My Road to Kona: Ironman Texas 2024
No Half Sends and Other Thoughts on the Best Day of my Life
Ironman Texas is coming up this Sunday so I wanted to share my experience at the race last year.
April 27, 2024 was the best day of my life. When I think about my performance in the Woodlands, I smile from ear to ear. Not only because I achieved a multiyear goal of qualifying for Kona, but because I left it all out there, raced with confidence, and most importantly, was surrounded by my loved ones.
Ever since I was a kid, spring has been my favorite season. Baseball. The Masters. Easter. My birthday. The sun feels warmer and stronger after a cold, long winter. Flora and fauna begin to bloom. It brings change.
Last spring was no different. I entered a committed romantic relationship. I left my finance job to go all-in on triathlon. The future was uncertain, but I had faith. I’m not a religious person, but I had this feeling, this knowing, that things would work out. Self-belief.
I flew from Denver to Houston on the 23rd, giving myself plenty of time to hit the grocery store, bike shop, and favorite restaurants of my brother and his girlfriend who had recently moved to Texas.
In the past, I’ve been rigid with my race week rituals and routines, especially surrounding food. “No eating out”, I’d tell myself; however, after learning that my previous operating system made my family feel like they were walking on eggshells, I knew I needed to be flexible. This was their trip too after all. So I indulged, within reason. Fajitas and nachos (extra protein and carbs) before a big effort can only help, right?
My girlfriend
flew in from Tucson having just run 456 miles on the Arizona Trail. While disappointed she didn’t set the FKT, she still came out to support me in my event. She also met my family for the first time! A former massage therapist, she did body work on my stubborn achilles as I read the athlete guide before we set our alarms for 4 AM.On race morning, my parents, Candice, and I departed our Airbnb in Conroe for the Woodlands. Shortly before arriving at the transition area, I realized I had forgotten my bike bottles, 300 carbs of key nutrition, in the fridge. Not a great start to the day. Candice, an endurance veteran, as cool as a cucumber, before my mom had the chance to freak out and shift the energy in the minivan, calmly said, “It’s okay. We’ll drop you off and go back and get them.” My dad, the driver in the morning, had to be freaking out, but kept his nerves to himself, knowing I was already on pins and needles, scoffing down my oatmeal in the backseat.
I got my bike set up in transition and began the mile walk to the swim start with my family. In usual fashion, I didn’t give myself enough time and was hurriedly and frustratingly pulling my wetsuit onto my sweaty body. I weaved through the corrals, flapped my arms and went through my typical pre-swim stretches, and saw my buddy Nick. An accomplished triathlete, he said, “Remember, today’s a war of attrition.” At 6:41 AM, we fist bumped and dashed into Lake Woodlands together to begin our 140.6 mile journey.
Within minutes, my goggles fogged up. Only a few hundred yards into the 4,200 yd swim leg, I stopped to tread water and rinse them. It’s better to stop for three seconds and see for the next hour than struggle to sight buoys and mentally battle for 2.4 miles. They were still blurry, but better. As I made my way through the canals, I heard my brother Eric and dad cheering. At this time, I took an elbow to the face from a competitor, which forced me to pause and alter my stroke. A hamstring cramp stopped me in my tracks and rolled me over like a beached whale. With a few flutter kicks, it relieved, but not exactly what you want when about to hop on the bike for 112 miles, never mind run a marathon after.
I came out of the water in 1:05, went through T1 in just under four minutes, and quickly got to work on the bike, knowing I had a deficit to make up. After a few miles with my heart rate above 160, I began to settle in and find my groove.
I enjoy looped courses. You know what to expect, have fewer surprises, can break down your nutrition intake into chunks, and zone out (find flow) to just focus on executing the task at hand. I don’t remember much from the ride, but “the Party on the Hardy” was real—windy hell southbound toward Houston, followed by sheer bliss headed back north toward the Woodlands, twice. Around mile 80, my stomach started to rumble. Despite that, I stayed on top of my nutrition and hydration until the very end, took in ~105 grams of carb and 1,000 mg of sodium per hour, and came off the bike in 4:48, averaging 23.3 mph. No power meter, just went by feel and heart rate, Daniella Ryf style.
I darted down the grass parallel to the asphalt in T2, saving my legs as much as I could for the marathon ahead of me. I swapped out my sweat and pee-soaked cycling socks and for fresh ones filled with Gold Bond. I used the stuffy porta potty in T2 to go number two so I could run free and unbroken, not wanting to stop on-course as I did during Ironman Arizona in November 2023.
