The 2024 Ironman 70.3 World Championships in New Zealand - Racing with the Best in the World, While Questioning My Own World
Circling the globe to race in New Zealand, turning off the auto-pilot, and finding balance and my true roots along the way
It has been a few months since my family returned from our monster trip around the world for the Ironman 70.3 Worlds in New Zealand last December, and quite honestly, I have needed that time to fully absorb it. Turns out, circling the globe for a race does more than test your endurance—it rearranges your soul, your time zones, and your tolerance for airplane food. Our planet is a vast and diverse tapestry of cultures and rituals, stillness and movement, explosive flavors, smiles and laughter, architectural marvels, weird animals, and more - all mysterious and new, yet at the same time, oddly familiar. Osmose it all on one trip, and you are forever changed.
And change was something I needed desperately.
The Trip - Around the World In 30 Days
It’s never a good sign when you arrive exhausted at the start of a race trip, but I had, once again, managed to do exactly this. The 70+ hour work weeks that derailed my race at the Warsaw Marathon, and turned Ironman Tangier 70.3 into a butt-clenching, flu-fighting shuffle, had only gotten more complicated. Two jobs in two different countries, a new boss, and more spinning plates than Cirque de Soleil performing in the Hall of Mirrors. Cortisol levels had been redlining for weeks now, which meant compounding poor sleep quality, and likely a sea floor of deeper psychological sinkholes. But, of course, there’s no time to process it all when you are actively in a tailspin, particularly when your long rides and runs are off the table. The airplane seat couldn’t possibly lean back far enough.
Luckily, Christi (my wife), and Quinn (our 13-year-old daughter), couldn’t be more excited to circle the globe. New cities, new snacks, polyethnic epicenters, and a slow roll of the time zones that make the whole trip a bit easier to absorb. Quinn had devised our itinerary even before I had earned my slot to Worlds, eager to visit the land of koalas and kiwis, and realizing we could hit all of the worlds biggest shopping malls along the way (remember, she is thirteen…this is a BIG DEAL). After getting my slot at Ironman Mallorca 70.3, she showed me her map - Vienna, Dubai, Singapore, Taupō (where the race was), Auckland, Honolulu, and back to our adopted hometown of Santa Barbara for Christmas and New Years, then return to Vienna. Thirty days, 40,000+ kilometers, five red eye flights, and packing every pair of underwear we own.
Dubai was lovely. It’s what happens when Las Vegas and a Bond villain’s lair have a love child, and then that child gets a blank check to build whatever it wants. Dubai is a city where the skyline looks like a 24x365 competition to see who can build the most absurdly tall and shiny building, where police drive Lamborghinis, and where you can ski indoors in the middle of a desert that regularly hits "surface of the sun" temperatures. Yet just 40 years ago, this was barely a camel watering hole.
Everything in Dubai feels like it was designed by someone who was asked, "How much luxury is too much?"—and then ignored the question entirely. Need a gold-dusted cappuccino? No problem. Want to stay in a hotel that looks like a giant sailboat? Done. Tallest building in the world? Absolutely yes, by a couple hundred meters. Thinking of skydiving over a man-made island shaped like a palm tree? Of course you are. And yet, despite its over-the-top extravagance, it somehow works, and does so with a modern efficiency and delight that has families from all over the world smiling ear-to-ear. We had plenty of adventures, from drinks at the top of the Burj Khalifa, to me jogging the largest water park in the world, Aquaventure, to hit every slide before our departing flight. But best of all, a lot of sleeping in, and leisurely floats in the salt-heavy Persian Gulf.
Singapore is what happens when a futuristic utopia is conjured from a food lover’s fever dream. It’s a city so clean that you’d feel guilty dropping a breadcrumb, yet so humid that you break a sweat just thinking about stepping outside. It’s where ancient temples and sci-fi skyscrapers coexist like a well-mannered arranged marriage, and where chewing gum is illegal, but chili crab is a national obsession. Air-conditioned shopping malls aren’t just retail spaces—they’re lifelines, seamlessly connected so you can move block after block without ever facing the relentless sun (a city of malls, much to Quinn’s delight). And while every street corner offers food that could outshine a Michelin-starred restaurant, don’t be fooled by the locals telling you a dish is "not that spicy"—because the only thing hotter than the weather is the sambal sauce, accurately measured on a numbness scale, that will make you question your life choices. We, of course, went for all of it - high tea and cookies, Singapore Slings at Raffles, a pug cafe, and enough hot pot that our sweat oozed with spices.
Arriving in Taupo for Ironman 70.3 Worlds
By the time we pulled into the quiet lake town of Taupō (pronounced “Toe-Paw”), I was definitely rested and a few kg’s heavier. This wasn’t the optimal “lean and hungry” state that one desires for race day, but this was far from a concern - clearly the break from work was the needed prescription. What was far more alarming was the disappearance of a tinitus-like ringing in my ears that I was not even aware had been present the previous weeks. My stress levels had finally subsided enough for my body to get off DefCon 2.
Race days came soon enough, with the women racing on Saturday, and the men racing Sunday. I do love this format - you can cheer like crazy, then race in a course packed lined with athletes doing the same. Saturday morning, I suited up for the swim with the Ironman XC crew, getting advice from the women about the swift currents on the last part of the swim, and the fast and bumpy bike ride that lay ahead. The clock ticked down until my wave was called, and life suddenly got narrowly focused, like only a race can deliver. So perfect!
