I'll Be Back For More.
You can arrive at the Ironman World Championship with perfect preparation, everything aligned—and still have the race refuse to unfold the way you trained for. That was my Kona. My first as a professional.
Race morning, Mom, Dad, Bobby, and Liz ( my sister ) drove me down to the start. Everything that needed to happen was happening.
I felt the beat of the pahu drums in my chest and a wave of energy as the chanters performed the pule—the Hawaiian blessing that honors the sacred nature of the land we race on.
The cannon blew and we were off. I came out of the water with a group and blasted through transition! Onto the bike, with every woman I passed, I felt like I was claiming ground—taking territory that was mine to take.
Then I turned onto the Queen K and got smacked down like a whack-a-mole. Just when I thought I was rising up, something slammed me back down. The power drained from my legs. My heart rate dropped. I took on more nutrition. Adjusted my cadence. Stood up. Repeated empowering mantras, tried every tool Siri taught me to reframe what I was experiencing. The mental spiral had already started, and instead of climbing out, I was digging myself deeper with every pedal stroke.
Even with discipline, even with execution, even with commitment dialed in perfectly—sometimes the race still takes you apart.
I kept telling myself I had this. It’s a long day. I’m in this. I’ll turn it around. There’s a lot of race left. But I was so thirsty, so drained. I grabbed special needs, and tried to attack the descent from Hawi. Heading back towards town, I stood up for a climb and felt like I was going to pass out. The delusional fear had taken over completely.
Then mile 111. Heather looked at me and said, “You have to go.” I started crying—the emotional release I desperately needed.
Siri has taught me that nothing is acceptable but your best. Not your best on a good day. Not your best when things are going to plan. Your absolute best when everything falls apart.
I ran through T2 and tried to turn things around. I broke the marathon into 5Ks—just get from one to the next. Running up Palani, Bobby yelled: It’s your choice how your day ends.
This lit a fire in me. In that moment they made me realize that everything is determined by what you do and whether you did your best. There is nothing else. No excuses. No explanations. Just the choice you make when the race has stripped everything away and you’re standing there with nothing but your decision.
I went with what I had. I walked through most aid stations but kept moving forward. Because I hadn’t planned for a 5-hour bike, I felt pretty rough on the run. One foot in front of the other.
The race humbled me completely. It had taken the day I envisioned and prayed for and given me something else entirely. That’s sport.
I didn’t get the result I trained for or what I know and believe I am capable of, but the island gave me something more valuable: the understanding that you’re owed nothing—not fair weather, not fresh legs at mile 18, not the race you prepared for. What you get is a choice. When everything falls apart, when you’ve convinced yourself something is seriously wrong—you still get to choose.
I chose to finish my first professional Ironman World Championship. Through the struggle, the doubt, the physical and mental battle—I crossed that finish line and that choice means everything to me.
I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the ability to stand on that start line, to race on sacred ground, to test myself against the best in the world. For my support team —for showing up, believing in me, and giving me the words I needed when I had none left. For every person who has supported this journey!
This is all part of my journey. The hard days, the humbling moments, the races that don’t go as planned—they’re not detours. They’re the path itself. I LOVE it and I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it. This is my dream and each moment is teaching me what it truly means to be not just a professional athlete, but someone who refuses to quit on herself.
Thank you for being part of this with me.