I Didn't Have the Race I Wanted. I Had a Fucking Good Race Anyway.
I raced in the USA Triathlon Nationals, not really knowing what I was looking for.
I just knew I wanted to try a new race start, as this year has been a bit different for me.
For the first time in 11 years, I am not training for a long-course race. I intentionally stepped away from IRONMAN racing this year to give my nervous system a major break after being diagnosed with Vestibular Migraine.
I wanted this year to be about discovering new races. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to see what it felt like to race hard without having to think about what was coming 10 or 12 hours later.
There was also something else underneath all of that that I probably didn't fully realize until I got to Milwaukee. I was trying to figure out who I am as an athlete when IRONMAN isn't sitting at the center of my life.
For 11 years, long-course racing has been such a big part of my identity. The training, the anticipation, the race-day nerves, the hours and hours of preparation, the finish line. It has all been my normal.
So maybe Nationals wasn't just about trying a new race. Maybe I was also trying to see if I could find that same feeling somewhere else.
And then came Nationals, Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
I wasn't sure what to expect.
But what I found was a race that I absolutely loved.
NATIONALS FELT DIFFERENT
The first thing that struck me was how incredibly well run the event was. The logistics were as good as an IRONMAN event. Everything felt like a well-oiled machine. Transition was organized, the race village was organized, the course was organized, and yet the emotional atmosphere was completely different.
There weren't the same crazy goggle eyes and nerves you see at an IRONMAN.
It was more relaxed. Chilled, almost.
But don't confuse relaxed with easy.
Everyone standing on that dock on race morning had earned their way there through qualification races across the country. These were some of the fastest short-course athletes in the country, and they were there to fucking race HARD!
There was a quiet intensity to it, which I fucking loved.
Standing there on that dock, looking around at the women in my wave, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. I wasn't intimidated. I was excited to be among them.
These women had earned their way there just like I had. We belonged on that dock. We weren't here because we happened to sign up for the same race. We had qualified. And for the first time in a while, I wasn't thinking about how long the day was going to be. I was thinking about how fast I could race against them.
I also got to experience my first Nationals alongside one of my athletes, Danielle. She raced in the 40–44 age group and started in Wave 17 at 8:15 a.m. I raced in the 50–54 age group and started in Wave 22 at 8:45 a.m.
That meant we both had a long morning waiting around after transition closed at 6:20 a.m. We kept each other company, chatting, stretching, hydrating, fueling, watching earlier age groups start, and soaking everything in before our start times.
I loved being there as both an athlete and a coach.
And by the end of the weekend, we would both qualify for the 2027 World Championships in Germany. Pretty fucking special, I say!
EXPECTATIONS VS. REALITY
My goal coming into this race was Top 10.
I knew it was ambitious because I didn't have the run build I wanted going into Nationals.
I was dealing with a heel injury that had limited my running for months. My longest run going into Nationals was only seven miles, and I had only been able to complete two speed sessions, both two weeks before race day.
Wanting Top 10 and expecting Top 10 are two different things.
I knew where I stood with my fitness going into a National Championship race against a very competitive field and some of the best women in my age group.
And I was okay with that.
Instead of going into the race with expectations that weren't grounded in reality, I went in knowing exactly what I had.
I could swim. I could bike. I could race. And I could run the best run my foot would allow me to run. That was it. No excuses. No fantasy. No fucking drama.
Just reality.
SWIM - 1 MILE (Time: 26:09)
Water temperature on race morning in Lake Michigan was 74°F, making it a wetsuit-legal race. I used my sleeveless wetsuit and felt very comfortable with it.
The swim start was an in-water mass start by age group. My age group was the last wave to start, Wave 22 at 8:45 a.m.
The only positive about being in the rear of the race is that nobody will swim over you, but you will be swimming over slower athletes from earlier age groups.
The swim felt good. Actually, too good and comfortable. For some reason, I kept settling into my long-course swim pace instead of swimming at Olympic threshold pace.
There were a lot of turns and semi-turns on this swim course since the entire one-mile swim was inside the harbor. Sighting, as usual, was key to staying on track and following all the turns. I was grateful I had done the practice swim the day prior to get a feel for the landmarks.
In all honesty, I wasn't trying to win the swim, but my goal was definitely Top 10 in my age group. I came out of the water 13th out of 73, wanting for more.
T1 - SWIM TO BIKE (Time: 2:38)
I was actually really proud of my transition, especially since I was nervous about running the 0.20 miles into transition on bare feet because of my heel injury.
But that morning, I felt efficient running into transition. I even got to see Jimmie, as he was right at the entrance to transition, and seeing him always brings me joy!
I got to my bike, removed my wetsuit, clipped my helmet, put my cycling shoes on, grabbed my bike, and ran toward the bike mounting line. No drama. No fumbling. Just execute and go.
Short-course racing doesn't give you much room for drama. Every second counts.
