Originally written in German. Translated to English by AI — please excuse any awkward phrasing.

Who would have thought that after this year’s Ironman Germany in Frankfurt there could be a step up in terms of conditions?!

I was prepared for a lot: rain, wind, and rough roads, waves in the swim and a rolling marathon… my expectations were exceeded by far, and not in a good way. Given everything, I can say (and so can many of my fellow competitors) that we finished and survived what is currently the toughest Ironman on the calendar. Every single person had to work extremely hard for their finisher shirt and should — no, must — wear it with pride!!!

Friday:

  • Drive from Reading to Tenby, the race venue.
  • Idyllically situated on the coast, a beautiful town with a historic old town and very narrow streets and lanes.
  • Not a flat meter in the whole place — everything goes up or down.
  • Transition zone is at the highest point of town, right on a cliff face and therefore fully exposed to wind and weather.
  • Very small expo with an estimated 7 vendors.
  • The culinary options consisted of burgers and a small tasting stand with regional specialties.
  • Registration was quick and easy, barely any wait time.
  • Then off to the race briefing, in a large tent on a field in wet and cold conditions.
  • Skipped the pasta party — conditions were too bad.
  • Drive to our accommodation near Tenby.
  • Assembled the bike.

Saturday:

  • Last training session on the bike and on foot — legs felt pretty good.
  • Then cleaning up — the weather conditions were spectacularly bad.
  • Checked gear into transition; the bikes could barely stay upright on their stands, that’s how fierce the wind was.
  • The swim course was relocated to a different beach due to the conditions.

Sunday:

Just before 4am the alarm went off. After the usual breakfast we headed toward Tenby around 4:45. We arrived around 5:15 and I was in transition shortly after. I had plenty of time to finish my final prep in a calm and relaxed way. Then it was into the change tent to put on my wetsuit, and around 6:15 we set off on the long walk to the beach. We had to walk all the way through town because the swim was moved to North Beach. The waves and current at South Beach were too strong — waves of roughly 2–3 meters. Perfect for surfers, not for swimmers.

At the start we had to place a second pair of running shoes, to then make the same walk back to transition after the swim. The route was about 1.5km long — a pretty long transition was ahead of us.

I spent the time before the start doing some warm-up exercises — I politely declined to do a warm-up swim in 14°C water. The swim course was a triangle: from the start you went diagonally left, then parallel to shore, and finally back across to the beach. All of that twice. For next year the organizers should rethink the swim start — otherwise hundreds of athletes will again run down the beach first and only jump into the water at the very last second, effectively cutting the course… I was one of them, which is partly why my first lap was 5 minutes faster than my second. Running is after all significantly faster than swimming :)

The swim itself was much better than I’d feared. I handled the conditions quite well. The waves were about 1 meter high and it got very rough around the first turn buoy, but I didn’t get sick or seasick — which I’d honestly expected. Navigation was very difficult due to the waves, often impossible — the buoys usually took several attempts to spot. The waves also meant you occasionally pulled your arm completely through thin air. It happened more than once that you suddenly dropped a full level — one moment there was water, the next there wasn’t, and you just fell down. The salt water was a bit unusual, especially the taste in your mouth. Luckily I didn’t swallow too much of it, though it took a very long time for that taste to go away. I completed the first swim lap in 25 minutes, the second in 30, for a total swim time of 55:17.

After climbing out of the washing machine, I ran across the beach to the serpentine paths that led us up the hill. In the serpentines was a makeshift “Transition 0,” where most people took off their wetsuit and put on their running shoes for the walk to the real transition. Wetsuit in hand, I set off on the long route — a total of 7:59 minutes for the transition. In the change tent I grabbed my bag, put on socks, arm warmers, a cycling jersey, and a windbreaker, plus my helmet. I stuffed the wetsuit and remaining swim gear into the transition bag and handed it to a volunteer. Then through transition to my bike, out the exit — and into what was the hardest bike leg of my life.

In the days before I’d already gotten a sense of the course: very rough asphalt, lots of loose gravel, potholes, speed bumps, dirty and narrow, loads of turns and corners, almost no flat sections, and basically always going either up or down — all of this topped off with wind speeds of 40–60km/h, coming from the front in 90% of cases.

Race day was no different, though thankfully it at least didn’t rain on top of everything. I ended up on a bike leg that took 6:10h — which I never would have predicted. Part of that was the 2,500m of climbing on the course, a full 600m more than the organizers had advertised. The course is very, very slow — even the fastest bike split of the day was 5:10h. In a normal Ironman someone usually goes under 4:30h… The descents are all narrow and winding, so you can barely build any speed.

The first lap headed further west first, straight into a headwind and constantly going up and down.

At the coast, the route went north for a stretch directly along the shore on very narrow, sandy roads through dunes. The worst section of the course — I could barely keep the bike upright, the wind was that fierce. Clicking out one foot for balance, gripping the handlebar in a death grip, helmet tilted sideways, tears in my eyes going down the descent — one moment far left on the road, the next moment two meters to the right. It was completely unpredictable and genuinely dangerous out there — I’d never experienced bike conditions like that before. Right after the descent there was yet another 15% climb, then more rolling terrain to the first turnaround. The first aid station came after well over 35km, right in the middle of a descent through a town… that seemed to be a pattern — every single aid station was either on a descent or in a turn, alternating between the left and right side of the road. Why make life unnecessarily hard for the athletes?

