What's it like to race the Ironman World Champs?

In the autumn of 2023, history was made in the world of triathlon, as the Ironman world champs took place on two different days in two different countries.

The men were first up on 10 September, in Nice, France, before the women's took place on 14 October in the sport's birthplace of Kona, Hawaii.

So what was it like to contest a single-gender championship? Did racing in Nice rather than Kona detract from the accomplishment? And just what does it take to race these two uniquely different but equally as challenging courses?

Here, we hear from two UK age-groupers – Andrew Woodroffe and Jennifer Done – who raced Nice and Kona, respectively, on two historic days for the sport…

Pre-race and the 3.8km swim

Andrew

When Nice was announced as the World Championships I was delighted – a difficult, technical bike course excited me and being in mainland Europe felt much easier than the far-off lands of Kona, Hawaii (I’d actually qualified last year for Kona with third overall at Ironman Switzerland, but with the crazy costs involved I had to let that one pass by).

But I’d spent most of winter with a knee injury, watching races come and go and qualifications slip by. With some serious work and rehab, though, I made it to Nice thanks to a fifth place in Switzerland.

I get a few interesting looks as I line up my Cervélo road bike next to all the aggressive TT bike set-ups. But I wanted disc brakes and a very light set-up, plus I feel more confident and comfortable on the road bike for such a course. Walking through transition I feel quite emotional, thinking back to getting to this point.

I have the final hugs and moments with the support team and make my way down to the beach, swimskin on, final gel sipped and I’m ready to go.

I’m nervous about the mass swim but just before the start I tell the others in my age-group we shouldn’t fight, give each other space, and race your own race.

Incredibly, as the gun goes off and we head to the first buoy, it seems to have worked. I have space, I have my own rhythm and the world champs have begun.

The swim isn’t my strength and I always feel like you can’t win a race in the swim, but you can lose it. I find myself in a good group with hips to sit on and feet to follow, and that becomes my process.

Buoy after buoy the time and distance go by and I feel I hold my own in the group. A non-wetsuit sea swim wouldn’t be my first choice and a few choppy, salty moments throw me off balance but soon enough I’m out the water and running up the beach to the roars of the crowd. It’s time to get to work.

“The butterflies in my tummy (or energy bubbles as my amazing coach Neil from Storm Tri Coaching calls them!) are going into overdrive, but it’s soon my turn to enter the water.”

Jen

Jen

The sound of the Hawaiian blessing and drumming is echoing around the bay, and I cannot believe I’m actually here. I only completed my first triathlon last year – the Weymouth 70.3 – after struggling with postnatal depression, and now I’m here at the first women-only Ironman world championship in Kona, Hawaii.

After completing my first full Ironman in Hamburg (June 2023), I received an invitation to take part in the Ironman Foundation’s 30 women to Kona group, aiming to raise awareness of inclusion, diversity and equality in sport.

My aim is to show how sport can support mental wellbeing, particularly those who are struggling with postnatal depression and how mums can achieve anything.

I feel so out my depth, but I’ve put 18 months of training in, often training twice a day while working full time and looking after my four-year-old daughter.

The butterflies in my tummy (or energy bubbles as my amazing coach Neil from Storm Tri Coaching calls them!) are going into overdrive, but it’s soon my turn to enter the water.

The sea is super warm, clear and thankfully fairly calm, and before I know it, I’m on my way to the start which is about 100m out from the beach. The cannon sounds and it’s time to go!

The first 1,840m are fairly smooth, I manage to keep up with many of my group and the beauty of the sun peeping out over the top of the volcano is an image I will never forget. I can’t help but smile.

But then, as I get to the turning point, the leaders of the age-group behind mine catch up and the swell increases hugely. I struggle to keep my rhythm and I can feel the panic rising. I manage to move out to the edge and just concentrate on getting to the next turning point.

Thankfully the swell reduces as I head back to the beach and I gradually begin to hear the crowd cheer and Hawaiian drumming. I remind myself of where I am and fly through the final 500m.

As a volunteer helps me up the steps they say: ‘Stage 1 complete!’ – I laugh nervously knowing there’s still a long way to go. I spot my husband in the crowd, and he shouts, “1 hour 27 – you got your PB!”. The energy bubbles are back!

