Oceanside 70.3 — A Race Day Story from Start to Finish

I woke up at 4 a.m.—30 minutes before my alarm. Not ideal sleep, but decent, especially considering we had just switched Airbnbs and Blake was up a lot during the night. Classic pre-race parent life.

Breakfast was simple but dialed: oatmeal with raspberries, banana, maple syrup, one egg white, and an Aeropress americano brewed with Zab coffee. The pre-race jitters? Surprisingly low. I’d been feeling them all week, but that morning I just felt ready. Excited.

I walked to transition to pump up my tires, set my bottles, gels, and bike computer, double-checked my SRAM batteries, and placed everything just right—shoes, socks folded for speed, helmet upside down, the whole thing. Then I jogged back to the Airbnb, did some strides and band work to warm up, pulled on my wetsuit, and got ready to go. Vi woke Blake and we all left together.

That’s when the emotions hit. Having my family there—it just changes everything.

At the start line, I realized they’d moved the swim entrance. I had to cross through a crowd of 3,000 to get to the faster swim pack. There was no way I’d make it in time. Luckily, an Ironman official waved me through to the front. I had two minutes to go. No goggles or cap on. Mild panic.

3…2…1…go.

The water was 57°F—freezing. I just told myself: get in, get moving, get out fast. I surged the first 500m, averaging 1:27/100m to find a draft, then settled into a slower pace for the next section. I pace my swims using wrist buzzes every 500m, and it helps me stay dialed in. The last 1,000m was a mess—zero visibility—but I knew it was coming. Same story as last year. Still managed to average 1:40/100m and felt pretty smooth.

Oceanside’s transition is long—700m. I was dizzy from the cold and didn’t fly through it, but did my thing.

On the bike, I just wanted to get out of the chaos. The first 5K is full of potholes and zig-zagging. Once on the freeway, I got into aero and found a rhythm, despite the heavy wind. Some stretches I was maxed out at 90rpm, pushing 38-40km/h, and knew my gearing setup wasn’t ideal anymore—fitness outgrew it.

Then it happened. At around 35K, I flatted. My absolute nightmare. Eleven races in, it finally got me. I stayed calm and got it changed, but watching people fly past hurt in a way that’s hard to explain. Once I got going again, I was on a mission—probably pushed a bit too hard out of frustration.

Then I realized I had lost all my hydration when I flipped the bike. That got into my head. I knew it would hurt later on, especially on the run. The big climbs came, but without motivation or fuel, it was a grind. I respected the speed limits on the descents, then gave a solid effort over the final 20K. Still, by km 70, I was cramping, and my body was starting to shut down.

T2 was a weird mix of emotions. Part of me wanted to turn it into a solid training day and just finish. The other part wanted to call it.

But at mile 1, I saw Vi and Blake. And that gave me what I needed. I thought: what would I tell my son if he were in this situation? I’d say: go finish what you started.

So I did.

I kept it controlled—between 4:45/km and 5:10/km depending on the terrain. Took every bit of water I could, used all 3 gels, stopped to massage out cramps. Heart rate wasn’t high; I just didn’t have the gas. The lack of fuel from the flat really got me. I know I had a 4:35–4:45/km pace in the legs, but not that day. Not with that setback. I don’t say things like that lightly—but I really felt it.

Final run was 1:45, averaging 5:00/km. Didn’t end the way I like to end races, with that fully empty tank feeling, and that frustrated me.

But then I crossed the line. My buddy Dano was there—cheering, positive as always. And when I saw Vi and Blake, man… all of it faded. That moment? That was the highlight. That’s what stuck with me.

Final tally:
Swim: 30:00
Bike: 2:45 (6-minute flat included—we checked the file)
Run: 1:45
Total: 5:10 — a 12-minute improvement from last year.

Oceanside is a tough course. The swim suits me—cold and technical. The bike doesn’t—lots of wind, not a CDA-friendly layout, and no outdoor prep this early in the year. But the run? That’s my kind of terrain. Rolling, twisty, and cool. It feels like home.

Will I go back? Probably not next year. It’s an amazing event and I recommend it to everyone, but I want to try something different—maybe later in the season. I’ll be back eventually, though. And when I do, it’ll be with unfinished business.

Thanks for reading. And thanks for all the support.