IM Les Sables
A challenging build, a humbling course, and a breakthrough result — here’s the story behind my Ironman Les Sables d’Olonne.
Tick-tock, tick-tock! Big smiles at the iconic Clock Tower post-race at Les Sables d’ Olonne after a great day of swim-bike-run.
It’s been over three weeks since I raced Ironman Les Sables d’Olonne. We’ve just returned from a holiday break in the Mediterranean and are easing back into our routines. Despite the delay, I wanted to get this report down before the memories fade… so here it goes.
The build to the race
I shared some pre-race thoughts in my last post, but not much about the actual build — partly because I was making a conscious effort not to overthink it. The truth is, it wasn’t ideal.
Over winter, we focused on addressing the weaknesses that held me back last season — most notably a shin stress response that derailed my build to IM Austria. Based on physio advice and best practices, we reduced run volume and increased targeted strength and conditioning. I committed to just two runs per week for several months so I could prioritise strength sessions and recovery.
I cannot tell you what discipline this took from me. I find strength work boring and would always rather go for a run. But I kept telling myself: if I want a better outcome, I have to change the approach. I couldn’t just pretend last season didn’t happen.
Come February I struggled to get up to three runs a week which was totally unexpected. Niggles kept cropping up. Meanwhile, bike training was going brilliantly — with an all-time high FTP and a clear progression thanks to over a year of consistent work with Libs. That is to say that the bike training load became greater purely because of the fitness gained.
At some point in April and as were starting the race-specific build for the race (any niggles were overcome at that point and I was running well) I started a run and felt the same, unmistakable ‘pull’ between my calf and my shin that only pointed to what I knew too well from last year… I pulled back immediately this time and, in disbelief, got in touch with my physio and had an MRI which confirmed a mild version of the same injury. The sports doctor didn’t even want to call it a ‘stress response’, but the protocol didn’t change: two weeks off running, followed by a gradual return. In short: my peak run training weeks were gone.
I kept the cool and dealt with it but I was deeply disappointed. These challenging builds are what I seek when I sign up for races. They are the real challenge, not necessarily the race itself which is ‘only’ one day. And while I can persevere, I wasn’t looking for another breakthrough-through-setback moment. I’d had enough of those.
The issue I had this time around was that I could also feel the calf ever so slightly on the bike as well so it’s not like I could focus too much on that in a compensating way (as I did last year) so the overall training took a hit.
I couldn’t help comparing everything to last year. Back then, the injury happened late in the build. This time, I had a winter of low run volume and had only built up to 90 minutes. How could I be ready for an Ironman in just a few weeks? Suddenly all my hopes and aspirations to have better performance were gone.
My coach reminded me: training doesn’t always work in straight lines. Another year of endurance work was in the bank. We hadn’t progressed the running, but we hadn’t gone backwards either. I decided to have my own back this time — not to bet against myself. As a wise friend once told me: disappointment hurts whether you believed or not, so you might as well believe. That stayed with me.
The return to running was more straightforward this time. We took a conservative approach: two weeks of walk-runs, no intensity above LT1 (basically race pace) with the exception of some strides to keep the legs turning over, and long runs increasing by 15 minutes per week, capped at two hours the week before the race. It felt like so little, but I was content with the minimum. I knew the emotional rollercoaster of overreaching wasn’t worth it. This, finally, was me being kind to myself. And I reminded myself: I’d raced well off minimal running before so I could do it again.
During this comeback, I shut out the noise. I made my Strava private — not because I cared what others thought (or so I told myself) but to free my mind of even that thought. I also stopped looking at my once-beautiful TrainingPeaks graphs. Why add mental load when navigating difficulty? Going under the radar proved to be a good call.
I had really looked forward to that final two-hour long run. My 90-minute run had gone brilliantly. But the long one didn’t — I felt fatigued after 1:40 and had to slow just to finish. The heat and trails didn’t help, but it gave my mind one more reason to question my readiness. Again, I chose to ignore it.
Days leading in
The final days were smooth and calmer than previous races. Experience helps here. I knew how to shift focus, stay relaxed, and let the taper do its thing. It’s always a good time to start a new book.
Although I shared my thoughts and practices I continue to refine, in reality each time is different and we can’t be sure how it will pan out, not just on race day but in the days leading to it. The main difference I felt this time was the confidence I had that I would sort out all that needed sorting before the race and so I was able to relax in-between bouts of getting things done. There is literally so much that we have to deal with, especially if chasing improvements or simply have to fix issues from one race to the next, them being mechanicals, how the nutrition is loaded on the bike, you name it.
