Background
I struggled with how to write a race report for this event. My prominent memories from Dallas did not take place during the actual swimming, biking, and running.
Before I race in a new location for the first time, I make a habit of seeking out other athletes’ race reports so I can read about their experiences on the course. Normally I try to include those details when I write one of these. If you’re a fellow athlete reading this, what follows will be a little light on that.
I’m still going to focus on three topics in this race report. But it won’t be swim, bike, and run. It’ll be a foot, a song, and my red eyes full of tears at the finish line.
The Foot
When I was in high school and college, I had a terrible habit of letting one bad moment snowball into much more. A bad day quickly became a bad week, which became a bad month. Before I even realized what had happened, I’d been spiraling endlessly and couldn’t even tell you where it started. It’s so much harder to course correct when things have been snowballing day after day, week after week.
On one hand, I think the idea of “momentum” is all in our heads. A bad Monday doesn’t necessarily mean Tuesday will also be bad. On the other hand, when things aren’t going your way, it’s really hard to expect anything different. A bad Monday does affect Tuesday if you go into the day with negative expectations. But that’s all in our respective heads!
I bring this up because that concept was on my mind all winter.
The last time I wrote a race report was last October. Ironman 70.3 North Carolina was the most successful race of my career. It was my fastest ever time, highest ever ranking, and first time finishing sub-5. It was impossible not to have sky-high expectations for what was to come in 2026.
Unfortunately, something had unknowingly happened a week prior to North Carolina that would change everything. I somehow tore the plantar plate in my left foot. I don’t know when or how. Hell, I didn’t even know what a plantar plate was. I would learn it’s a completely different (and far more serious) injury than plantar fasciitis, which I had heard of before.
The ball of my foot felt a little weird during my shakeout run, and I wrote it off as race week nerves. When it hurt more during the race, I ran right through the pain. (It makes that sub-5 time that much more remarkable!)
When I got the diagnosis a week later, it hit with such a thud. It almost felt like I got robbed of celebrating a sub-5 race for the first time. Instead of relishing what I had just accomplished, I was suddenly looking at months of rehab just to be able to walk normally again…much less run.
I spent the next two months hobbling around our house and taping my toes together to mimic a walking boot.
The physical injury itself sucked. But the biggest battle through the winter was all in my head. I didn’t want this setback to snowball. Obviously, it would take time to return to running. But I could still swim and cycle. There was no excuse to just abandon triathlon entirely. The temptation was great to just sleep in and be sad. Or get angry and vent about how this wasn’t fair. Or eat my grief away in the form of chicken sandwiches. (I joke to some degree, but this also is clearly the one that was most at risk of happening. 😆)
As winter began to give way to spring, I was still hanging in there. One reason why was Ironman 70.3 Dallas!
I had signed up for this race back in the summer, long before my injury. I’d already bought my airfare and agreed to split part of an Airbnb. While I had Ironman’s Flex 90 benefits and could have technically deferred, I decided to just let it roll, keep the registration, and see how things felt with my foot. Regardless, I’d travel to the race. Worst case, I’d be a Sherpa and spectator for the Saunders.
It took until the Wednesday of race week to know if I would be attending as athlete or spectator.
That’s when I went to my favorite doctor looking for his thoughts and to make a final decision. Chase has been fixing whatever has been aching in my body for years now. But this was my first time asking for what was essentially an official blessing from him to go race. He poked and prodded for a bit. And then he told me that my foot should be able to handle the half marathon!
It was a bit of an odd feeling driving home. I kind of felt like the hardest part of the race was already completed. I’d spent the entire winter limping around and doing physical therapy. I’d kept swimming and biking. I’d gotten my foot to a place where the run wasn’t going to be fun or fast, but I was medically cleared.
There’s the adage that the hardest part of a race is getting to the start line in one piece. Race days are just the celebration of all the work you've completed. I’d always kind of scoffed at it because racing is hard too! But it felt very real here.
The most accomplished I felt during all of race week was not crossing the finish line (spoiler alert: I finished!). It was unloading my gear at the airport in Nashville.
