Before 2021, I had spent approximately zero minutes contemplating the possibility of participating in the Ironman World Championships as a pro. Maybe some distant day I might aim for the age group World Championships, but in the pro field, that competition is exclusively available to the best of the best. In 2016, the qualifications for Championship status were based on points accumulation throughout the season, and while Daniela Ryf and Holly Lawrence had earned something like 50,000 points, I think I topped out at 136.

In recent years the system changed to one that rewards athletes for a single breakout performance (usually first or second place) at an Ironman 70.3. But with my skills consistently landing me at the finish line a good half hour behind the leader, neither format presented me with a viable path to qualification.

I laughed at first when I got the email in July, telling me that my podium finish at Ecuador had earned me a slot to the 2021 World Championships in St. George, Utah. Yeah, right! Compete against the best in the world?! Why would I do that?

Thankfully, Coach Tim had the better question, "Why not?"

Aching to race at least once more this year, and faced with a limited menu of races to choose from, I had no good answer to that question. I was also overwhelmed with curiosity ... what was it like to be at a pro championship? I realized this was probably my one opportunity to find out.





St. George is about a ten hour drive from Boulder, but we opted to split the drive into two days of five hours, stopping right at the border of Colorado and Utah to camp overnight. B and I stayed at a campground on federal recreation land in Mack, Colorado, which was quiet, spacious, and best of all, free! This was a good way to balance out the excessive cost of lodging in and around St. George for the three days of the event.

Most race participants had had months of advance notice to book their hotels and Airbnb's, but by mid-July, the options were pretty sparse, and I almost fell out of my chair when I saw the $324 rate for one night at the Super 8 Motel. Ironman further complicated the lodging situation by changing the date of the race with just four weeks notice. The women's race was originally scheduled for Friday, while the men's race was on Saturday. I was actually looking forward to high caliber competition on a course with only women, what a unique and exciting race experience! But, citing pandemic related reductions in participation, Ironman decided it was best to combine the women's race with the men's on Saturday. Of course, little changed for the men, but that last minute update inflicted an impact solely on the women, some of whom (like me) had booked travel with the intent to leave town on Friday after the race. Unable to extend our original reservation, we ended up having to patch together bookings in two different cities to cover the now lengthened trip.

I decided to check out the Ironman Welcome Banquet on Thursday night, despite some unease about crowding inside the Dixie Convention Center alongside approximately 3,000 other athletes and families at a time when Covid was making a third wave (or fourth wave? I've lost count...) comeback. I admit that I'm enticed by the word ‘banquet,' officially defined as: an elaborate and formal meal, but this was no such occasion. Many people were dolled up in their best ‘Finisher' T-shirts and some were even sporting full Lycra as if this was just a pit stop during their evening bike workout (it probably was). We shuffled through cafeteria style buffet lines, loading up our Styrofoam boxes with a lettuce on lettuce salad, baked beans, chicken breast and a bread roll. The presentation opened with performances, including a hula dancer, which didn't totally make sense given our landlocked location, but it did encourage me to daydream about how maybe one day I'll retire from triathlon and learn Polynesian dancing. The speakers list that followed was a stream of (mostly) older white men waxing poetic about how our courage and endurance as athletes mirrors the hardships overcome by the indigenous people who once populated the lands of Utah. We also cheered at the announcement that 35% percent of the race participants were women. I gather we were applauding ‘progress.'



A quick look at the competition (and I'm just referring to the field as a whole... I don't presume that word in any way characterizes my relationship to Lucy Charles-Barclay) indicated I would likely be The Caboose. My main two goals for the day were: at the very least, to finish (not as obvious as it sounds; I had been experiencing mysterious knee pain that I opted not to mention before the race, but it was weighing on me heavily in the final days leading up to Saturday) and at best, to post a faster half marathon split than eight other pro women (this sounded more reasonable when I thought there would be over 40 of us).

The weather in St. George was nearly 100 degrees when we arrived, and most people were prepared for -- and fully expecting -- a hot race, so race day surprised us when it arrived mild, overcast, and even a little rainy in the early hours of the morning. Even though locals assured me the roads would dry up as the sun came up, I opted to run lower pressure in my tires than usual, feeling especially nervous after watching several bike crashes on the slick roads at The Collins Cup last month...This was a decision I would be very grateful for later!

The race began at Sand Hollow State Park, and vehicles (even drop-offs) were forbidden, so on race morning we had to drive right past Sand Hollow and continue into downtown, where dozens of yellow school buses waited to shuttle us the half hour [back] out to the race start. I decided to take the Pro Shuttle, which offered a 5:45am departure, far earlier than I wanted leave, but I was curious, having never been on a ‘Pro Shuttle' before. I felt tingly excitement as I boarded the bus, not because I was nervous about the race, but because it was extremely likely that someone sitting among us was about to win $50,000 today, and that kind of blew my mind. The mood was somber, faces drawn and pensive. The entire ride was engulfed in a quiet darkness, except for the moment that I fumbled my phone and suddenly LMFAO's Party Rock pierced the silence. Whoopsie! Would you believe that's not even the first time that I've been ambushed by that song?