I wasted no time and set a strong pace out of the gate. My family and girlfriend gave me energy with high fives before the hardest part of the day. Each time I saw them, they gave me the gaps to my age group competitors, all laying it on the line for a coveted Kona slot. “You’re in 10th place, you got three guys five minutes ahead of you. Let’s go! Come on!”
I ran steady lap one. At mile 17, I saw Nick again, now sidelined and spectating in a sling after a crash on the bike. “You gotta go, now”, he said. I pushed and held on, continuing to narrow the gap. The final loop, especially the last 10k, was a sufferfest; however, every time I considered slowing down, I thought about a Kona slot slipping through my fingers or being just out of reach, giving me a boost when I needed it most.
With a few miles to go, I saw Nick again. “You’re 7th. You got the slot, but they’re close.” Not knowing how many world championship slots my age group was given, or what Nick meant by “close”, I kept pushing, holding sub-7 pace until mile 20.
My numbers in my final training block were solid, but never knowing how things will unfold on race day, I even surprised myself with my ability to hold such a strong pace, especially with cramping legs in Houston’s humidity.
In the past, I’ve had the ability to sprint down the red carpet. Not this time. I held on until 26, when the wheels finally fell off. I limped and grunted my way across the line until I nearly passed out and was thankfully caught by a volunteer. Delirious, I fell into a wheelchair and was taken to the medical tent to recover.
As the nurses rubbed down my spasming legs, a staff member handed me my phone as I lay on the evaluation table. I had messages from Nick—hibiscus emojis and the world championship slots chart. M25-29 age group had 203 starters and were given seven slots. I had finished seventh. I had qualified for Kona.
I began bawling. The concerned doctor asked if I was okay and I assured him they were happy tears. I had just realized an eight-year dream. I will never forget those minutes in the med tent—some of the most emotional and proudest of my life. Before I was inundated by texts and calls from the outside world, I had a moment to myself to soak it all in.
After sipping on electrolytes and calming down, I limped out to meet my family, eagerly awaiting me. “We did it”, I said. I shared the exciting news and we savored it together. They were stunned and as happy as I was, knowing how badly I wanted this and how hard I worked. Intimate moments with loved ones post-race are my favorite. Raw. Vulnerable. Passionate. Euphoric. Sacred.
I may have been the one who raced, but I couldn’t have even made it to the start line without the unwavering support, unconditional love, and significant sacrifices of those in my corner. They gave me the permission and confidence to follow an unconventional path and pursue my dream. It was a team effort. My success is their success.
I waited to share the news with friends until it was official—until I was formally offered a slot and award at the banquet and paid my race registration for Kona. Part of me was still in disbelief and I didn’t want to get my hopes up if there was a mistake. But no, it was real.
My friend Robin reminds me to, “dare to dream”, because, as Israel Kamakawiwoʻole sings in Over the Rainbow, “dreams really do come true…what a wonderful world.”
With the exception of a bathroom stop in T2, I couldn’t have executed better on the day. I knew by going out hot, I ran the risk of blowing up, but it was a risk I needed to take. This was my first event where I felt I truly raced (vs just finished), and did so fearlessly. I went for it, gave it my all, and emptied the tank. As my buddy Brian says, “no half sends.” An Ironman is going to hurt either way, but regret hurts more. Choose your hard.
Ironman is an energy conservation game. It’s not about who can throw down the best swim split, bike split, or run split (i.e. Sam Laidlow in Kona in 2022 and 2024). It’s about who can swim well, stay close but not overbike, and still have the ability to piece together a strong marathon (i.e. Patrick Lange).
If you can control your effort in the swim so you’re not cooked on the bike, you’ll likely ride well. If you fuel well and stay within your zones on the bike, you’ll likely have a good run. And if you have a good run, you’ll probably have a good day. In my eyes, an Ironman doesn’t start until the back half of the marathon—that’s what you’re optimizing for.
Good luck to all those racing this weekend in the Woodlands. As they say, the hay’s in the barn. Your race results are already baked. Enjoy taper—eat, hydrate, sleep, shave your legs, control stress. Most importantly, have fun and reflect on how far you’ve come. Thank volunteers at aid stations, police officers blocking off intersections, and most importantly, your family and friends who’ve supported you along the way. Race with gratitude. It’s a potent fuel.
No Half Sends! Love this story, thanks for sharing all the pics as well. Keep going!
The beginning of lots of best days 🥇❤️🔥