BIKE - 25 MILES (Time: 1:16:50)
The bike was 40K with 1,100 feet of elevation. We rode over the Daniel W. Hoan Memorial Bridge and had a tailwind going out and a headwind coming back.
I raced my Pinarello tri bike with my disc wheel. Yes, the big guns came out for Nationals.
I rode 1:16:50 at 19.48 mph with an average heart rate of 139. But the numbers aren't actually the most interesting part of the bike. What I noticed was how easy it was for me to fall back into my long-course habits on the bike as well.
A few times I caught myself settling into my IRONMAN and Half IRONMAN pace instead of committing to Olympic-distance racing. And that reminded me just how different short course is from long course.
In long course, you have time to settle. You can spend the first 20 minutes finding your rhythm. In an Olympic race, 20 minutes is a huge percentage of your race. Every second matters. Every time you back off because something feels a little uncomfortable, you're giving away time.
I find short-course racing so much harder to execute just right.
Long course rewards patience. Short course demands commitment, especially in the Olympic distance.
And it showed. I was 22nd in my age group off the bike.
T2 — BIKE TO RUN (Time: 2:48)
Coming off my bike at the dismount line, I got to see Jimmie again. Seeing him gave me all the energy to pick up my pace into T2.
I got to my bike rack spot. Smoothly racked my bike, removed my helmet, and sat down to pee while removing my cycling shoes.
Peeing took a few extra seconds than anticipated as I didn’t really have to go but I am so wired from long course that you always pee in T2. For short course, there is truly no need to empty your bladder in T2. If you plan your peeing just right, you can go the entire duration of the race without peeing.
RUN — 6.20 MILES (Time: 50:33)
The run was the piece I knew I had to manage.
I wanted to race it. But I also had a foot that had not given me the training I needed to race it the way I wanted. So I simply ran, and I protected it.
My run was 50:33, an 8:09/mile pace with an average heart rate of 157.
Was that the run I wanted? Fuck no.
But it was the run I had. And that distinction matters.
I could have gone into Nationals frustrated that I wasn't able to build the run I wanted. I could have spent the entire race thinking about what my run should have been.
Instead, I had already made peace with that before the starting gun. I knew. And because I knew, I could simply race the athlete I was that day.
I finished 13th in my age group in the run, and for that I am super fucking proud.
Looking back, I was probably protecting that heel all day, subconsciously holding myself back. And honestly? I'm okay with that. I didn't know exactly what my foot would give me that day, and I wasn't willing to find out the hard way. I have been there before, and I know now that it isn’t worth it!
A DIFFERENT KIND OF SATISFACTION
Overall, I finished in 2:38:56 at the USA Triathlon Olympic Nationals in Milwaukee, 15th out of 73 in my age group.
Top 10 was the goal. I didn't get it.
But I finished Top 15 at my first USA Triathlon Nationals, with a compromised run build, and earned an automatic Team USA qualification slot for the 2027 World Championships in Germany. The top 18 in each age group qualify. So yeah... I'm pretty fucking happy with that.
And yet, with all of that, the funny thing is, Nationals didn't give me what I thought it might.
And that's okay. I had an amazing time. I loved it, and I highly encourage anybody who has earned their spot at Nationals to go, race it, and experience it!
I loved the atmosphere. I loved the precision of short-course racing. I loved being surrounded by athletes who had all earned their way to the same start line. I loved racing alongside Danielle. I loved experiencing something completely different.
But did it replace what I've been missing from long course? Nope. And I don't think it was supposed to either. There is something about long-course racing that still lives very deeply in me.
Maybe that's why this year has felt so strange. I am learning that I can love short-course racing without needing it to become my new identity. I can enjoy racing fast. I can qualify for Worlds. I can stand on a National Championship start line and feel incredibly proud.
And I can still admit that there is a part of me that longs for the long course.
Maybe I'll go back. Maybe I won't. I don't need to know all of this right now. What I do know is that I am extremely happy I went to Nationals.
I wanted to see what Nationals felt like. I wanted to race among some of the best short-course athletes in the country. I wanted to challenge myself. And I did all of those things.
Somewhere between getting out of the water, riding over the Hoan Bridge, protecting my foot on the run, and crossing that finish line, I realized something.
I wasn't disappointed.
I wasn't thinking about what I should have done differently. I wasn't wishing I had a different race.
I was just... fucking happy.
Happy that I had been there. Happy that I had raced. Happy that I had experienced something completely new. Happy that I had shared the weekend with Danielle. Happy that my body had allowed me to do what it could do.
And maybe that's what I was actually looking for when I went to Nationals. Not a replacement for IRONMAN. Not a new identity. Just another way to be an athlete.
A different kind of race.
A different kind of challenge.
A different kind of satisfaction.
And sometimes, that's enough.
Actually... Sometimes that's a fucking good race.
