Clipper Chronicles: the application that asked everything

Once I decided the Clipper Race was for me, I expected the application to ask about basic logistics and maybe a vague “why do you want to do this?” I did not expect it to feel like a personality deep-dive mixed with a values check.

We were on a camping trip with friends when I sat down to start it, thinking I’d breeze through the questions in a few minutes. Instead, I found myself starting at questions like:

·      Describe your personality and temperament. What are your best and worst traits?

·      The Clipper Race is a serious emotional, physical, and financial commitment. How do you plan to manage that?

·      How would you react to someone not pulling their weight on board?

·      What really annoys you? When did you last lose your temper and why?

·      What annoying habits do you have?

·      What would you consider your greatest achievement to date?

Not your average application form.

I spent the weekend talking through my answers with friends, processing what it all brought up - why I was drawn to this, what I hoped to learn, and how it might affect the people in my life. That part wasn’t hypothetical - I’d be gone for nearly a year, and that kind of absence carries weight.

Somewhere between the personality questions and long talks with friends around the campfire, I realized the application wasn’t just about facts or logistics. Answering those questions forced me to think not just about who I am, but about how I wanted to tell my story. I felt the pull of “pick me” energy, to package myself neatly - to put my best foot forward - but I also knew I didn’t need to perform. I was living between the tension of saying the “right” thing and trusting that who I already was - my experience, my mindset - was enough. I wasn’t auditioning for the life I wanted. I was stepping into it.

I found myself reflecting on how I show up in teams, how I navigate conflict, and how I respond when things don’t go to plan. The answers didn’t come in neat, polished sound bites. They came through real conversations - the kind where your friends ask you the hard follow-ups and don’t let you dodge the uncomfortable bits.

When I got home, I typed up my answers and hit “submit.” A few weeks later, I interviewed with someone who had circumnavigated with Clipper. That conversation was inspiring and made it all feel real - it got me even more excited (and impatient).

Then, on September 16, 2022, I got the email: I was in!

Training wouldn’t begin until spring 2024 and my race wouldn’t begin until fall 2025, which felt like forever away. But the seed had been planted.

I shared the news with my closest people. Most were supportive - some wildly so. Others had valid questions, hard emotions, and practical concerns. We had some tough conversations. The idea of prioritizing something so deeply personal - especially something that required this much time, money, and risk - wasn’t easy for everyone to get behind. And I understood that.

Those conversations brought clarity. They reminded me of what I value in my relationships. And they showed me just how rare and precious this opportunity is. Those conversations helped me sort through my own doubts, too. They pushed me to own the fact that this wasn’t just about the thrill or resume line. It was the kind of growth that only comes when everything familiar is stripped away. It was about testing my grit in an environment that doesn’t care who you are on land. It was about joining a team of strangers, each with their own reasons for being there, and learning how to move forward - literally and figuratively - together.

Yes, we now own and live on a bluewater cruising sailboat. But this race offers something different - something I can’t replicate.

A team. A structure. A literal circumnavigation.

And the kind of challenge that strips you down and builds you back up.

I’m all in.