But the main theme of the week was the heatwave that had unexpectedly hit the area so some final sessions got replaced by sitting in the sauna! Panic-heat adaptation!
We flew to Naples on the Thursday and only had some delays getting our rental car so we arrived at Les Sables around 3pm having driven the last 30km of the course. It included some tricky turns but looked exciting to ride otherwise. The heat was real and our accommodation, apart from being on the 4th floor without elevator (something to check from now on!), did not have air conditioning. The kitchen and living area had a full glass wall that turned them to a glasshouse but luckily the bedrooms were cooler.
The area of Vendée looked lush - clearly a rainy place normally. Les Sables d’ Olonne is a bright seaside town, reminiscent of UK coastal towns. Beautiful beach, big tides, but with too many decaying modern buildings and only traces of older charm.
That evening, I built my bike and headed for a run on the run course which felt good despite the heat. I was surprised with some minor hills along the promenade but I thought they were actually a good thing to break the monotony on race day.
On the Friday I headed out for a bike course recce covering the first 65km. Unlike the run, it felt awful, literally 20W down from normal which was definitely the heat ‘talking’. I knew that if I felt the same on race day I would have to make adaptations accordingly but I tried not to overthink it. The prediction was showing a small dip in temperature for Sunday along with some cloud so I hoped for the best.
We registered and I prepared my bike and bags for check-in the next day.
On Saturday we headed down for the race briefing and a little swim. The sea was very choppy which reminded me of the last two races in Greece. Although I knew I could deal with it, both times my stomach got so messed up that I was not able to absorb nutrition early on the bike leading to bad experiences both times. So I was preparing myself mentally for that, not that I had a solution for it!
At that point I just wanted to get on with ‘whatever the day brings’! Nothing really makes a difference anymore, I just wanted the anticipation to end…
The race
I barely slept the night before — despite feeling calm. There is something about a race like this that just puts the body into such agitation I couldn’t really control.
For once, race morning was gorgeous. No wind, no storms. We walked to transition and then to the swim start.
I paid attention to my feelings — observing them like I had the past few days. It is very interesting how a full distance Ironman feels so different to a half. On a half, you’re preparing for intensity and pain but you are able to get your head around its duration. Each individual segment is easy to perceive. The length of an Ironman is a whole different story. So many things can happen through the course of a whole day. Cycling 180km and then running a marathon will never be ‘safe’, in your mind and body’s terms. So I think it is ‘normal’ to feel some apprehension. Purely due to the uncertainty that the whole thing entails, by definition. I really don’t think I can feel ‘excited’ about it. The feeling of humbleness overrides any excitement. Yes, I was excited and proud to have made it to the start line, and thinking about that made me smile and feel grateful. I know too well that that’s the hardest part and is not a given at all. But at the same time I did get a sense of feeling sorry for myself for what I was about to go through. It’s quite funny but it was out of my control. The main thing is that I was able to distance myself from anything that I was feeling, acknowledge it and then return to the moment. I knew all these moments were precious and wanted to savour every single one of them.
I noticed we had an opportunity to warm-up in the water so I forced myself to go for a quick dip. This helps reduce the ‘shock’ of hitting the water when the race starts with all the adrenaline hitting at the same time. The water was nice and cool and instantly gave me an exhilaration sensation so I came out with a lot of the nerves shaken off and a big smile. I was, finally, ready to go!
I lined up and after a while the gun went, starting one of the coolest swim starts I’ve ever experienced. At low tide, we had some distance to run into the sea, all lined up with spectators cheering us, amongst which I heard Ale and gave him a wave.
The swim was basically split in two parts: first half in the open sea and the second half in a wide canal leading all the way to the Vendée Globe marina for the exit.
Despite not being very obvious from outside, the sea felt quite choppy to the point that it was hard to sight the buoys in the segment heading out and towards the canal. It didn’t help that the course was quite curved.
I felt good and I remember thinking ‘Where is all this energy coming from?’ as I was pushing hard but was not feeling gassed at all. That made me quite happy as there was no moment that I dreaded it, including when I spotted a jellyfish right under me at the beginning! This was very refreshing; I have dreaded every single swim I’ve raced n the past, always overcome with a strong desire to just have it end. So it was a good start!
I must have placed myself quite well in the departing wave so I swam with people of similar ability that really helped. At the same time, I had at least 2-3 ladies from my age group nearby the whole time. It gave me the impression that I was in for a competitive one. I am typically at the top of the swim but they seemed to be stronger… In the end I was happy with the second fastest swim time of my age group.
After a long run on the pontoon, I headed onto the bike. For once, I didn’t spend the first half an hour thinking I was glad the swim was over!