T1 and the 180km bike

Andrew

Ironman transitions are big, world championship transitions even bigger, so it takes some time to get through and head out onto the course. But soon enough I’m rolling out to the mountains, pushing power way higher than I should be and excited to be out.

The course starts fairly flat before you’re into the proper climbs. I’d planned to almost treat the whole course as intervals; it’s not a course for consistent power or to be too focused on the numbers.

After the first couple of lumps, we’re shortly into the first big climb and I really start to push. I’d spent months working on my climbing and knew it was my strength, so I begin to make my way past many athletes and do what damage I can before losing time to the bigger guys on the flats and downhills.

I turn the power off my Garmin screen and go by feel – I know my body and its limits and want to race with heart and passion.

Rolling through town after town I try and appreciate the beauty of this course, the stunning gorge that we’re riding through, the towering cliffs above our heads and the quirky villages we pass by.

“With 50km to go I start to struggle mentally. I make a couple of easy mistakes with my nutrition and feel I’m emptying”

Andrew

I’d ridden most of the course previously to really take in the views and beauty as today was about racing. But I wanted to use the surroundings and landscape to push me on and motivate the legs to go faster!

As the heat builds up and the race goes on I feel strong and in good control. I’ve lost time as expected but also gained time – it’s like a game of cat and mouse.

I’m cautious on the descents, I see many guys taking crazy risks, crossing white lines and even a couple of crashes. I know it’s not worth it, and I want to be on the run in one piece.

With 50km to go I start to struggle mentally; I’ve done a lot of big days in the build-up but with the elevation this bike course is taking much longer than normal.

I make a couple of easy mistakes with my nutrition and feel I’m emptying. But I know I can make it to the end of the bike, regroup and get going.

Jen

Jumping on my bike I head out onto the 180km course, which initially runs through the town. The crowds are huge and the atmosphere epic, I have to take a breath, stop myself from getting carried away and sprinting with the excitement – there’s still 112 miles to go!

As I leave town the realisation of what’s ahead hits me hard. I feel the intense heat for the first time, radiating from the black lava flows either side of the road tarmac – this is going to be tough.

Due to childcare, I’d only been able to have 1.5 days prior to the race to acclimatise to the heat, and while I’d carried out many training sessions in a sweat jacket and with the heater on, nothing prepares me for the intensity.

I take in the scenery of the huge, rolling lava flows, beautiful blue seas and towering volcanos and find my rhythm, trying to remember to eat and drink regularly.

At mile 30, Lucy Charles-Barclay comes flying past me on her return – her speed is unbelievable and so inspiring. I remind myself of all that she’s overcome and keep pushing.

"I look at my daughter and husband’s initials that I stitched into my shorts prior to the race and think ‘keep going’"

Jen

I’m thankful that the wind isn’t as bad as I’d been warned and take advantage of the rolling downhills that follow each climb. But then the course changes as I hit the climb to the turning point in Hawi.

From approximately mile-50 it’s a long, steady incline. With the heat, I feel like I’m cycling through treacle. My average mph reduces significantly, and the age-group qualifiers come flying past me one by one. I feel demotivated and really start to doubt if I can do this.

The only thing keeping me going is the sight of the riders flying down in the other direction and I just keep telling myself, ‘that will be me in a minute’.

I look at my daughter and husband’s initials that I stitched into my shorts prior to the race and think ‘keep going’.

I finally reach the top and the turning point in Hawi, it’s time to make up some of that speed! I tuck in and fly down the climb that I’d struggled so much with only a moment ago.

As I head back to transition a head wind hits with around 30 miles to go. The heat continues to beat down and mentally I have to talk myself through it. My head’s shouting ‘why are you doing this?!’, but again I remind myself why I’m here.

Gradually I see Kona town in front of me and the sense of relief is huge. I did it, stage 2 complete.

T2 and the 42.2km marathon

Andrew

Finally, I’m rolling back along the promenade and starting to prepare for the run – this is the part of the race that excites me, where I know I’ll do damage and get to really push.

