I lost contact with the top pack but was able to regain contact with them on the second lap. From there, I worked to pick riders off one by one. The wind made drafting on the tempo section crucial so I worked with Maghalie Rochette for the last half of the race to try and gain contact with the girls in sight. I finished 17th, left everything out there and had a blast. I’m excited to keep working hard and take the lessons I have learned from these early races and apply them to the later races of this season in order to keep improving. Huge thanks to my parents, Josh, and Dario for helping me in every aspect of my racing to help me keep refining all my skills.
April 8th and 9th, 2017 Short Track & Cross Country: Pro Result: 16th and 21st Thursday rolled around and I was back in Los Angeles after a stuffed week of new classes, travel, training and events. I did my absolute best to recover after Fontana and during the week but life got the better of me. Saturday found me on the line with Olympians and World Champions. I lined up at the back of the pack so I knew I would have to dig deep to have solid position at the start. The gun blew and I fought hard to get closer to the front. I was moving up when my autonomic nervous system disorder collided with me. My coordination slowed and I was forced to settle into survival mode. Finally, at the end of the fourth lap (out of six), I began to feel a bit better. I was able to pick it up on the climbs, pass a couple women and ride smoothly to the finish. I crossed the line in 21st. Although it was a bit of a disappointing day pedaling in circles, I was successful in accomplishing all the goals I had outlined for the race. I know persistence and patience is crucial in my first year as an elite and I can only hope to learn as much throughout the season as I have the past two weekends. The next day was Short Track and I was out for redemption. Again, I started at the very back of the group. I knew a good start would be crucial for this race as well. We started and my progress to the front was slow due to the nature of the course. Coming into the first climb, a massive crash unfolded directly in front of me. I did my best to avoid it but was pushed off my bike. I ran up the first climb and saw that the front group was long gone. The next couple laps, I buried myself to make contact with the front group again. Finally, with three laps to go, I caught back on. Relief flooded me and I relaxed for an instant. In that moment, a rider swerved in front of me and clipped my front wheel with her back wheel. I was forced to jump of my bike again and run up the hill. I lost contact again with the group again. I did my best to catch back up but there wasn’t enough time. I crossed the line in 16th. I finished knowing the race was my best effort but a little bummed with my luck. I am grateful for the small wins of the season so far and to have the learning opportunities this season has presented. It truly takes a village to support me and my appreciation for everyone involved cannot be put to words.
Since Nationals, I have been very busy with all good things! I wanted to include a few photos of a couple of my adventures in the past months. I have been loving my time on the bike more than ever but also doing lots of new things as well. I started school at Stanford this past fall and have met some wonderful people. Enjoying my favorite mountain. Stoked to be part of Whole Athlete for another year. April 1st and 2nd, 2017 Short Track & Cross Country: Pro Result: 6th and 15th After a long base season full of challenging rides and long hours of strength work, I knew I was as ready as possible coming into Fontana. Friday morning found me back at the venue - mounds of jagged rocks incongruous with the surrounding congested freeway. I was thrilled to be reunited with the wonderful humans of the cycling community and felt strong and smooth preriding the course. The weekend of racing would be my first-time racing Pro at a Pro XCT and I was excited to take on the new series of challenges that come with an upgrade in categories. Minimizing fatigue as well as staying focused and smooth would be crucial aspects in a race longer than I was used too. 5am Saturday morning, I woke up to a blaring alarm and a black night. Although still dark, the morning was already warm. My warmup went flawlessly and soon, we were on the line. They called 15 seconds and then immediately sounded the start gun. After some confusion, we were rolling. Although I had a solid start off the line, I let myself fall back a bit coming into the first climb to conserve energy. On the long