This was my second Worlds, and I relished in the feeling of lining up with the fittest people on earth. It’s a bit like showing up to a jam session with The Rolling Stones, armed with a ukulele and a vague sense of rhythm. But I couldn’t shake the sheer awe of the moment - I was at the Ironman 70.3 World Championships in New Zealand! For at least 10 strokes, I’ll be in the mix for the win, and then two thousand people will fly by me before I reach the first buoy, and never look back. I couldn’t be happier.
The swim was fast! At 37 minutes, it was my fastest split ever for this distance by a handful of seconds, a small victory. Perhaps it was due to swimming with all these gifted athletes, or perhaps because the lake was so clear, you can sight off the underwater buoy lines. Either way, it was a lot of fun. As I swam, I thought about the myriad of open water swims I had just this year - the Gulf of Mexico (or is it Gulf of America now?), the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, the Mediterranean, the North Sea, the Persian Gulf, the Singapore Strait, the Strait of Gibraltar, the Danube River, and now Lake Taupō - although I am not fast in the water, triathlon has helped me get a deep appreciation for all the varied ways one can swim, which brings a whole new dimension to travel.
The bike began with a big climb out to the Waikato area, where we would do a hilly loop of 90km. As I settled into a rhythm, the hundreds of bikes ahead of me revealed how much of an impact there is when 5,500+ athletes descend on this little town. But Taupō has been a part of Ironman history for 45 years, being the second ever full Ironman after the original in Hawaii. New Zealanders host us with deep pride, and you can tell at every aid station full of smiling kids, parents, and grandparents helping any way they can, many of them wearing iconic Ironman sweatshirts from the 1990’s.
At 70km, I noticed my power meter was drifting down 30% less than usual. I was on top of everything - calories, electrolytes, water, sunscreen - and the bike was rolling well. Perhaps this was the undertraining finally taking its toll, so I sat up, saving my back and legs for the half marathon to come. I stayed in the moment, contemplating all the unique experiences we have had in New Zealand already - volcano vents, waterfalls, the kiwi sanctuary, a Māori haka, Taco Bell (yes, that was Quinn’s idea, and yes it is the same), an impromptu night of Thai karaoke put on by a bunch of grandmas, and the sweet smell of the grassy hills that explain every New Zealand wine I have ever tasted. This is such a amazing part of the world!
I was in a full Zen state by the time I reached transition, leisurely putting on my shoes and heading out on the three loop course. As the rhythm of my steps found harmony with others, I found deeper clarity and perspective.
Good news - I am on the other side of the world, on a beautiful summer day surrounding by wonderful people, fit enough in my 50’s to race, with friends and family that I love dearly, celebrating the good life with my tribe.
Bad news (or as we say in corporate speak, “opportunities for improvement”) - my life is seriously out of balance. And it needs to be fixed.
On each lap, the clear lake reflected back the reality of the last four months - the long hours at work, the constant travel, no time to process the emotional toll of layoffs and office shutdowns, the existential overhead of the ex pat experience, the nagging sense that I’m squeezing training into the cracks of my existence rather than making it a pillar of my life…I was on autopilot, heading into the fog, with the fuel light blinking red. Always pushing, always grinding, never stopping to breathe, never pausing to ask myself if I am drifting from the things that gives me energy and optimism.
It’s time to flip off the auto-pilot, and take the wheel. Done!
Once again, getting out of the trap was as simple as choosing to do something about it. I laughed out loud - somewhere between kilometer 12 and an existential crisis, I had course corrected on a macro level. It was a beautiful moment. Unfortunately, this race was quickly coming to an end, so the joy would be short lived. But I was excited knowing I had a few weeks to process this new headspace.
The finish line arrived (5:23), with smiles and hugs, and that comraderie that cannot be explained, only shared and celebrated. My life balance instantly tilted, pouring into my cup instead of spilling out. These finish lines, I tell ya…there’s no better healing in the world.
A few days in Auckland would follow, and some well-earned beach time in Hawaii and California. The flight from Auckland to Honolulu was legal time travel, departing at 7pm, and arriving at 7am that same day, a good reminder of the ridiculousness of our human rules, and that the world will spin regardless. My heart would soon lead me into long explorations and meditations of my West Coast American roots, in the forests and mountains, on the beaches and trails, and in long conversations with friends, family, and mentors. We’ve traveled around the world, we’ve lived in Europe for six years, but as Dorothy and Toto say, there’s no place like home. Even the AI-takeover-wild-west-Trump-era home is still pretty awesome, giving me energy unlike any place in the world. And we miss it.
Standing on a Santa Barbara beach, feet in the sand, I exhaled deeply and contently. Maybe it's time. Maybe home is calling. Let’s plot our way back, either this year or the next. ;-)
Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2025 is shining bright for you as well.
Scott
Great read Scott! It seems like forever ago when you shut down what was probably the most popular running blog. See you in Boston, I hope - but not at Taco Bell!
Beautiful write-up of dual struggles and the refuelable drives behind them. America will always be more than the person in the oval office and your parents will always applaud any move towards home.