I had been dealt a terrible setback and months of rehab. The race would look nothing like what I hoped back in November. But I felt so proud and accomplished that I’d be showing up, regardless of my time or even if I finished.
In a lot of ways, this took so much more mental and physical energy than many of these triathlons I’ve done over the years when I was healthy.
But more than anything, I hadn’t let one setback snowball into more. That’s what I’m proudest of from this race. I’d made it to Little Elm!
The Song
If you aren’t familiar with the logistics of how these Ironman events go, they follow a similar schedule, regardless of location or distance. You drop your bike off in the transition area the night before. Then the following morning, you show up with everything else from your goggles to shoes. We have about a two-hour window to set everything up next to our bikes before we line up at the swim start.
Transition always has large outdoor speakers set up for the race staff to broadcast announcements. But most of the time, they’re just playing music.
Back in May 2024, while I was setting things up before Ironman 70.3 Chattanooga, they played a Darius Rucker song from 2010 named “This.”
Some country music reviewers found the lyrics cheesy, but I like the song. The lyrics in “This” talk about failed relationships, missed opportunities, and career challenges…before ultimately embracing how these twists and turns resulted in this: today he’s in a place of happiness.
Hearing it at an Ironman event made me realize a couple of things: I really am enjoying this current season of my life. Not just triathlon, but everything. It looks absolutely nothing like what I planned for when I was in my teens and 20s. And I am so thankful for it!
Maybe it didn't turn out like I planned
Maybe that's why I'm such a lucky man
I set a PR that day. That evening, I kept thinking about the lyrics in that song and how grateful I am that this is my reality. Then I went back to Nashville and honestly, kind of forgot about the song. It’s 15+ years old now, and it’s not on any of my playlists nor did I hear it on SiriusXM in the months that followed.
Then in July, we raced Ironman 70.3 Ohio. I heard the song again while setting up my bike. It made me smile and I remember thinking that Ironman must really not have a deep playlist for transition or something. What are the odds of hearing this twice?
All the nights I went too far
All the girls that broke my heart
All the doors that I had to close
All the things I knew but I didn't know
Thank God for all I missed
Cause it led me here to this
Then I raced Ironman 70.3 Florida. I heard it again in transition. Then again before 70.3 Louisville and 70.3 Wilmington. Am I on The Truman Show or something? Is somebody actively making a point to play this song when they see I’m in transition?
I don't really know how I got here
But I'm sure glad that I did
In Dallas, there was no music when we arrived at the race site. That silence actually added to my nerves. I was extremely jittery. I had no idea how my foot was going to hold up during the run. As much as I was trying to put on a brave face, the reality was that I had no idea what to expect and my mind was racing.
I swear this is not an exaggeration. As soon as I got my wristband checked and I stepped foot into transition…on comes Darius Rucker. Like, no freaking way? Not only the first song of the day, but it starts right as I walk in?
I’ve told this story to a few people since the race, and it’s gotten a wide variety of reactions to everything from how it’s merely a neat coincidence…all the way to invoking their spirituality. I will let you draw your own conclusion.
But I will tell you this: hearing that song completely put me at ease for the day. All my nerves evaporated as I racked my bike.
Listening to those lyrics again caused me to flip my perspective about the day nearly on the fly. It had been such a long, difficult winter with my foot. But whatever happened in the race, I’d gotten through enough physical therapy to be in a place where it was OK to give this a shot.
I’m so grateful that I get to do this silly sport. This was never the plan, but that’s why I am such a lucky man.
The Tears
I always cry when I run down the red and black Ironman carpet at the finish line. Not just a tear or two, but an embarrassing, sloppy, weeping kind of cry. For better or worse, there are lots of finish line photos of it from DJ and Tiffany over the years.
Last summer, there was an article in Outside Magazine about the scientific reasons why it’s natural to cry at the finish line. I saw the headline and excitedly tapped on the column. Will science give me a pass on why this always happens?!
