XTERRA Weston Park: When It Doesn’t Quite Click
- Kerri-Ann Upham
- May 6
- 4 min read
It wasn’t a bad day.
But it wasn’t quite there either.
A week after racing in Greece, I was back home, straight into three days of work, trying to recover and reset before lining up again at XTERRA Weston Park.
In some ways, it helped. Being home, back in routine, riding familiar roads. In others, it didn’t.
By midweek, I could feel something was slightly off.
Not tired. Not struggling. Just not quite sharp.
It’s a difficult feeling to explain. You’re still moving well, still training well, but there’s another gear you expect to be there, and for whatever reason, it just isn’t.
You trust it will come together on race day.
This time, it didn’t quite.
The swim set the tone early.
It’s a course I’ve raced before, and for some reason, I always seem to struggle in that lake. It never really settles. It’s tight, messy, and hard to find rhythm, more swimming alongside people than actually getting onto feet.
Instead of flowing, it felt inefficient.
I came out of the water further back than I’d hoped, with a gap already opened ahead. Not a disaster, but enough to change the shape of the race.
Running through transition, I remember hearing my coach shout, “Now we get to work.”
And that was it. No overthinking. Just moving forward.
The bike is where I usually feel most in control, and early on I started to move through the field. Positions came back quickly, but just as quickly, the race stretched out.
Ahead, two riders, Romy and Marta, had already formed a small group.
And then they were gone.
From that point on, it was just me.
No one to work with. No one to measure off. Just empty trail ahead and the constant awareness that the gap might be growing rather than closing.
That’s where your mind can start to drift.
You think about the advantage of riding in a group. You question whether you’re losing time. You start to wonder if today just isn’t your day.
Those thoughts were there.
But they don’t help.
So I brought it back to something simpler.
One section at a time.
Find flow through the singletrack. Hold good position. Stay aero when the course opened up. Keep fuelling consistent.
Nothing dramatic. Just focusing on what was directly in front of me.
Physically, it felt steady—but not sharp.
I wasn’t pushing the numbers I know I’m capable of, and I struggled at times to find a real rhythm through the course. There was another level there, I could feel it, but I couldn’t quite access it.
And at some point, you stop chasing that feeling.
You accept what you have, and you commit to using it as well as you can.
By the end of the bike, I was still riding alone.
Still in the race—but having to trust that it was enough.
The run didn’t start with a big shift in mindset. It didn’t need to.
It was more of a continuation, stay controlled, stay patient, and let the race come back where it could.
I’d been running well in training, and that gave me something to hold onto.
Gradually, things started to change.
A runner ahead, Emma Decreux, who won XTERRA Greece the previous weekend, came back into sight, and for the first time all race, there was something tangible to work towards.
Not a big move, just a steady closing of the gap, staying within myself and trusting the pace.
When the pass came, it wasn’t forced. Just a continuation of that same approach.
From there, it became a balance.
There was still ground ahead, but also pressure building behind. Enough to keep things honest. Enough to make sure there was no switching off.
I pushed where I could, but it never quite tipped into that feeling of being able to fully go for it.
Even though most of the race had felt like it was just me out there, there were moments where that wasn’t true. Hearing familiar voices out on course, friends and family who had come a long way to be there, cut through everything for a few seconds.
It doesn’t change the race, but it brings you back to it.
Reminds you to stay in it.
I crossed the line in 4th.
A solid result. One I’m proud of.
But also one that leaves a sense that there’s more there.
Because when you step back and look at it properly, a week after Greece, limited recovery, disrupted sleep, and still able to put together a performance like that—it tells you something.
Not about having the perfect race.
But about what’s there even when things aren’t perfect.
I didn’t feel at my best.
I didn’t have that sharpness.
But I stayed in it. I adapted. I kept moving forward.
And that’s really been the pattern over the last few years.
Progress hasn’t come from everything clicking at once. It’s come from building, step by step.
From learning how to manage races when they don’t unfold exactly how you want them to.
From staying patient when it would be easier not to.
This felt like another one of those steps.
There’s another level there, I’m sure of that.
But it’s not something to force.
It comes the same way everything else has.
One step at a time.
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