Shortly after the aid station the real fun began: my very first flat tire in a race. No surprise given the road conditions — a small stone had torn a hole in the side of my front tire. I managed to seal it with a CO2 cartridge and got going again with roughly 2 minutes lost. Another 20km, several climbs, and many gusts later: flat number two, front wheel again, right on a descent. I somehow made it down safely, but riding through corners with a flat — even on tubular tires — isn’t fun. I tried to seal it with the second CO2 cartridge, with a helpful spectator holding my bike. He first wanted to know where I was from and why my English wasn’t so great, given how brief my answers were. I explained that I was in the middle of a race and somewhat agitated — hence the short replies. He understood and let me get on with it. Nice encounter, sorry again for my verbosity.

With slightly more air than before I got going again, but not far. The tire went flat again and at that moment I knew the qualification goal was definitively gone. Thoughts of dropping out crossed my mind, but I at least wanted to finish the bike leg somehow. I needed to get to transition somehow — there was no broom wagon (and no course marshals either, for that matter — I didn’t see a single one the entire day).

Calmly, I changed the front tire completely and pumped it up with my last CO2 cartridge. That cost me about 9 minutes — total time lost due to flats was roughly 15 minutes.

Without much motivation I continued toward the finish, still constantly going up and down, rarely in aero position, mostly riding on the tops. I passed some people on the bike course 4 times — they probably had thoughts about that.

Just before the end of the second lap came the crowning glory: two climbs at 16% gradient, totaling almost 1.5km. I rarely go under 10km/h on a climb, but there I was doing 6km/h and weaving back and forth. And then it all came around again on the second lap — about 4km before transition. Congratulations to the course designer — in the second lap I’d already considered just pushing the bike up. It would barely have been slower. A 25- or even 27-tooth cog would have been nice; instead I struggled up on my 23. The descents were again so tight, into the wind, and on such bad roads that even going down was barely any faster. Did I mention I lost three water bottles? All three flew out of their cages in potholes.

At some point I finally made it to transition, with back pain and cramps in my neck and hands from gripping the handlebars and constantly shifting. At least the bike was done. The gap between my stopped time and the official time is almost exactly 15 minutes. Add another 10 minutes I lost from lack of motivation. With 25 minutes less on the clock I would have had a realistic shot at a Hawaii slot. As it was, the marathon was purely a bonus.

In decent spirits I set off on the run — but was quickly brought back down to earth. The marathon is no easier than the bike course and fits the race perfectly. 600 meters of climbing, not a single flat stretch, and the cherry on top of this event. Through rolling Tenby, then down into a valley and about 2.5km uphill with gradients of up to 10%. Then back the same way, this time downhill and into the wind. The course was about 1 meter wide in each direction — from lap 3 onward, passing was a real problem. Through Tenby itself it was rolling around every corner the town had to offer. I’ve rarely run so many 90° and 180° turns in such a short stretch. Near the end there was a narrow coastal path, followed by a roughly 30-meter, 25% ramp — running that makes no sense; almost everyone walked, including me, and I’d consider myself a decent runner. Then straight through the town wall, steps down and back up again to end the lap. All of that four times.

I ran the first lap fully: 47:18 minutes. Through the second I was still running hard until km 7, when I found out my placing. 24th place — and the definitive confirmation that the goal was out of reach. I took a 4-minute break with my support crew Jan and Frank, told them about my day, and discussed whether dropping out was the better option. Ultimately we decided to keep going — in hindsight, the right call. I adjusted my goal accordingly. From then on the priority was eating and drinking as much as possible to at least get some value from the expensive entry fee ;)

That worked fine for exactly one lap, then my stomach started cramping and nothing more went in. Accordingly slow was my pace — laps two and three were about 52 minutes each. In the final lap the competitive spirit got me again and I ran it in 50 minutes. Oh, and we also got wet that day — in lap three a pretty heavy shower drenched us and I was shivering badly for quite a while.

The official results show a marathon time of 3:23:58h — not bad in the end, especially when you factor in the 4-minute break and the two slow laps.

After a total of 10 hours, 40 minutes, and 32 seconds I crossed the finish line. It was definitively the hardest race of my career — “epic” is probably the right word. I’ll remember every single meter of this one for the next 50 years.

So you finally cross the finish line, you’re completely wrecked despite everything, and you’re looking forward to some food, drink, and a warm shower — and you get badly disappointed. No showers at all; drinks were water and a watery sports drink (great idea…); food was Powerbar gels (of which I’d already eaten 23 during the race), Mars bars, Twix, Snickers, potato chips, and fish & chips. Fantastic selection — I have no words. Or am I already too spoiled by other races?

Summary:

The hardest and longest race of my career so far — it will stay with me forever. Unfortunately, the bad luck on the bike left me no chance of reaching my goal. I’m going into a well-deserved off-season with mixed feelings.