It was still damp and dark when we arrived at transition, with an hour until race start. This was more than enough time, since there wasn't much to set up, all our run gear having been already dropped off the day before at T2 downtown.

Pros were permitted a five minute swim warmup, which is better than nothing. No such luxury for the age group field. Though I had heard horror stories of St George's shockingly cold swim in May, in September the water was 78 degrees, verging on too warm.

After warmup, the ten top ranked women were announced by name and each got first dibs on starting lineup position on the beach. The rest of us filtered in behind. I strategically placed myself behind Jenny Fletcher, having just been acquainted with her swim leadership skills at Ecuador. I knew I wouldn't stay with her the whole time, but my goal was to hang on as long as possible, and leverage her speed to boost the beginning of my swim. Unfortunately, I was not alone in this objective, and when the cannon went off, I found myself tousling with Dani Lewis for a spot on Jenny's feet. Dani claimed the coveted position and her wide-swinging left arm prevented me and my wide-swinging right arm from getting within range of Jenny's slipstream. At just over 90 seconds into the race, Jenny's group was already pulling away, with Dani and I still locked in a dead heat, swimming furiously side by side while the final chase group of the women's field opened an impossible gap ahead of us. Once we were alone out there, Dani dropped behind me, and I swam really hard, challenging myself to still make it a good swim, even though I've been spoiled by rarely having to lead the front of a group (or duo) at most races. I would've been proud if I could've held that pace, but I started to fade after 500 yards, and Dani swam around me and took the lead for the remaining 1500. We came into T1 together, the last two bikes on the racks, but with her strength on the bike I knew she'd be long gone once we hit the bike course.

Out on the bike, and officially positioned as The Caboose, I got a rare treat; 56 miles of St George landscape all to myself! It was shaping up to be a beautiful morning, with the sun peeking through the clouds occasionally, and flat, smooth, empty roads spreading out before me. The age group men started 15 minutes after the pro women, which was enough of a buffer that only the very fastest ten or so caught up to me, before rapidly vanishing into the distance. I knew my bike split wasn't impressive by pro standards, but I felt good about the effort I was putting out, despite having no one to chase and so much scenery to look at.

As I began the climb up Snow Canyon, I felt like I had traveled to another world. It was quiet, peaceful, and breathtaking. The red canyon walls were vibrant and majestic against a dramatic backdrop of swirling grey clouds, it was hard to believe all this was real! I had heard about the famed ten mile descent on the way back into town, and I pushed the pedals as hard as I could, looking forward to that reward and the views on the other side of the mountain. The road gently snaked through the canyon as I went up, up, up the five mile ascent, with nothing but the low swishing sounds of my disk wheel, and the distant rumble of thunder.

Wait... thunder? No. No, no! I pedaled faster, harder, willing myself to beat this storm to the top of the mountain. The last thing I wanted was a rainy, wet descent! Maybe the top was just around the next corner, and then I would turn to head back down, speeding away, staying just ahead of the approaching storm...

And then I turned to look over my shoulder, just in time to see lightning rip across the thick dark sky that had snuck up behind me. This meant that somewhere during that 10 mile descent, I was going to confront this thing head on. That ‘somewhere' turned out to be the very, very beginning. Within about eight seconds of cresting the top of the climb, an icy blast of wind assaulted me, and with it, an aggressive, slanting downpour. Hail pelted my bare arms and face, and I arm wrestled with the crosswind to keep control of the bike. I could barely see the road ahead, but I was definitely going downhill at a faster-than-preferable speed. It's just 10 miles, I kept telling myself over and over, as my arms began to cramp from the death grip I was applying to the handlebars. I was relieved that no one else was on the road, since the wind was tossing me erratically, and I couldn't slow myself down, for fear of skidding out on the slippery pavement. But it was also terrifying to be out there alone, feeling like I was being swallowed alive by the squall. I finally rolled back into town and made the last turn into T2 so unsteady and wide-eyed, it must've looked like my first day riding a bike.



Although it began with three miles uphill, the run was a huge relief after that bike adventure, and I got back to the business of enjoying myself. And by enjoying myself, I mean; catching other runners. The storm tapered off, and though everyone and everything out there was a soaking, soggy mess, at least it wasn't blistering hot. I was especially grateful that my knee was giving me the green light, and within the first mile, I was confident I'd be crossing the finish line at some point. I did some hill training before this race, but the steep downhill at the end of each lap of the two loop course was more than I could comfortably handle. Still, I made one of my four passes awkwardly barreling down that hill, eventually moving myself up from 27th place to finish in 23rd, and ultimately posting a faster run split than exactly eight other women in the pro field. What more could I ask for?

This was my 99th triathlon finish, a solid race to close out the double digits.