The initial part on the promenade was quite congested so I took the opportunity to get into my legs and start taking in some nutrition while in upright position to ensure it goes down properly… nothing aggressive, just enjoying the moment and giving the body a chance to get into it.
We then got to the section I had ridden before and I started breaking it up. The route was very convoluted with so many turns I had decided to have the map on my bike computer along with instant power and speed. Around 40 minutes into it, I was feeling what should be my race effort so I took the first glance down to check what the power reading actually was - everyone knows that this is a defining moment in any race so I chose mine carefully. It was good news, I was where I needed to be (unlike on the Friday, phew!). This gave me some relief.
I don’t even know how the kilometers went by. I just kept ticking along, having fun with the course which changed direction basically every 3 kilometers. I got busy taking in nutrition, hydration while enjoying the countryside views, the speed and soon enough got into cooling myself in every aid station. The plan was to do that strategically before I actually felt hot. The first half of the bike was quite overcast so it felt pleasant, but I knew that the temperature was already in the high twenties. I also ended up taking an extra bottle of electrolytes which was a good thing given the conditions - if you asked me before the race I would have thought this amount of fluid would be impossible to take down. And yet it was much needed!
At times it got congested with other riders. I decided to pull back and not risk penalties by trying to overtake them, only to get overtaken again. So long as my average speed was where I wanted it to be, I figured that in such a long race with a marathon to follow, a little pull back to take nutrition, adjust my position and give my legs a breather was a good thing.
The rendez-vous with Ale was at about 100km in. That’s when I got the news that I was in third position in my age group which sounded good. A podium finish was motivating enough but I knew we still had a long way to go…
Soon enough I encountered my competitor in second place as she was also struggling to get rid of male riders and stay riding clean. It’s incredible that we ended up taking turns at the front of a group full of blokes her and I… these guys were not strong enough to get rid of us and let us be but at the same time would still overtake and basically block us. It got increasingly frustrating so once again I decided to let them all go. I was really enjoying the course and my legs being so willing to work that I just wanted to be alone, keep my head down and push my way through!
All was incredibly good until about 155km in, when my right glute felt a bit niggly. Nothing much but with the run ahead it was a signal to pull back slightly and take no risks. I was still on my target optimistic speed so I just focused on being more aero while pushing less, to compensate. I was very happy with my new position after this winter’s bike fit. It was certainly faster and super comfortable.
After another 10km the sensation in my glute went away and with all the momentum of being close to the end of the ride, along with some straight, fast stretches, I had the most fun of finishing the bike strong and mostly by myself. It had been tone of the best rides of my life!
Everyone knows that the dismount is the moment of truth, when you first feel your running legs. It wasn’t bad at all with hips feeling nice and lose which was exciting. This time I didn’t look back at my bike with dread!
I took my time to visit the toilet (no such ‘hero’ moment on the bike this time around), put on sunscreen, shoes and the rest and off I went…
I always race by feel and only check pace each time a kilometer gets clocked on my watch. After the first two I told myself that I really needed to slow down a little. I knew the pace was risky in such heat, even if I ran well until the end. I didn’t want to blow.
A 300m section in the sand ensured we all slowed down to a slog. We were racing at Les Sables after all (meaning ‘The Sands’ in French)… Luckily this was before we entered the looped part of the course so we only had to do it once. And behold… we had four laps to do, just short of 10km each. Ouch!
Entering the first loop was the first real mental hurdle. It felt long and simply too much to do four times. On the way out, the wind was behind our back which felt very hot. I told myself I need to make some progress and then it will feel more manageable. ‘So let’s get to the half marathon’, I thought.
After the turning point, the hot air was against us. It was strong enough to require more power to run at the same pace. At the same time if felt kind of cooling, compared to the other direction. I couldn’t tell which one was worse - it was all hard!
I tried to focus on each kilometre and making sure I take all the nutrition in as per plan. It was a lot, and soon enough I started walking more and more of the aid stations to ensure I got a shower at the start of them, an electrolyte drink, some water, then another shower. I was desperate to drink water and poor it over me. That kept me going from one to the next. Funny enough, before the race I thought there were too many aid stations on the run. And soon enough I was stopping at every single one…
My legs kept feeling heavier and heavier but what felt like a healthy amount of fatigue for what I was doing, mainly my quads. I had no complaints - no niggles or nasty surprises and that filled me with gratitude. I remember actually being in awe of my body, how was it doing this insane thing?! But this only meant one thing: no excuses. This battle would be fought in the mind!