pavement climb of the course, the group split, the girls directly behind me falling away. I made it onto the single-track climb, and was riding smoothly. I didn’t want to follow the rider in front of me too closely so I could stay clipped in. I was also cautious about digging too deeply right off the line and not having anything saved for later. As a result, I let riders in front of me pull away In hindsight, I should have stayed with them. I didn’t pass, or get passed once throughout the race. The course is largely tactical, especially on windy days. Being alone on the windy sections meant time sucked from me and also meant it was nearly impossible to close gaps on other riders solo. I crossed the line in 15th, knowing I had ridden a solid race but also knowing a different start would have changed my race. The next day was Short Track. After a morning spin and a leisurely warm up in the dusty afternoon heat, it was go time. The start gun sounded and I took the hole shot. I eased up and grabbed Kate Courtney’s wheel. The race shattered and it was six of us for the rest of the race. I sat at the back of the pack to conserve energy and watch. In hindsight, this had the reverse effect. Riding at the back resulted in expending more energy than my counterparts over every section. On the last climb of the last lap, I finally dropped off a little. However, up ahead, closing in on the finish, I could see Evelyn Dong and Shayna Powless had also been dropped. I put my head down and began to sprint. Coming into the finish, I had more momentum than them but not quite enough time. I crossed the line in sixth. My first weekend of Pro racing is in the books and all in all, it went well. My legs felt strong, I stayed smooth, and most importantly, I learned tons. I know I can keep improving and I’m excited to see what this season holds. I feel blessed to be part of Whole Athlete p/b DNA Cycling again and have my mom, Josh, Dario and John running such a flawless program. On to Bonelli this weekend!
July 15, 2016 Cross Country, UCI 17-18 Result: 4th July 16th, 2016 Short Track, Cat 1 17+ Result: 1st A week after Worlds, it was back in the car for a 6-hour drive to Mammoth, California. Returning to the course, I quickly remembered the brutality of the course: high temperatures, steep, relentless climbs, one bone rattling descent and lastly, 9,000 feet of altitude which is always a challenge, being from sea level I had one hard training ride before the race and I knew my condition was as ideal as possible in light of the recent traveling. My 2016 season had been my most trying yet and I was eager to put everything I had into my shot at the Stars and Stripes. I had one goal: to leave my entire heart out on course When race day dawned, I was readier than ever to give an effort that represented my season’s work. After a pleasant morning spin and some relaxing, I headed to the venue and found myself immersed in 100-degree heat. I got in a good warmup and found myself on the line. The gun sounded and I found myself in sixth wheel up the climb. Ahead I could see the turn to the single track. I knew it was essential to get there in top three positioning and I was worried I would get edged out by the pack closely following my wheel. I spotted an inside line to the corner and on a wild hope, took it. I passed all five girls and found myself in the lead. I felt smooth and effortless as we worked our way up the climb. As the trail opened up a bit, Haley made a quick pass and I grabbed her wheel. We gapped the field and worked our way farther up the climb. On the second to last climb of the lap, my system decompensated and my blood flow was reduced. I began to fall back, disoriented. My eyelids began to shudder violently and I focused on keeping the pedals turning. In that moment, I seemed to be surrounded by a large group of girls. I assumed I was passing girls that were in the U23 category as we had started a little ways behind them. However, as I would find out later, these girls were in my race. Although I thought I was sitting in third, I was actually sitting seventh. The last two climbs stretched to an eternity as I anticipated the downhill that would give me a small chance to recover. Finally, I made it to the descent. I was able to make up a little bit of time there. However, as soon as we started climbing again, I was passed by another two girls. I chased them up the climb, my stomach now cramped and my vision blurry. My mantra was merely to keep turning the pedals at the same cadence as them. As we hit the descent, I passed one of the girls and focused on reeling in the other. My body