Challenge Roth, Germany. My goal, after Jan Frodeno entered and a bike crash cost me 5.5 weeks of training: beat the legend's transition times. The day I finally felt like a real Ironman.
Beat Jan Frodeno's transition times. That became my revised goal for Challenge Roth — once I found out Frodeno had entered, and after a well-publicized bike crash three months earlier cost me 5.5 weeks of training. As soon as my neurologist cleared me I'd gone back hard, but my longest ride before the race was just over 60 miles and my longest run 16. Quality, but not volume. I headed to Germany ready to kick ass anyway.
I packed everything — race-day gear and helmet in my carry-on, so that if my bike got mis-routed all I'd need to race was a dinosaur bike. Lufthansa was amazing: everything arrived on time, no bike fees.
The Swim
The swim is in the Main-Donau-Kanal — a narrow, dead-straight shipping canal, basically a big-ass rectangle. The narrowness was reassuring (harder to die), and for once I wasn't nervous at all. Because transition never closed, I got to watch Frodeno come out of the water (a 45:22 for 2.4 miles) — wetsuit already at his waist before the ramp, helmet and socks on within what felt like five seconds, zipping his top on the way to the bike. His T1: 96 seconds. I had my work cut out.
In the water I stayed strangely calm, even with mirrored goggles fogging under a cloudy sky. I sighted off the shoreline and Challenge's new 200m distance markers. Two things kept me company: a woman who walked the bank at exactly my swimming pace, staring my way the whole time (I never figured out who she was, or how she crossed to the other side so fast to keep pace on the way back), and a black-and-yellow checkered flag I sighted off for 600–800 meters before realizing it was being carried by two spectators walking at my exact pace. I shook my head, laughed, and kept going.
I made the final turn and let myself believe I'd finish. A volunteer yanked me up, I glanced at my Garmin — 1:35:19. I'd predicted 1:45–1:50. I didn't even feel like I swam hard. I was so out of sorts I then botched my transition.
Swim: 1:35:19 (Frodeno's swim: 45:22)
T1
I couldn't remember my own bib number — 3100 or 3010? — and apparently couldn't count anymore. A wonderful volunteer unpacked my bag and told me to just dump everything on the floor and she'd handle it.
T1: 3:52 (Frodeno's T1: 1:36)
Bike
I'd ridden bits of the course beforehand — hitting 29 mph under 200 watts — so I assumed Roth would be flat and fast. Wrong: two loops, 4,700+ feet of climbing. In the first 15 miles I was pushing nearly 220 watts and not even averaging 20 mph, and my whole upper body — shoulders, neck, back — locked up in aero for the first time ever, probably because I'd just swum my longest swim in four years. No adjustment helped. I put my head down and rode.
But Roth is unforgettable. Closed roads, immaculate tarmac, towns that go all out — including the "Beer Mile" lined with food and beer stands (fun on loop one; on loop two, struggling, I was openly jealous of a triathlete buying a bratwurst). On the big climbs the Europeans hammered up and then, oddly, coasted the descents — so I let them pass uphill and attacked the hairpins, leaning in and picking them off.
And then there's Solarer Berg. Picture a Tour de France climb: spectators 5–6 deep, screaming, drinking, triathletes forced single-file up the middle. An experience of a lifetime. As badly as I was riding, I smiled, laughed, and high-fived my way up. Abby met me at the top with her New Jersey flag t-shirt to swap my nutrition bottle (~45 seconds). I told her I was having a bad ride; she said I was still on time. I knew the second loop would hurt — and it did. I had to stop twice to stretch and pee in the woods like everyone else.
Bike: 6:23:32 (I peed in the woods. Why I bothered peeing on the bike on loop one, when everyone peed everywhere, I'll never know.)
T2
Longest T2 of my life — but the volunteers were incredible, laying out my run gear while I peeled off bike shoes. I even ducked into a port-a-potty rather than pee on myself on the run.
T2: 4:42 (Frodeno's T2: 1:18 — so much for that goal.)
Run
The run is mostly along the canal — flat, a little lonely, and shaped (trust me) like a uterus. My legs felt better than expected out of T2; I settled into a comfortable 9:00–9:15. Then, before the 3 km mark, I lost all my Gus off my race belt for the first time ever — leaving me to over-fuel and over-hydrate at uneven aid stations. My legs fell off after 10 km and I was reduced to walking between stations, stopping twice to shake rocks out of my shoes.
Around 29 km, an older male volunteer I'd just waved off took a closer look, turned around, caught up to me, put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes and said: "You're OK. You're going to be OK. Great job." He clearly saw I was barely holding together. Those words carried me the last 12 km. Near Roth I saw Abby again, told her I'd failed; she told me I hadn't, handed me the rest of my Mentos, and pointed me at the final 2 km — into the 10,000-person finish stadium, on red carpet I'd planned to savor and instead crossed half-dead.
Run: 4:45:38
Total: 12:53:00 (my previous Ironman, IM NYC: 15:53:53)
Post Race
I cried right after crossing — not from pain, but disappointment in everything except the swim. I was in better shape than my time showed and I'm still not entirely sure what went wrong. But three things went right, and they matter more.
I didn't panic in the swim. I stayed calm and controlled the whole way, and swam far faster than I thought I could — a great new starting ground.
For the first time, I felt like I'd actually completed an Ironman. I finished IM NYC, but that Hudson swim was so current-assisted (a 1:03) that I always felt there should be an asterisk. Now I can remove it.
And Roth itself was amazing — the support of those towns is something you have to experience. I can't wait to race it again.
For now, I've got more training to do.