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?