screamed at me, but my mind screamed a little louder with sheer willpower. "Just a little harder for a little longer," I told myself. Spectators were yelling at me now that I was closing the gap between me and the other girls. As I came through the feed zone, my mechanic shouted, "There's more race left and more girls to catch!" I put my head down and suffered On the steepest climb, I saw a pack of girls. I hadn't believed I would catch them until this moment; determination surged over me. With every last fiber I had left, I launched an attack. I dropped the girl I was with and bridged up to the next couple. I didn't look back. My head pounded and each pedal stroke brought knives. I carried the attack through the single track climb. I could hear a girl on my wheel. In the short descent, I braced myself for the final tempo section before the descent into the finish. I knew I had to get there first for my best shot at a medal. As soon as I hit the flat spot, I surged. I gave it everything I had, but I couldn't hold it. I fell into the descent a little ways after the girl. There was one short pavement stretch before the finish line and that would be my last shot. Hitting the pavement, I hesitated a moment too long, not wanting to sprint to early again. Then, I let loose everything I had. It wasn't quite enough. A medal was out of reach by less than a tenth of a second. Although it's always a bummer to miss out on a medal, especially by so little, I couldn’t be disappointed because I had completed my goal to leave everything I had on course. In that hour of racing, I had never felt worse in my entire life. I suffered as much as I possibly could and crossed the line knowing I had given the race my absolute 100%. Not only did I leave everything I had on course, I also learned a bit more about myself and how to really dig deep through my symptoms. Short Track Switching off pulling with Haley. After a 4pm cross country race the previous day, my body was a bit shell shocked to be warming up for another race just 19 hours after. I got in a leisurely warmup and made it to the line for our 9am start. On the line, I looked around and spotted not just junior racers but also older racers since our category was 17+. The course was short: a pavement flat section, a rough fire road climb, another flat section, two gnarly wood chip corners and an awkward dirt corner. The gun popped and I found myself sliding into the hole shot. I allowed myself to fall back into third wheel and conserve energy. On the second lap, a woman made a solo break and opened up 20 seconds on the pack. The next lap, Haley and I made a split as well. We alternated pulling each other and slowly worked our way back up to the initial breakaway. I sat in a bit and a fourth woman caught us. I was still feeling good and could tell the rest of the pack was hurting a bit as the pace dropped off. I hopped in front and pulled a few laps to maintain our gap on the rest of the field. With a couple laps to go, Haley and the other lady dropped from our group. I attempted to work with the woman from the initial breakaway to open up the gap but she was fatigued and I wasn’t willing to do the work solo. Haley bridged back up. Entering the last two laps of the race, we were a pack of three. Coming into the wood chips, the woman yelled at me to get out of the way from behind so she would have an easy pass. I heard the sound of metal and body colliding as she crashed into the fence before the turn behind me. Haley pulled into the lead and picked up the pace. I followed her wheel smoothly. She worked up the climb and onto the pavement and I was right behind. I knew it would come down to a sprint on the last pavement section. We hit the pavement, and once again, I gave it everything I had. I pulled besides her and then passed to take the win. After we crossed the line, Haley turned and smiled at me. I was still winded from the sprint but happiness flooded me. I was ecstatic to take my first national title but also to have had such a fun race in phenomenal company. The 2016 season is now officially over for me. As I head home, I am filled with overwhelming gratitude for my coach, Dario, family and teammates who lent me their shoulders to lean on in those moments when I stumbled. I can't believe I was lucky enough to be part of a program like Whole Athlete/Specialized for the third year in a row. This team is truly one of a kind. Each year spent with Whole Athlete, I feel as if I have continuously learned and transformed entirely as a rider. I am beyond honored to have worn the jersey for another year and cannot thank Dario enough.
