Ben Frederick: Presence.

It’s 5am on a Monday and my cats are staring at me like I’ve lost it. I’ve been up for an hour, not because of any rise-and-grind heroics, but because jet lag is real. And strangely, that exhaustion at 4pm and wide-awake feeling before sunrise is its own kind of privilege. I’m only dealing with it because last week I lined up for a UCI World Cup in Tábor, and tomorrow I get back on a plane to race another one in Sardinia. At 36 years old, I get to do this. Somewhere between “unexpected” and “everything I’ve worked for,” you’ll find me—Ben Frederick—trying to keep up.

I didn’t come into the sport early. I raced my first bike at 20, my first cyclocross race at 22, and earned my first UCI points at 24. The dream was simple: be a professional cyclist, get on planes, compete with the best in the world. That dream nearly ended in 2016 when a routine training ride turned into a traumatic brain injury and a long fight with my mental health. I stepped away from the sport for almost four years and emerged a completely different person. Out of that experience came The Small Monsters Project, a nonprofit I started to remove the stigma around mental health—our “monsters.” (There’s a short film about that journey HERE.)

Fast-forward to last year when I set an audacious goal: go to Europe, race the best riders on the planet, and just… not get lapped. No results sheet dreams or glory—just don’t get pulled, all while juggling a full-time job and trying to be a decent partner and cat dad. It was the trip of a lifetime (there’s a docu-series HERE). I came home thinking that was my moment—that maybe it was time to let go of elite racing. But the truth is, part of me is still that 24-year-old who feels close to breaking through. Letting go was harder than holding on, so I kept doing the small things: the brain health work, the training, the habits. Just in case.

Then, thirteen days before the Tábor World Cup, I got the email: I’d been selected. I hadn’t planned on going. Honestly, I was afraid—of embarrassing myself, of not belonging. But the people around me reminded me why I started all of this, and I booked a spontaneous flight to the Czech Republic for another “trip of a lifetime.”

It was equal parts chaotic, stressful, beautiful, and deeply moving. The airline lost my bikes. We found our way to a local track race on a tiny 158-meter velodrome. We walked Prague. And then I raced—with no expectations other than to honor the moment with each pedal stroke. When I heard the bell lap and realized I was going to finish on the lead lap, I couldn’t help but laugh, despite being completely gassed. All the years of work, all the setbacks, all the persistence had brought me to a privilege very few athletes ever experience. Jet lag included.

Tomorrow, I get on a plane to do it again. The season’s almost over—just two races left. Sardinia first, then U.S. Nationals in Fayetteville the following week. Sardinia holds bittersweet memories: I fell in love with the island and its people last year, but the World Cup was canceled at the last minute because of a windstorm. This time, I’m approaching it like Tábor: no expectations, no storyline to force. Just presence. Gratitude. And a commitment to the full, messy, beautiful experience of being a World Cup athlete.

Even at 5am. Even with confused cats. Even with the fatigue that comes with juggling this life. Because underneath all of it—the logistics, the stress, the cost, the what-ifs—is a simple truth: this is a privilege, and I don’t take a single moment of it for granted.

Ben races on the HUNT 30 Carbon CX Tubular wheels and trains and races on the HUNT 34_34 Aerodynamicist Carbon wheels. You can find him on Instagram, Youtube and his Podcast Cyclocross Chats.