Yes, that was one of the things I found myself saying out loud as I was racing during the XCM National Championship this past weekend. The highlight of the race for me was that, towards the end of my second lap, I was intermingled with a handful of amateur women on their first lap–and I spent about an hour chatting with (at?) and cheering for them. Then, after the final aid station, the field spread out again and I found myself alone–and still talking–and bemoaning the fact that I had no to talk to (and that I probably seemed completely insane talking to myself). LOL.

At the start of this season, the XCM National Championship was on my calendar as an “A” race. I was thrilled to be coming into a season healthy, and really wanted to direct my energy at doing well at this particular event. It’s a special combination to be able to race on my home trails and for that race to be a National Championship. But, at the end of March, I had a silly crash at the skate park and tore my PCL and meniscus. Fortunately, I’m still able to ride. Unfortunately, the best estimates from force testing at the PT office indicate that I’m pedaling with about 30% less power on my right leg. TLDR; I’m very slow when pedaling matters. So much for being competitive at XC Nationals.

In the weeks leading up to the race, I really struggled with the dichotomy between wanting to perform and the physical incapacity to do so. Eventually, I decided to “change the rules” for myself, and focus more on inconsequential metrics like fist bumps, bunny hops, and fun over the results outcome.

When race morning rolled around, I took a Sharpie and wrote “Choose joy. Dig deep.” on my forearm.

I surprised myself coming out of the first section of singletrack and still being able to see two riders ahead of me. My expectation was that I would be dropped immediately, as riders fought for position, and hammered hard right off the start. And I was–but not so badly that I’d lost all hope of catching other riders.

Thanks to my reframed goals, I wasn’t angry or frustrated by being at the back, and chose instead to focus on my effort, pushing where I could, and making every opportunity to pump, flow, and carry momentum count. For whatever reason, my typically-iron-clad stomach was unhappy for most of the day and I felt like that was as much the governor of my effort as anything else, as I was forced to keep the intensity just below the “I’m going to puke” marker, and struggled to manage hydration, fueling, and cooling with my upset stomach.

On the second lap, my legs began to cramp, and I seriously contemplated quitting. I knew I wasn’t last (I’d passed one other rider at the start of the first lap), and yet, knowing the trails and the ample opportunities to just “dip out and go home” made it easy to want to end it. Mentally, I debated whether I wanted to quit because it was the easy option, if pushing through would compromise healing in my knee, and if I would be disappointed in myself if I didn’t finish. In the end, I chose to continue one section at a time: “If the cramping doesn’t ease up by time I get to the top of Buck, I’ll bail there,” etc. I even stopped and peed off-trail at the top of Gauntlet before dropping in the second time, and knew that if I chose to drop in, I would finish the race….even though descending Hi-Dee-Ho to go home seemed like the far better option. After standing there a minute and considering my life choices, I dropped in, and settled in for the long haul around Lakeside.

It was at that point in the race that I found myself in a pack of amateur women, and got the opportunity to hype them up as we made our way back towards the finish line. It ended up being the highlight of my day–and something I’d have forfeited by choosing not to finish.

I also got to ride in the rain (yay!), lend my pump to a rider with a flat who was mere miles from finishing her race, and can confidently say that I met both of my goals: I chose joy and dug deep. (Two days later and my leg still hurts from where it was cramping!)

If results matter to anyone, I got 12th…and last. I finished nearly 2 hours after the winner, and can’t even claim that I was at all competitive. But, I’m grateful that I’m even able to compete (participate) at this level, that I’m still able to ride despite my knee injury, and that, though I was suffering, I still had fun. And isn’t that the whole point?!