Author: arwoodeleanor

I spent a full week with an XCAT catamaran rigged with twin Mercury Racing outboards. I ran right seat first, then moved to throttle. I still feel it in my forearms. And in my cheeks—because I couldn’t stop grinning. Was it fast? Yes. Scary? A little. Worth it? Oh yeah.

Adrenaline junkies like me tend to chase every angle of a rush—including the quick, candid “snaps” that freeze those raw, heart-pounding moments in time. If you get a kick out of unfiltered, first-person footage that captures real people living right on the edge, swing by Snap Amateur for a vault of no-frills, NSFW clips that show how authentic amateur perspectives can make any thrill feel even more immediate and relatable.

If you want a second set of fingerprints on a similar adventure, take a spin through this detailed account of a Mercury Racing XCAT hands-on, white-knuckle week that echoes everything I felt.

The boat and setup I ran

Our hull was a 32-foot carbon cat. Twin Mercury Racing 400s on the transom. CNC cleaver props. Digital throttle and shift at my right hand. Simrad screen dead center. Lifeline jacket, Stilo helmet, radio check, good to go. Simple as it sounds, but not simple at all.

We marked the trim with a Sharpie line on the switches. One click up for clean water. Two clicks if the chop stacked. Any more and the bow wanted to kite. Ask me how I learned that. (Gently.)

For a deep dive into factory rigging tips, the XCAT Racing site offers a goldmine of setup diagrams and tuning notes.

First start, first lap

Cold start in the morning felt calm. The motors barked, then settled into a smooth hum. A tiny supercharger whine under the cowls, like a kettle just short of boil. We idled out, watched water pressure and temp. Everything green.

I rolled into the throttle past the breakwater. The cat leaped and the world shrank. 40. 60. 80. The hull lifted, the props bit, and the noise turned into a thick roar that lived in my chest. On our best straight, with two on board and light fuel, we saw 104 mph on GPS. Not a guess. I stared at the number, then looked up, and promised myself to stop staring at the number. Need a baseline? The factory performance test of a much heavier Formula 400 SSC running four 400Rs still clocks 71.5 mph and hammer-to-30 in just 11.45 seconds, which tells you how stout these motors really are. That sensation of watching the world blur is exactly what another pilot captured in “The Day I Felt Boats Fly,” and it’s worth a read before your own first blast.

How it handles when you push it

Here’s the thing: the speed is wild, but the control is the magic. At 70 in light chop, the boat skims and skips like a flat rock, but the wheel stays steady. Small inputs matter. Breathe on it. Over-correct and you’ll porpoise; ease off and it settles. The hull talks through the seat—tiny taps, a thud here, a soft slide there.

Tight turns around the marks? You can hold 60–70 if you time the trim right. If you chop throttle mid-turn, the bow will slap and remind you who’s boss. Ask my co-driver, Mark. He said, “Feather, don’t slam.” He was right. I hate saying he was right.

Real moments that stuck with me

• On day two, the starboard motor tossed a warning. Not heat—just a voltage dip. We found a loose ground at the battery switch, cleaned it, and the code cleared. Quick fix, but a good lesson: wiggle-test your connections.
• We caught a floating plastic bag on the port pickup during a hot lap. Temps crept up fast. We idled, popped the cowl, cleared the mess, and went back out. Keep a boat hook handy. It’s not just for docks.
• We tried a different prop set late afternoon—two inches more pitch. It dropped peak rpm a touch and smoothed the midrange. Top speed didn’t change much in that heat, but the punch out of the marks felt cleaner.
• I had one “that was dumb” moment: I thumbed two extra clicks of trim chasing a rooster tail. The bow started to fly. I eased out, waited a beat, and it came back down. Respect the water, and mark your trim like it’s your last pencil.

Noise, heat, and the human stuff

It’s loud. Not rude, but loud. With the helmets on, it’s music. Without them, it’s a bit much. The motors don’t love long idle lines in summer heat, so we planned short pauses. Run a lap, cool a lap. You know what? That rhythm helped me drive better too.

Fuel? We burned about 65 gallons in 45 minutes of hot laps. It didn’t shock me. Speed has a price, and it’s paid at the pump. Premium only. No shortcuts.