Soon enough I was over half way and now able to start counting backwards. The last time I saw Ale I was still in third position which again motivated me to keep going to hold that place on the podium. I didn’t see him again after the second lap as I he had to move and get to the finish line in time.
I shouldn’t fail to mention that the French crowds were absolutely incredible! I had never experienced such passion from spectators before. The were absolutely insane in the best possible way, transferring all the much needed energy. I thanked, I laughed, I had all the fun that could distract me from the pain I was feeling. From the thoughts that ‘I’m never doing this again, it makes no sense at all’. At the same time, detaching myself from these thoughts, bringing the awareness back to the moment, to each step. ‘Just change something’ I would think - change the cadence, change the stride length. But DO NOT.SLOW.DOWN.
I felt very determined. For all my family and friends tracking me. For the story to tell afterwards. For what my body was gifting me in that moment! For all the training and perseverance to get to this point. For this opportunity to make a choice: to mentally dig. To beat the Ironman and not let it beat me. To not fade. I kept thinking that fading won’t feel any less painful - if anything, the whole thing would last longer!
With 10km to go I even got ‘tempted’ to ‘go faster’ just to finish earlier - probably hallucinating! I tried it pick it up on a light downhill entering the last loop. ‘What if I don’t walk the entire aid station? Drop water over me only once?’ But the thirst was so intense, the heat was always there, I simply had to allow this for myself. It really didn’t matter. I did run slightly faster in-between the stops which were getting longer and longer, to compensate.
And it worked. 2 kilometers to go… 10 minutes of my life… then 5. Then the finish line noise… the red carpet… hearing my name… until I was DONE! I had done it! What an emotional flood that was.
I didn’t see my time on the screen while passing through the chute. But I honestly was overwhelmed by the emotion. I cried, hard. Nothing compares to this feeling and it will always be worth it.
It took a few minutes before I reunited with Ale. A sweaty hug and big smiles. My heart was full.
‘You came second!’
I’m like, ‘Whaaaat?!’
‘Yes! And your time is 10:08'! You smashed it!’
‘Oh my God!!!’
It was the best present ever. Up to that point I didn’t even know, I didn’t care, I didn’t even wonder. I was happy with how I had performed - numbers aside, inside me, finishing strong. To have a result like this was such a gift. A real bonus!
Now the ego was satisfied too, basically! Well it can have something, it behaved so well, it didn’t take over…
I was over the moon. With sore legs, we headed to the athlete village for a drink and something to eat. I knew that appetite would not be expected any time soon but managed to force down a cheesy galette and a protein drink.
After spending some time on the promenade savouring the success and talking through the details, we went onto the usual, ‘glamorous’ activities of retrieving the bike and getting home, only to climb four flights of stairs to take a shower.
All the while I couldn’t stop smiling. That triathlon life!
Decisions, decisions!
I caught up with all the messages from friends and the inevitable questions. Would I go to Kona? With 35 slots I knew one would be mine no matter what. Thankfully a bit more time to decide until the next morning. It honesty was not a given for me and I went to bed literally not knowing what I would do.
It’s not an easy decision to do this again so soon. As sweet as it felt in that moment, I still knew what it had taken to get there. Physically, emotionally, financially…
The race fees for World Championships are extortionate and racing at the other side of the globe is not an easy feat for any household to undertake and support.
It was the tentative plan for the season, yes. This was the year we would go all in, yes. But I did need a moment of honesty with myself to take a pause and decide if this is what I really want. It all came together over the breakfast conversation the next morning…
With no concerning niggles from the race (at least nothing obvious at that point), I was as healthy as I could be. I never take this for granted.
I knew I wanted to do this one day. The 70.3 World Championship experience in St. George in 2022 had given me a flavour of what it means to do such a race and I knew I wanted to do that in my favourite distance, ‘one day’.
Could it wait until next year? Especially with men and women in one day? Maybe… but that would mean delivering another full distance race and qualifying… you never know if you can pull this off in time and I personally do not want to enter any race with such pressure. I don’t even know if I’d be willing to keep training with so much dedication for so long. It really isn’t easy and require so much sacrifice, not just from me but the people I love.
So it came down to having a great opportunity in my hands which only made sense to take now. I had come full circle and decided to go for it!
I had the best time at the awards ceremony, waiting to hear my name and jump on the stage. And yes, somehow I could jump!
What a day, what a result, what a privilege to be able to experience this.
With all I’ve been through, the universe decided I would have a good day. I am immensely grateful to all those who supported me and gave me the best chances to have such a great experience I will hold for life.
Now, onto the next challenge of getting ready for the World Championship!
Credits to all professional photos from the event go to Ironman France, offered generously through their Facebook page.