Where the Race Breaks Open: Women’s 20 k Freestyle at U.S. Nationals

This article was made possible through the generous support of our voluntary subscribers.  If you value coverage like this, please support FasterSkier with a voluntary subscription.  

There is a particular moment in a long mass start when the race quietly declares what it will be. It does not arrive with a surge, a crash, or even a decisive move. It arrives when the pack thins just enough that the edges of the course begin to matter—when skis no longer overlap cleanly, when passing requires intention, and when each athlete realizes—often simultaneously—that this is no longer a collective undertaking.

At Mt. Van Hoevenberg, that moment came early.

The women’s 20-kilometer freestyle mass start at the 2026 U.S. National Cross-Country Ski Championships unfolded under conditions that rewarded clarity and punished hesitation. The course was wide in places, narrow in consequence. Fresh snow lined the edges, slower and heavier than the main track, turning every attempt to move forward into a calculation of cost. The pace at the front was honest from the gun—fast enough to string the field out, fast enough to strip away the illusion that patience alone would bring opportunity.

In an Olympic winter, Nationals rarely exist in isolation. They are arguments as much as races, each result carrying the quiet weight of future conversations. But on this morning, before selection scenarios and season arcs could intrude, the race itself demanded attention. Four laps. Twenty kilometers. A course that climbs insistently and asks athletes to be precise even when tired.

What followed was not one story, but several—layered, intersecting, and revealing.

The Fast Start That Changed Everything

From near the front, the race immediately took on the shape many expected. Kendall Kramer, eager to avoid the kind of chaos that can derail a mass start before it has truly begun, made her intentions clear.

“I wanted to go out fast because I didn’t want any funny business—colliding or breaking equipment,” Kramer said later. “I was super looking forward to being in the front of a mass start after being caught in the back on World Cups.”

For Kramer, the early pace felt familiar rather than reckless. World Cups, she noted, often begin faster than domestic races, and the instinct to establish position early has become second nature. The speed was assertive but manageable. She felt fit, capable, present.

Behind her, the effect was immediate. The field stretched, then fractured, then reorganized into smaller, more intentional units. For athletes starting deeper in the field, this stringing-out created both opportunity and pressure.

Novie McCabe, starting from bib 26, felt the opening kilometers open rather than close.

“My plan for the start was just to stay relaxed and try to work my way up,” she said. “It honestly ended up being easier than expected because the front girls took it out so fast. It was very strung out, and there was lots of room to move around.”

Within minutes, McCabe had navigated cleanly into the front group. What followed was less about advancing and more about survival.

“I got to the front pack about three minutes into the race,” she said. “So I spent most of it there just trying to hang on for as long as I could—and ended up having it in me to hang till the end.”

That phrase—hang on—would recur in different forms throughout the day, taking on slightly different meanings depending on where each skier found herself in the race.

When the Front Pulls Away

Not everyone who tested the front pace could stay there.

Late in the first lap, Ava Thurston made her own attempt to bridge. She came close enough to feel the rhythm of the leaders, close enough to understand the cost.

“I tried to get back onto the front group, and I got pretty close,” Thurston said. “But I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to match their pace.”

The realization came with consequences. For a brief stretch, she found herself skiing alone—a dangerous place in a mass start, especially early, when gaps can grow quietly and decisively.

“That was where I did have a little bit of that panic,” she admitted.

The panic did not last. Company arrived in the form of Hailey Swirbul and Haley Brewster, and with it, perspective.

“Once I was skiing with them, I was kind of just thinking, ‘This is a good group. I can stay with these guys,’” Thurston said.

From there, her race became less about chasing what was ahead and more about managing what was happening around her. She tucked in, matched surges, and responded quickly to small separations before they became something larger.

“There were a couple of times where I would fall off the pack just a little bit,” she said. “Each time, I worked hard to get right back on before letting it be a big gap. I was really stoked on that.”

On a course like Van Hoevenberg—four laps of sustained uphill skating—those moments add up. Fitness is exposed repeatedly, not all at once. For Thurston, the race offered reassurance.

“This was the first race longer than 10k I’d done this year, and the first mass start that wasn’t a sprint,” she said. “It was a really good indicator that my fitness is there. It’s hard to fake anything on this course.”

She would finish fourth, clearly separated from the podium trio but equally clear of the deeper chase—an honest result in a demanding field.

Racing From the Back Without Racing Small

While the front and mid-pack sorted themselves, Hailey Swirbul was running an entirely different race.

Starting from bib 67, she entered the day knowing she would need to be deliberate.

“I didn’t even realize I would be seated so far back until the start list came out,” she said. “Obviously, I would be, because my FIS points aren’t low at this point—but it was an experience.”

