Textured Forks
Growing up without a formal diagnosis for autism, I very much learnt how to manage certain social situations and although on the outside I may appear to be thriving in these settings and an extrovert, inside my brain is a very different reality.
Maddy waiting to race in the elite Women’s category at the UCI Gravel World Championships 2024, BE. Photo Credit: Jade Sellick.
I’ve always known that my brain is a bit different from most. That the way I feel and react to certain situations can be different, and that there are environments I find more challenging.
Neurodiversity is a word that has become topical of late, with lots more research and education being published, which has led to more open conversations on the theme, as well as wider understanding of the differences between neurotypical and neurodiverse brains. Two of my close friends Mikey Mottram & Caragh McMurtry set up an incredible charity neurodiverse sport to encourage conversations around neurodiverse athletes and inclusion in sport, and despite to this date not openly speaking about my own experiences, I have always advocated for their work and mission.
Without a formal diagnosis, I’ve hesitated to speak openly about my experience with ASD or align with this identity, not wanting to take up space from others who are further along the spectrum, but also not wanting this to become a defining identity point.
From my eyes, I am a gravel cyclist primarily, then a keen home chef, a sister, a daughter. Other elements of my identity like my sexuality and my neurodiversity, although a part of what shapes me to be the cyclist, sister, daughter and pasta maker I am today, are not my defining identity points.
It has not been until these past two years where I have witnessed first hand Caragh and Mikey passionately building Neurodiverse Sport, that I have reflected about opening up about my experience with autism, particularly given that I am a neurodiverse professional athlete. I have not felt confident to be an ambassador for them outwardly, as I have had reservations over sharing this information about myself publicly, concerned that people would treat me differently if they knew I was autistic. Would I lose sponsors? Would people interact with me differently in social settings? Would I lose supporters of my cycling and social media content? After some reflection, I concluded that being my true authentic self and opening up about my experience benefits everyone and there is no reason to not be open and honest about my neurodiversity. Especially given that statistically it is very likely there is a portion of my audience who may resonate with my experiences.
It’s strange thinking about brains and how they differ, as we only get to experience our own. I grew up thinking that everyone perceived the world more or less the same way as me: that the sounds; the feelings and the emotions that our brains process were pretty standardised. Despite this, I did always feel I was a bit different. Like I didn’t quite see or experience the world in the same way as my peers.
At primary school, I was socially slightly on the periphery and would alienate others with my nerdiness as well as my inability to break rules. Nobody likes a tell tale, but little Maddy Nutt struggled with this, and would quite happily dub friends in to teachers, not understanding the underlying social implications of being a grass. I was a total rule follower and the world was very white and black with absolutely no space for grey. I also chose to unicycle to school and back every day, which I’m not sure was the smartest move socially!
Maddy and her sister riding their unicycles to school.
At secondary school, I was less socially isolated, but did still cause social friction from time to time and struggled to fit into a friendship group, choosing to form close friendships with individuals rather than fit into one of the defined groups. I could never quite manage the dynamic of a friendship group, but could connect very strongly with individuals over common interests and sense of humour. I became obsessed with maths and numbers and I can distinctly remember standing in front of my maths class aged 14 and reciting the first 100 digits of pi ‘just because I felt like it’. This meant I was absolutely adored by my maths teacher at the time, who referred to me as Matilda, but strangely the rest of my class didn’t think that my geekiness was as endearing. Luckily for me there was a girl in my class who was happy to type out conversations using a numeric code on a calculator in maths class, and she’s still one of my best friends to this day.
In my teenage years I remember asking my mum why she had never taken me as a child to get a diagnosis for autism after I did an online test and scored 39/40 and her response was “I didn’t need to… it was so obvious”.
In fact, one of my parents’ favourite stories about me as a child was when they told me my shoes were on the wrong feet, to which I responded “but these are the only feet I have” after frustratingly taking them off and putting them back on the wrong way round again.
