Written By Courtney Kutler
Endurance events take a certain type of person; one who can pass the extreme test of mental and physical strength. Long-distance running, my first passion, evaluates your ability to persevere. Triathlon provides the additional hurdles of training well in three disciplines and having the ability to perform these sports consecutively in an event. I am drawn to the variety of triathlons and seeing what my body can do. To me, it is the ultimate challenge.
For two years, I trained to race a half-ironman in Mont Tremblant. I faced more obstacles than I ever had before in training. Two canceled races, shingles, and hives tested my mental and physical fortitude. Then my race day ended with a frightening bike crash, an ambulance ride to the ER, and surgery a few days later to repair a collarbone that was broken in two places. (For more details on that race, see my previous blog, “In Pursuit of Passion”). What was most scary was the realization that I could have died out on the course that day. I remember calling my husband from a police officer’s phone to tell him I had crashed. I remember hearing my nine-year-old daughter repeatedly asking if I was okay, and if I was going to live. The look of fear in her eyes as she entered the emergency room is seared into my memory. I remember being in so much pain but trying to be “strong” for her so her worry would subside. It wasn’t fair that she had to experience this trauma, and I was the reason she did.
For the next two years, my bike hung in our garage. When I caught a glimpse of my bright pink bike, I was quickly ushered back to that day and all the memories surrounding it. I wasn’t ready to get back out on the roads. I wasn’t sure if I ever would be again. Since then, I have been overcoming my fear of biking, especially going fast and descending. I decided to face my fears in 2023 and race a local sprint distance triathlon. I knew the course, and I felt it was a safe one to use as my re-entry into the sport. Once I completed that race, I set my sights on racing another half-ironman. Mont Tremblant 70.3 in 2024 felt full circle to me as it was the original race I was training for in 2019. I needed to prove to myself that I could overcome my fears and reach my goals.
Twenty-four weeks of focused triathlon training went well. I spent a lot of time indoors through the Vermont winter. My first outdoor ride was in mid-April, and I was nervous! I started to feel more comfortable on my bike but was still cautious descending, the flashbacks of my crash a constant reminder. I’m not sure the fear will ever completely dissipate. As I reached peak and taper, I knew I had done all I could to have a strong race.
Upon arriving in Mont Tremblant, I could feel the energy! The venue is stunning, and the people are welcoming. My pre-race tune-up workouts were smooth, my carb loading enjoyable, and my excitement high! Race day morning dampened that excitement; we were greeted with howling winds and downpours. The forecast was grim for the whole day; torrential rain and flash flood warnings covered every weather app I checked. Sitting in our dry hotel room at 4:30 am, I considered not even starting the race. I was scared; my family was nervous. After coffee and contemplation, I decided to attempt the race but make the smart decision to stop if I felt too unsafe. As we walked
to the transition area, I saw many athletes returning to their hotels with their bikes and gear. They decided not to race. Should I do the same? What was the right decision?
I went through the comforting routine of loading fuel onto my bike, setting up my transition area, and pumping up my tires. Rivers flowed through the transition area so we all tried to get creative and keep our gear as dry as possible. Athletes were unusually quiet as they considered what the day would bring. I only heard a few comments including: “This is insane!”, “Are we crazy enough to do this?”, and “I wonder if it will get canceled?”
My husband and daughter walked me down to the start of the swim. My daughter, now twelve years old, kept telling me she was nervous and afraid. She didn’t want me to take this risk. Those same emotions were in me, but I tried to be strong and confident for her. As I entered the start corral, we hugged some tearful goodbyes, and I promised her I would do everything I could to stay safe. I kept reminding myself that this was the most important goal of the day.
I made small talk with athletes around me to try and calm my nerves. I got choked up a few times thinking about what this day would bring. As I entered the water, I thought I heard that the swim had been shortened. No announcements were made so I didn’t know for sure. I followed the swimmers ahead of me and counted the buoys as I swam. When we turned, I was sure the swim had been shortened. Thank goodness for that as the chop picked up and the visibility lessened. Rain pelted my face like needles as I lifted my head to sight. I could see emergency lights on boats, but it was nearly impossible to sight the buoys. I tried to follow the swimmers ahead and trusted we were headed in the right direction. I would lift my head to breathe and be greeted with an inflow of water. As I coughed it out, I tried to remain calm. The swim ended at about half the distance that was scheduled. I later found out some athletes didn’t start the swim as the race officials canceled that portion when they deemed it too dangerous.
As I ran to transition, I looked for my family. My daughter’s orchid pink raincoat made her pretty easy to spot outside the transition. They cheered their hearts out. I took my time in transition gearing up with calf sleeves, arm warmers, and gloves. I glanced over to my family, and my husband was waving me towards him as if to say, “Just stop now.” I thought about ending my race right there. The rain was coming down in sheets, and I was very nervous to go out on my bike. I looked at my family and promised them I would be okay.
I exited the transition area and saw some friends. I remember thanking them for their cheers and telling them I might not complete the bike. I had no idea what the day was going to hold for me. I started on the bike and told myself to focus on every 10 km. I pedaled fast when I felt safe on a flat or uphill. Every turn and descent, I slowed down and took as cautiously as possible. There was no need to be a “hero” today; I had nothing to prove with my finish time or place. I just had to prove to myself that I could complete the bike. The last 25 km of the bike is a long series of climbs, followed by a U-turn and then descending the very way we came. The uphills were steep; the downhills seemed treacherous. I talked out loud to myself through every single descent I encountered. My internal monologue was a repeat of: “You’re okay. Slow and steady. Feather your brakes until you can see the road flatten out. Let the others go by. You have nothing to prove. It’s not about the time. Just get to T2. Safety first. You can do this. You are strong. You are tough. You’re doing it! Almost there!” I finished the bike much slower than I had planned, but I was so grateful to make it to T2.
As I racked my bike, I quickly spotted my sweet girl in her orchid raincoat and my beaming husband in the same spot outside of transition when I arrived. I broke down into tears. I tried to compose myself and get ready for the run. As I was heading out, I took a quick detour to tell my family I loved them and that I was okay. I told my daughter that I stayed safe for her. My emotions were running high. The tears were pouring out as fast as the rain falling from the sky. I quickly realized that crying while running causes hyperventilation, so I told myself to bottle those feelings for later.
I relaxed into the run and pushed through my tight and stiff muscles to stay consistent in my pacing. It was challenging; the exhaustion was setting in. The tension I had on the bike made it difficult to run smoothly. I ticked off each kilometer with a new focus to keep pushing forward. I noticed the athletes around me on the out-and-back course. I cheered them on. I thanked the volunteers. I was grateful to be here. As I ran back to town, I saw my friends and family and knew the finish line was close. My daughter ran alongside me for 200 meters, cheering her heart out for me. She gave me the boost I needed to finish strong. I turned the corner onto the cobblestone and ran to the finish as the cheering crowds put a spring in my step.
Crossing the finish line, I was overcome with joy, emotion, gratitude, and relief. It was more than the end of a race; it was proof that I am stronger than my fears. I push hard but race smart. I don’t give up! I am so grateful for the lessons I have learned through the trials and tribulations of this beautiful sport called triathlon. It is so much more than a sport to me; it is a representation of how I like to live my life. I wanted to set this example for my daughter that she will face hard obstacles in life. She will feel fear and anxiety. These are all normal and acceptable feelings and experiences. What truly makes you strong is your ability to find your focus, lean on others, stay the course, believe in yourself, and push further than you ever thought possible. Because in the end, we won’t remember the race results, but we will always remember how we became stronger throughout the process.
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