The primary reason is that our bodies spend hours maxed out as we swim, bike, and run. We’re full of cortisol, adrenaline, and endorphins. Basically, it’s hour after hour of being in a fight-or-flight state as we race. When we cross the finish line, we downshift, and our bodies feel safe for the first time all day. The sudden pivot results in all our suppressed emotions pouring out.
As a result, I thought I wouldn’t cry today. My body wasn’t in fight-or-flight. Because of the foot injury, I was just at an easy jogging pace when I hit the carpet.
Caitlin was standing just beyond the finish line. We had our usual finish line hug like in past races we’ve done together.
Things are good! No tears! I’m finally going to have a normal post-race medal photo!
But then I walked over to where Katy was waiting for me. 😭😭😭
This race made me realize how deeply my brain has tied the finish line to something that has nothing to do with triathlon. It’s a positive and powerful connection, but part of me wishes they hadn’t become so intertwined.
It is impossible for me to untangle Katy’s seizure in 2022 from finishing a race.
There’s an alternate timeline for today where I hug Caitlin, get my medal, and Katy’s not there. Every single race, when I see her after finishing, the thought of that alternate reality goes through my mind. It’s immediately followed by the relief and gratitude that she is here.
Like I said, I don’t know why my brain has tied these two items together. I guess it’s rooted in deep gratitude? But every finish line is not just a celebration of another triathlon complete, it’s a celebration that Katy’s still here and a part of my life each day. As far as I’m concerned, I’m into year 4 of bonus time with her.
I wasn’t in “fight-or-flight” mode today on the course. But I cried at the finish line all the same.
And I teared up again right now as I typed all this out in Google Docs.
Love you, Katy. I’m so happy you are still here. I’m sorry I slobber tears and snot on your shoulder after each race.
Final Thoughts and The Race!
OK. Tears wiped aside. As I wrap this up, I suppose I should briefly recap the actual race!
The day before, Caitlin and I went for a shakeout ride to make sure all felt OK with our bikes, especially with mine having been in a bike box and through TSA.
It was our first taste of the absolutely crazy wind we’d be cycling in. We got bounced all over the road. When we woke up on race day, the wind was roaring to the point that I heard it before I felt it when we opened the door of our Airbnb. As a result, the swim was canceled. The buoys and the lifeguards would have been blown all over the lake.
In Ironman events with a canceled swim, everyone lines up next to their bikes and they start us in a time trial sequentially by our bib number. Since Caitlin and I were #245 and #246, we started together. A few miles into the course, Sheldon from LGM Photos got this great picture of our blinding orange kits side by side.
It was as windy as advertised. When we had a tailwind, it was glorious. But a headwind and crosswinds were what awaited over the final 30 miles. Check out how much the trees in this photo are being visibly blown around.
When I got back to town, I was excited to be done with the bike and the winds. But there were nerves over how my foot would hold up during the run.
It was much ado about nothing. There were a few moments of pain, but the biggest issue I had during the run was just the lack of training and conditioning since November.
The game plan from Chase for today was to never go faster than a Z1 jogging pace. I’d also need to walk for 1-2 minutes every mile, plus whenever my foot started to ache.
The last time I walked in a triathlon was in 2022. I hated doing it again. It was hard not to feel like it was a setback. But even with the walking intervals, I was still going to finish this run much faster than my first few 70.3s. My relaxed jogging pace in 2026 is faster than my race pace in 2019! It brought some solace. Eventually, I made it to the finish line.
I’m simultaneously frustrated and proud with how the day went. Between the wind and the injury, this was my slowest race in years. That’s frustrating!
Counterpoint: I just completed an Ironman 70.3 without a standard training plan, almost no running of any kind for four months, and I still beat 70% of the athletes in my age group. When you put it that way, I feel pretty good!
(Also, Caitlin is such a badass. 8th place!)
In the days after the race, I felt nothing out of the ordinary in my foot. Not only had I finished the race, I hadn’t re-injured anything. That was the most important goal of them all!
This race has given me confidence it won’t be long before I’m training and racing at full strength. My 2026 race season is going to be weird because of this injury, but it’s certainly not lost. Let’s go!