My brain has always functioned in a very literal way, and I often need things re-phrased, as I fail to catch the underlying meaning or hidden subtext. Sarcasm can also often completely fly over my head and this can be particularly entertaining to those around me.
Another way my experience of the world differs is my hypersensitivity. Sounds, smells, touch, the material and feel of clothing (velvet is an absolute no), as well as the shape and size and feel of cutlery and crockery. This means there are several settings I find more challenging, and having to leave ABBA voyage from being on the verge of a panic attack was maybe not my most shining hour. It might have been less embarrassing if it was a heavy rock concert, but the sounds and the strobes and the people boogying close to me was overstimulating and I found my chest tightening in panic. A weird spoon can set in a similar amount of panic, and even though I can reflect on this and see how peculiar this is, you will never catch me eating my breakfast with anything larger than a teaspoon. And it better not have any texture on it or sharp edges!
Autism isn’t something that I believe has ever held me back in my sporting pursuits, but rather one of the contributing factors that sent me down this life trajectory and to the athlete I am today.
A solo 9 hour endurance ride without music is something I can happily tick off my training plan, whereas a neuro-typical brain might find this much more challenging mentally. Being alone on the bike with my own brain for hours on end is honestly where I am happiest and feel most relaxed and the idea that this could be boring to others is completely alien to me. I am also tunnel visioned with my passions, and I believe that this focus and drive is why I have developed from an amateur newbie cyclist to someone pursuing cycling full-time in a span of only a few years. Other elements around training intrigue me, so I read around the cycling itself and have put time and effort into my nutrition on and off the bike, again which have helped me develop as an athlete. I have always thrown myself into challenges and tasks with 100% enthusiasm when I develop an interest in something, and conveniently that interest has become racing my bike (as well as making fresh pasta).
Maddy making pasta from scratch in her kitchen.
Growing up without a formal diagnosis for autism, I very much learnt how to manage certain social situations and although on the outside I may appear to be thriving in these settings and an extrovert, inside my brain is a very different reality.
I am computing at 100mph exactly where to look; exactly how to move my body; exactly where to put my hands; where my eyes need to be and what my next question should be or whether I have an appropriate comment or anecdote to follow with. This can be super tiring, and until recently was how I thought everyone felt when they interacted socially.
I can struggle to make eye contact when I meet new people, and I only have started to appreciate recently how much harder I work in group settings. To my knowledge, most people who know me or have interacted with me are likely unaware of my autism, and this is a result of years of masking in social situations and growing up without a formal diagnosis (just the knowledge that my mother felt I didn’t need one because it was so apparent). Unfortunately for my partner I can be a lot less careful and thoughtful at home and more direct with my communication and I was called out a few weeks ago for telling her that her topic of conversation was boring me and could we change to talk about something else. Luckily for me she was forgiving and has always been supportive and understanding. My brain is very logical and different to hers, but she sees the upsides to this. I’m definitely a person to have around in a crisis and whenever solutions are needed, but maybe not the person to take to a concert or on a night out. I think my autism actually complements her ADHD pretty nicely. Although I have to admit her chronic ability to leave mess and things in disorder everywhere isn’t very autism friendly!
Opening up about my neurodiversity is not something I thought I would be brave enough to do, but I have been so inspired by my friends Mikey and Caragh and their work with Neurodiverse Sport, that I believe I should play my part in championing neurodivergence and how its traits can in fact make enthusiastic and hardworking athletes rather than be a reason for someone not to participate in sport. I definitely don’t believe my autism has any negative impact on my cycling, and if anything it really is what has made me the athlete I am today. Although maybe next time I am in a World Championships and female riders around me are drafting men’s wheels, I’ll try to ‘rule follow’ a bit less and save my result by joining in too! Sometimes life does need a little grey, and I’ll continue doing my best to navigate the world and professional gravel cycling with my neurospicy brain.
Keep up to date with Maddy’s progress @maddy_nutty on Instagram and Maddy Nutt - YouTube