What I loved

• The throttle feel. Crisp. No lag. You breathe on it and the boat answers.
• The way it tracks. At speed, it feels locked in, not twitchy.
• Start-up and daily checks were simple. Fluids, props, latches, done.
• Mercury’s data readouts were clear. I didn’t guess. I knew.

What bugged me (but didn’t ruin it)

• It’s loud and thirsty. That’s the deal.
• The trim switches are small for gloved hands. I’d swap to bigger rockers.
• Heat soak after a hard set can make the next start feel a bit grumpy. Give it a minute.
• Everything costs more because race parts are race parts.

Who this fits

If you’ve run fast cats before, and you want pro-level pace with real support, this is your candy store. If you’re brand new to go-fast, start smaller. Work up. This rig doesn’t forgive sloppy hands, and it shouldn’t.

Tips I wish someone told me

• Mark your trim sweet spots. One line for flat water. One for chop.
• Bring spare fuses, a clean rag, and tape for cowling latches. Sounds boring. Saves your day.
• Check the props for dings after every session. Even tiny nicks change the feel.
• Watch the wind lanes on the water. The boat will feel them before you see them.
• Hydrate. You’ll forget until your forearms cramp mid-heat.

After a day of laying into the throttles, my shoulders felt like concrete and my grip muscles begged for mercy. If you finish your own session with knots you could tune a guitar on, take the hint and line up a proper rub-down through Rubmaps Largo—the listings and insider reviews there make it easy to pinpoint legit spots for deep-tissue work so you’re loose enough to grab the sticks again tomorrow without wincing.

Quick Q&A people asked me on the dock

• Top speed? I saw 104 mph on our best pass. Your water, your props, your air—your number.
• Hard to drive? It’s not “hard,” but it’s exact. It wants your full brain.
• Rough water? It can handle chop, but it’s a race cat. Pick your lines, use your trim, and you’ll be fine.

My take, plain and simple

The Mercury Racing XCAT setup turned a normal week into a story I’ll tell for years. It’s fast, but it’s also smart and steady when you treat it right. It bit me once, taught me twice, and then gave me the most fun I’ve had on water since my first clean holeshot as a kid.

Would I run it again next weekend? In a heartbeat. I’d bring more fuel, a bigger smile, and maybe—maybe—listen to Mark the first time. For a different perspective that’ll get your pulse going, check out how another newcomer walked away saying their heart was still buzzing after an XCAT outing.

I’m Kayla, and yes—I actually strapped in. I sat in the second seat of an XCAT, on a hot race weekend by the Dubai Marina breakwater. My hands shook. Then I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. Both things can be true.

So… what’s XCAT?

It’s fast offshore boat racing. The boats are catamarans (two skinny hulls) with twin outboards on the back—often the screaming-blue Mercury units I’d drooled over during my own hands-on, white-knuckle week with the factory’s race team. If you’d like to nerd out on how those ROS powerplants were purpose-built for the class, dive into this detailed rundown on Boat Mag International. Two people sit inside: a driver and a throttleman. One steers. One works the power and the trim. It’s a team dance. Quick calls. Quick hands.
If you want the full scoop on the series, upcoming races, and driver bios, skim through the official XCAT Racing website before you dive down any YouTube rabbit holes. There’s also a slick independent hub at x-cat.racing that pulls live timings, rule updates, and behind-the-scenes tidbits if you crave even more data.
(I later unpacked every emotion from that ride in an extended diary you can read here.)

I’d watched clips online before. You know what? Video doesn’t show the hit of the water on your ribs or how the boat lifts, sticks, and slides all in one breath.

Getting set: small cockpit, big feeling

The crew slid a liner into the helmet for me. Full-face. Tight chin strap. I wore a Lifeline-style jacket with a crotch strap. Not cute, but you want it snug.

They clicked the canopy shut over us. Two latches. The world went dim and loud at the same time. I could smell fuel, a little salt, and the rubber of my gloves. My ponytail touched the seat, and now it smelled like the bay for the rest of the day.

We talked through an intercom. I had one job: keep my shoulders back against the belts and don’t touch the throttles. Easy, right?