The challenge was not simply moving forward. It was how to do so without paying too steep a price.

“The edges of the course had fresh snow on them,” Swirbul explained. “It was much slower, and a much higher energy expenditure to get around people that way.”

Instead of forcing passes, she waited. Instead of locking into the pace of whatever group surrounded her at a given moment, she kept her attention forward.

“I almost approached the first couple laps like an individual start,” she said. “It’s really easy to lock into the group you’re around and forget about the people ahead of you.”

Women’s racing, she noted, often begins with a fast, destabilizing surge—a period where the goal is simply to hang on long enough for things to settle.

“That’s exactly what happened today,” she said. “The leaders go fast, string it out, and then the real race starts again.”

For Swirbul, the balance was constant: advancing through traffic while respecting the race’s length.

“A 20k is a long race,” she said. “You can’t really pay for it.”

Though she never bridged to the front trio, Swirbul finished fifth—solidly clear of the next wave behind her—and left the course satisfied with her execution and proud of the broader team effort.

“Our coach absolutely crushed it with skis and feeds,” she said. “It was a good day to be APU.”

The Margins at the Front

At the sharp end, the race narrowed to a familiar dynamic: strength, speed, and patience under pressure.

As the kilometers mounted, Tilde Bångman began to apply pressure on the climbs, testing the group’s elasticity. By mid-race, the front had distilled to three: Bångman, McCabe, and Kramer. The chase group behind them was no longer within striking distance, and the podium places would be decided among those three alone.

McCabe felt the pressure immediately.

“In the last few kilometers, Tilde was skiing super strong and still really pushing the pace,” she said. “She would gap me a little bit on some of the hills.”

Each gap mattered. Each closure required confidence—in skis, in timing, and in restraint.

“I had some super good skis, so I was able to glide back up to her,” McCabe said.

The plan crystallized: stay attached through the final hill, try once to make a move, and if that failed, save everything for the finish.

“I tried to get a gap on the last hill, which didn’t quite work,” she said. “So I tried one last time at the finish.”

It was enough.

McCabe crossed the line first, securing the national title after a race built not on constant aggression, but on measured commitment. The emotion that surfaced surprised even her.

“I think when I crossed the line, I mostly just felt super happy to be back racing and feeling like myself,” she said.

The win mattered. So did what it represented.

“Going into this week, I wasn’t sure it was the best idea for me to race frequently this season,” she said. “Now I have a lot more confidence that I can race—and maybe more importantly, recover from racing.”

In an Olympic year, that distinction is not trivial.

Kramer’s Race: Control Without Regret

For Kendall Kramer, the separation late in the race came not through fitness, but friction.

“My skis slowed down as they went,” she said. “They started to feel sticky—like I skied through too much Gatorade or something.”

The effect was most pronounced on the downhills, where speed should have come freely.

“The girls had to push my poles to speed me up to keep together,” she said. “Eventually, they could just gap on all the downhills.”

Once the gap formed, Kramer shifted her focus from contesting the win to finishing the race well.

“I’m happy to maintain my place and feel good,” she said. “I can’t complain.”

What she wanted from the race, she explained, was not chaos or last-minute risk, but sustained pressure in a small group.

“I wanted a small pack where we could test at every little bit,” she said, “as opposed to leaving it to a sprint or taking risks at a time like this.”

She finished third, completing the podium, and left Lake Placid without repeating her national title—but with confirmation that mattered just as much.

“I felt fit and totally capable today,” she said. “I didn’t feel bad feelings.”

What the Race Revealed

By the time the women completed their fourth lap, the story of the day was no longer about who surged when, but about how each athlete managed the same course differently—and honestly.

McCabe raced with restraint until she no longer needed to. Kramer raced with intent and accepted the margins. Thurston learned, adjusted, and confirmed her distance fitness. Swirbul navigated from deep in the field with patience and clarity.

None of those narratives exists in isolation. Together, they form a portrait of a championship race that did what the best distance races always do: expose truth without exaggeration.

At U.S. Nationals, the women did not simply ski 20 kilometers. They negotiated space, managed doubt, trusted preparation, and tested belief.

In an Olympic winter, those are not side effects.

They are the point.

 

RESULTS:

US Nationals Women’s 20 k Freestyle Mass Start

 

Love stories like this? Help keep them coming.

Feature stories like this one take time, access, and care to produce. If you value thoughtful storytelling and independent ski journalism, please consider becoming a Voluntary Subscriber. Your support directly fuels the work we do to cover the people, places, and moments that make our sport special.

Join the FasterSkier community!