XTERRA European Silver: The Journey to the Podium
- Kerri-Ann Upham
- Jul 8
- 8 min read
Coming Back
There was a part of me that didn't want to return to Molveno.
Not because it isn't one of the most spectacular venues on the XTERRA calendar. Quite the opposite. The crystal-clear lake, the towering Dolomites and the winding mountain trails make it one of those places that reminds you why you fell in love with off-road triathlon in the first place.
The problem was that, for me, it had never been a happy hunting ground.
I first raced here at the 2023 XTERRA World Championships, finishing 21st. A year later I crashed out of the race altogether, walking away with a DNF and another frustrating chapter in what was becoming a difficult relationship with the course. Last year I improved to 12th, but even then I left feeling I'd underperformed. Every visit followed a similar pattern. I'd arrive feeling fit, excited and convinced this might finally be the year I put together the race I knew I was capable of, only to leave wondering what I'd missed.
When entries opened for this year's European Championships, Molveno wasn't even on my list.
Then something changed.
Not the course.
Me.
Recent races had given me confidence that I was becoming a different athlete, particularly on the bike, and Rob and I made a last-minute decision to give Molveno one more chance.
It's a decision I'll always be grateful we made.
A Different Kind of Race Week
Because we decided to focus entirely on the European Championships, we skipped the Short Track race scheduled for the following day and arrived in Italy almost a week early. Altitude has always affected me more than I'd like, so giving myself extra time to adapt felt like the smartest investment we could make.
Looking back now, I think the biggest advantage wasn't physiological at all.
It was mental.
We stayed in a beautiful apartment overlooking Lake Molveno, waking each morning to a view of the water we'd soon be racing across. The week settled into an easy rhythm of swimming in the lake, riding sections of the course together, wandering through cafés and restaurants, and simply enjoying being there. Instead of feeling consumed by race week, it felt like we were on a little holiday.
Of course, reality still had a habit of creeping in.
Professional XTERRA doesn't pay all the bills, so alongside training I was logging on for remote work. More than once I found myself sitting in video meetings with my work laptop open, while my race notebook sat beside it, covered in handwritten reminders, pacing notes and little details Rob and I had discussed during our course recce. One minute I'd be talking through work, the next I'd be glancing down at the plan we'd spent months preparing.
It probably wasn't the most conventional build-up to a European Championship.
But somehow it worked.
Rather than obsessing over Saturday, I found myself genuinely enjoying the week, and by the time race morning arrived I felt surprisingly calm.
Trusting the Process
The nerves were still there. They always are.
As athletes, we often talk about trying to eliminate nerves, but I've realised that's impossible. The goal is simply to stop them making decisions for you.
A few hours before the start we learned the swim would be non-wetsuit. In previous years I might have let something like that occupy far more headspace than it deserved. This time I made a conscious decision to let it go. The conditions had changed, but our race plan hadn't.
Standing on the shoreline, looking out across the lake, I wasn't thinking about everything that could go wrong.
I was thinking about executing one section at a time.
Cracking the Bike
The swim unfolded almost exactly as I'd hoped.
I got away well and managed to settle onto Marta Menditto's feet all the way to the first buoy. Somewhere after that I lost contact. I surged a couple of times, trying to close the gap again, but it wasn't happening. Instead of forcing it, I settled into my own rhythm and swam the remainder of the course alone, never losing sight of the group ahead.
I exited the water in eighth place.
More importantly, I felt completely in control.
As I headed out onto the bike, Marta was still visible up the trail. Close enough to chase, but not so far ahead that I needed to panic. Conscious that it was going to be a long, hot race, I stuck to the pacing we'd planned rather than getting carried away by the atmosphere of a championship race.
Little by little the gap started to shrink.
Eventually I came past her on one of the early climbs.
A few minutes later, crossing the road, I glanced over my shoulder.
She was gone.
That was the first moment I allowed myself to believe this might be a special day.
What followed was probably the best mountain bike ride I've ever put together in a race.
For three years Molveno had exposed my weaknesses. The long climbs had drained me, the descents had caught me out, and every visit I'd left feeling like I'd never really understood how to race this course.
This year everything felt different.
I wasn't trying to force speed. I was riding smoothly, recovering whenever the trail allowed, staying patient and trusting the decisions we'd made before the race. Every climb brought another rider into view. Every descent felt controlled rather than chaotic.