Into transition and honestly I feel amazing, fresh socks on, shoes tied, deep breaths, it’s time to hit
the marathon. I set off around 3:40mins per km pace, as the goal is well under a 3hr marathon.

After 10km, though, stomach issues hit me hard. At first, I feel I just need more fuel but soon I’m slowing down to vomit. Once, twice, and finally it stops.

I’m still able to hold a solid pace and start to consistently tick off the kms. I think I’m in around 40th but I tell my support crew I don’t want splits, I want them to enjoy the moment, support me and I know if I run what I can I’ll move up the field.

The run is effectively a 5km out and back, and at the far end it’s hot and lonely, but you know back towards transition the crowds are passionate, loud and waiting. The run becomes a simple process – keep moving forward, keep pushing hard.

Onto the last lap I finally hear I’m a few minutes from the top 10, so I figure that must mean I’m somewhere in the top 20 which gives me the final boost to go hard for the finish.

Not a single person is able to run with me or overtakes me the whole race, so I figure it’s going well!

With 1.5km to go I’m just smiling. Onto the finish line, seeing the people that matter most to me there is overwhelming. I cross the line arms in the air, content, happy, exhausted.

Soon I’m being told by my family that I am 13th in the world. I just break down in tears. I came to Nice to be part of the race, to do my best and to be part of a world championship. To walk away fully content with my race, with a position I’m so proud of is one hell of a feeling.

For sure there are places I could have gone faster – deep down I wanted to run a lot faster – but that’s Ironman. You roll with the day, things happen, and you must overcome, adapt and keep pushing on.

Jen

I reach my rack and quietly thank my bike for helping me to make it through with no mechanical issues. Anyone watching must think I’m mad, but, for me, getting to this point is a huge accomplishment.

Usually, I feel comfortable with running as I’m more familiar with it having completed a couple of marathons prior to having my daughter. But having seen runners out on the bike course, I once again feel terrified – how am I going to complete 26.2 miles in this heat?

I try to push the negative thoughts out of my mind and focus on the amazing crowds. At mile 4, I’m relieved to see my husband who’s able to run alongside me for a short time, updating me on family messages and cheering me on.

This is the motivation I need, and I turn out of Pilani Drive back onto the scorching and monotonous Queen K road. I’m not the fastest but I’m relieved to see that I’m still surrounded by people and that I’m even able to overtake some.

I decide to run to each aid station then walk through them. Never in my life have I tipped so many ice cubes down my sports bra and shorts and poured so many cups of water over my head! Each station provides the reminder that another mile is down.

I turn the corner, heading down towards the infamous energy lab and am surrounded by the beautiful orange skies of sunset. The road appears to be leading me to the exact point that the sun is setting – I feel on top of the world.

But how quickly these feelings change as the sun disappears. I’m suddenly hit by stomach pains that will lead to multiple toilet stops during the rest of the race; my torch in my special needs bag that I’d tested so many times decides not to work; and I’m quickly surrounded by complete blackness, still with 10 miles to go.

I slow to a walk, suddenly feeling very alone and am sick on the side of the road. But weirdly I feel a lot better and look ahead. I can see the next aid station, I slowly begin to run and look up – the sight of the stars is incredible.

I take on a gel and keep going – I’d hit a low but nothing was going to stop me. The final five miles are less lonely, runners catch up with me and we run together sharing lights and talking about our experiences.

With two miles to go, I find some energy that I didn’t know I had left and sprint. I feel like I’m flying, and the atmosphere is unbelievable.

The light markers of the last 100m are in sight and the overwhelming emotion hits me. I can’t hold back the tears, thinking about all the training hours and the struggles of postnatal depression that I’ve overcome.

I cross the finish line and fall into my husband’s arms sobbing. I have achieved something that I never thought was possible.

This has been a huge reminder that no matter what struggles you’re going through in life, keep talking about it, support each other and try to get out for some exercise no matter how big or how small.

I went from huge anxiety even leaving the house, to walking my daughter in her buggy around the park, to completing the Ironman world championships in Kona – it just shows that anything is possible, and as they say in Hawaii, ‘Holomua’ – keep moving forward.

Top image credit: Getty Images