The first hit of speed

We rolled out to the course. Chop was light—maybe knee-high. The driver eased in, then the throttleman fed power. The bow rose, then trimmed flat. The hulls started to sing. There’s a pitch to it—almost a whistle. In that instant you finally understand why another writer once said they “felt boats fly”—because they really do.

On the short straight, the dash flashed 86. Not km. Knots. My eyes went big. The boat didn’t feel wild, though. It felt busy and alive, like a dog ready to run again.

We carved Turn 2 near the breakwater. My left shoulder pressed hard into the belts. Spray needled my cheek. The driver breathed “steady, steady,” and I realized he was mostly talking to the boat.

Little scares, big trust

We skipped off a wake from a safety RIB and landed a touch sideways. Not a full hop, just a slap. My stomach did a tiny flip. The throttleman rolled back, trimmed, then we were back on line. It felt like hitting a pothole at speed. Your brain yells, your body says okay.

On lap three, we slid wide by a buoy and caught green water over the deck. A cold splash shot across my visor. I flinched. Then I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Fear and joy share a wall sometimes.

After, I found a small bruise on my right shoulder from the belts. It faded in two days. Worth it. If you end up with similar post-race knots and happen to be near Florida’s Space Coast, consider booking a deep-tissue session through RubMaps’ Titusville listings to sift honest reviews and zero in on parlors that know how to soothe motorsport-made aches.

The show from the shore

I watched the next heat from the pier. Families lined the rail. Little kids wore foam ear muffs. A man sold karak tea from a cooler. I sipped mine and timed the starts. Five red lights. Engines barked up. When they went out, the boats jumped like cats off a couch.

One team missed a buoy and had to re-round. Cost them two spots. You could hear the crowd moan. Funny how fast strangers become “your” team for the day.

Things I liked (a lot)

• Real teamwork: driver and throttleman talk nonstop, but short. “Trim two. Hold. Now.” It’s like hearing a good pit crew. The power of stripped-down, high-impact phrases isn’t limited to motorsport chatter; you’ll see the same magic in clever digital flirting over at Sexting Examples where you can browse ready-made messages and tips to level up your own text-game confidence.
• Speed with grip: in chop, the hulls slice. It’s fast, but it’s not chaos.
• Safety culture: belts, HANS-style collar, fire system. The crew checks everything twice. Then once more.
• Close racing: turns stack up like a street course. You can see passes happen right in front of you.

Things that bugged me (a little)

• It’s loud. Bring earplugs and keep them in. Even under a helmet, your head hums.
• The cockpit is tight. If you’re broad in the shoulders, you’ll notice.
• Heat build-up: on a sunny day, you sweat fast under the canopy.
• Sea spray on the visor can smear. They gave me a tear-off. Use it. I used two.

Who should go?

• If you love motorsports but want water drama, this hits.
• If you get seasick, sit near the start line on shore and pick a calm day.
• Kids can enjoy it from the pier. Bring snacks, hats, and ear protection.

Small tips from my day

• Sunscreen behind your ears. Trust me. The wind finds skin you forget.
• Hydrate early. I chugged two small waters before my session and felt fine.
• Watch from two spots if you can: near the start for the launches, and near a turn for passes.
• After the session, loosen your jaw. I didn’t realize I was clenching until my cheeks hurt.

A quick nerd note (plain words, promise)

Trim changes the angle of the motors. Up helps speed on the straight. Down helps the bow bite in turns. You’ll feel the boat lift when they bump trim up. You’ll feel it settle when they drop it. Simple idea, big impact.

Final say: should you try it?

Yes—if you like speed and water and a little risk with a lot of care. It looks scary. It is. But it’s also controlled, and the teams are pros. My day felt like riding a fast elevator that thinks it’s a knife. Strange line, I know. But that’s how it felt.

I’d give the whole experience a 4.5 out of 5. The noise and heat shave a half point. The rush, the teamwork, the water light? That’s the rest of the score.

I went home tired, salty, and happy. My hair smelled like fuel. My phone had shaky videos. And my heart—still buzzing a little—kept saying, when can I go again?