Exploring a local castle. Views from the local carnival ferris wheel. The day after racing in Missoula, Montana, I found myself back in the airport: this time bound for Nove Mesto, Czech Republic for World Championships, the biggest race of the season. All that strength training, stretching, core, sauna time, sacrifice and training on the bike had been for this. I knew that I was as physically prepared as I had ever been and was excited to see what I would be able to do. My mom, Christopher and I arrived a couple days before the rest of the USA National Team in order to get settled in. We spent mornings training and afternoons recovering while still incorporating carnivals, boating and some sight-seeing. The course was full of gnarly rock gardens, unrelenting, punchy climbs and some swoopy, fast descents. I loved it and felt dialed over the technical features. Race day rolled around with lots of excitement and nominal nerves on my part. I was determined to prove to myself that it was possible to have a phenomenal race despite a disappointing season in regard to my health problem. I was convinced that I could hold my dizziness at bay through some of the adaptations I had recently learned and, mainly, sheer grit. I had put all the blood, sweat and tears I could into this season and I wanted to feel proud of a race again. After spinning the legs in the morning, I felt ready to go. My warmup went flawlessly and I stayed cool despite the humidity thanks to my ice vest. I was called to the line in tenth, just barely missing the first row. On the line, I was relaxed and ecstatic to race. The gun released us and I literally moved backwards for a couple of seconds as I was swallowed by the crowd in an attempt to get going. Immediately, a familiar cloud of dizziness began to engulf me. I did my best to push it aside and finally, I began moving through the racers again but my progress was slow. Although my start was far from ideal, I knew I had plenty of time to move up. I fought hard and my legs felt decent however it had become impossible to ignore the dizziness that was present. I again pushed it aside and fought for position. The first single-track climb found us all running. I slipped and lost my balance along with a few positions but quickly was back moving. The rest of the race, I moved up pretty consistently and focused on emptying my tank on the climbs and flowing on the descents. I felt decent but I also knew that clouding dizziness was shackling me from real easing the high power I had trained and knew I was capable of producing. Before I knew it, we were entering our last lap. I passed a couple more girls and then on the final climb, had closed in on three girls in front of me. I put my head down and attempted to give it my all but faltered when I slipped out of my pedal. I was forced to run and the three girls disappeared while a Canadian passed me. I mounted and followed her into the finish but couldn’t quite catch her. I finished top American in 25th, not by any means the result I was looking for or knew I could produce but knowing I had ridden a clean race. Although my race had not been what I was hoping for, I am honored to have the opportunity to race my bike on one of the most famous and fun courses and to represent my country in such a prestigious event. Flying home, I am filled with gratitude not only for the incredible support from the small village behind me, but also from having a chance to learn and grow with the best athletes in the world. Although I could describe myself as being the nail instead of the hammer this season, my condition has only reinforced my immense love and passion for this sport alongside with my desire to be immersed in it for as long as possible. After all, “If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” – T.S. Eliot
Next stop, National Championships! After racing in Canada, Jason and I headed back to the hotel, ate a quick dinner, packed bikes and got ready to fly out early the next morning. After a fourteen-hour travel day due to some flight delays, we finally arrived in Bend, Oregon. We built up our bikes, got in a quick spin, and helped load the team van for the ten plus hour drive the next day to Missoula. Needless to say, when we finally pulled into beautiful Missoula, I let out an audible sigh. I spent the week in Missoula soaking in the beautiful sunshine, wildflowers and occasional thunderstorm.
The rest of the team flew in Thursday and I was thrilled to be reunited with my teammates. The course was in beautiful condition with tacky hero dirt and I was happy to have the opportunity to ride such a fun course again. I felt strong and confident on the bike come race morning. After killing a few hours before our 2 pm race start, the day had first warmed up and then started to drizzle lightly. By the time we had lined up, the course had gotten another perfect smattering of rain to keep the conditions loamy. When the whistle blew, I took the hole shot. Instantly, I could feel something was wrong and my dizziness hit. I dropped back to second wheel, Canadian, Sidney McGill. As the fire road turned to single-track, my vision clouded and I slipped to third wheel, fourth wheel and then fifth. My only focus on the removal I now felt and the sluggish speed in which I was processing. My pedal stroke slowed and I could barely turn the pedals. The laps drew out the same way: on the long downhill, my head would clear slightly and I would close the gap to fourth place, however as soon as we hit the climbs, the feeling would knock me back down and my pace would once again be painfully slow. On the last lap, the muggy heat turned first to rain and then to hail as I reached the top of the climb. Within minutes, the trail was river-like with thick mud. I rode smoothly enough to reel in fourth place on the descent. Since there was no passing on the descent, as soon as I got the chance, I began to sprint. I opened up a twenty second gap and finished in fourth. Although it was certainly not the race I was hoping for, it was what I was capable of producing while still being dizzy. I am excited to be getting a better grasp on learning how to race with my condition. Huge thanks to my coach Dario Fredrick and my parents for backing me every step of this amazing journey! Next stop, World Championships in Nove Mesto! |