By the second lap I'd worked my way onto the wheel of Isla Hedley. She knew exactly what she was doing, covering every passing opportunity and making me work for it. I stayed patient until the moment came, then rode clear and immediately focused on opening the gap before the descent.
Near the top of the final climb I caught sight of Emma Ducreux.
She was running second.
I was running third.
By the time we reached the bottom of the final descent we'd come together and entered transition side by side.
For the first time in four attempts, I felt like I'd finally cracked Molveno.
Hanging On
The feeling didn't last long.
I left transition well and settled into what felt like a strong rhythm, but as soon as the course turned onto the long fire road climb, my legs began to protest.
They weren't just tired.
They were empty.
The heat suddenly felt oppressive. My stomach turned. Every climb demanded more than I felt able to give, and when the run entered the technical woodland, weaving across roots, steep banks and awkward off-camber sections, it became a real battle.
More than anything else, I kept thinking about Marta.
She's one of the strongest runners in the field and I knew she'd be coming.
Every time the trail straightened I found myself wondering whether I'd see her closing the gap behind me.
It would have been easy to panic.
Instead, I reminded myself that nothing had changed.
The only job now was to keep moving forward.
I stuck to my pace, forced down my nutrition even when I didn't want it, and refused to let one difficult patch become a bad race.
Sometimes success doesn't come from finding another gear.
Sometimes it comes from refusing to let go of the one you're already in.
One Last Look
Eventually the trees opened and the finish line drew closer.
Running down the final stretch of road, I glanced over my shoulder one last time.
No Marta.
As I crossed the bridge into the finish area, I caught sight of Lake Molveno. It seemed strange that only a few hours earlier we'd been swimming across it. Somehow it already felt like another lifetime.
Ahead, I could see the XTERRA crew waiting at the finish. Many of them have watched my journey from the very beginning, from the days when making the top ten felt like a dream to standing on the brink of the biggest result of my career.
Crossing that line in second place was a mixture of emotions.
Relief.
Disbelief.
Exhaustion.
I always believed I was capable of competing with the best in XTERRA, but believing something and watching years of planning actually come together are two very different feelings.
I wanted to stand there for a moment and take it all in.
Two Years
The medal ceremony that evening is the moment I'll remember most.
As I stood on the second step of the European Championship podium, my mind drifted back to another European Championships just two years earlier.
It was my first season racing as an Elite, in the Czech Republic, and I finished tenth.
Twenty minutes behind the winner.
I remember standing on the awards stage that day simply feeling grateful to be there. Looking along the line at athletes like Alizée Paties and Marta Menditto, I couldn't quite believe I was sharing the stage with women I'd watched and admired for so long.
This time, I was standing between them.
That thought hit harder than the silver medal itself.
The Long Way Round
People sometimes assume results like this are built on talent or a lifetime in the sport.
Mine wasn't.
I didn't grow up racing internationally. I didn't come through elite development programmes or spend my childhood competing at the highest level. I only started racing Elite XTERRA in 2023, and for a long time I wondered whether I'd simply started too late.
The last two years haven't been about dramatic breakthroughs.
They've been about quiet, consistent progression.
Top tens gradually became top sevens.
Top sevens became top fives.
Every season the gap became a little smaller.
Rob and I have dedicated so much of our lives to this dream, often wondering whether all the sacrifices would ever be enough. Like many athletes outside the very top of the sport, we've balanced work alongside training, planned every trip carefully and made countless decisions based not on what was easiest, but on what gave us the best chance of improving.
There was no shortcut.
Just hundreds of ordinary days, stacked one on top of another.
More Than a Silver Medal
When people look back at the results, they'll see I finished second at the XTERRA European
Championships behind Alizée Paties, producing the second-fastest bike split of the day and holding off Marta Menditto to secure silver.
I'll remember something very different.
I'll remember standing on that podium and thinking about the athlete who finished twenty minutes behind just two years earlier.
I'll remember looking across the lake as I crossed the finish line, realising that the place which had frustrated me for so many years had finally become the place where everything came together.
Molveno hadn't become any easier.
The climbs were still brutally long.
The descents were still just as technical.
But somewhere between finishing tenth at my first Elite European Championships, wondering whether I'd ever belong at the front of this sport, and standing on the second step of the podium in 2026...
I had changed.
And perhaps that's the most rewarding part of all.
Such a great write up. You have done so well, your race description is inspiring as is your mental strength. I am so pleased for you, you deserve your success. Here’s to your next triumph, go get ‘em!