the 18th of october in cascais, portugal, will forever remain etched in my memory. on that day, i became an IRONMAN 70.3 finisher. yet, what i learned was that the title itself is not the destination—it is a mirror reflecting the person you become through the journey. to be an IRONMAN is to live through exhaustion, solitude, and pain, but also through gratitude, connection, and meaning. it is a dialogue between the body, the mind, and the spirit, each testing the others, each learning their limits.
every day matters. every meal, every hour of sleep, every small choice becomes part of the greater whole. discipline is the invisible backbone of this pursuit—it builds silently, without applause, without spectacle. to become an IRONMAN is to submit yourself to structure, to follow it even when you are tired, even when no one watches. the true race begins long before the starting line.
to be an IRONMAN you have to have such an unwavering grit. when your legs tremble, when your breath falters, when the finish feels impossibly far, grit is what carries you forward. it is not strength, not speed, not even courage—it is the refusal to surrender. grit is the quiet voice that whispers, “keep going,” when everything else begs you to stop. it is forged through repetition, through doubt, through pain, and it becomes the essence of who you are.
becoming an IRONMAN demands sacrifice. time once spent with friends or in comfort becomes consumed by training. weekends turn into long rides, early mornings into swims, evenings into recovery. the pursuit asks for more than effort—it asks for parts of yourself. but in return, it offers clarity: the realization that everything meaningful requires a price, and that the price is worth paying.
on the course, you meet yourself. stripped of pretense, with every mile, you face the raw reality of what it means to endure. the IRONMAN is not only a race against others—it is a conversation with your own limitations. your body protests, your mind wavers, and somewhere in between, your spirit learns to rise. that is where transformation lives: in the quiet decision to continue when continuing hurts.
in t2, i fell off the bike. both my feet were torn open — one with a deep cut that needed three stitches right there in the medical tent, and the other sliced across the big toe. the heat was merciless, thirty degrees of burning air. the 21.1 kilometers that followed felt like running through hell. i had to walk through every aid station, fighting pain and exhaustion with every step. but somehow, i moved forward. not fast, not gracefully — but forward. and that was enough to reach the finish line.
in moments like those, the body is no longer yours. it becomes an instrument of something greater — a stubborn spirit that refuses to yield. pain becomes a companion, not an enemy. and you begin to understand that the real race is not against the clock or others, but against your own limits.
without your family there is no IRONMAN. behind every finisher stands a network of love, patience, and belief. family and friends become the unseen pillars that hold you upright when the body fails. their encouragement turns exhaustion into motion, their presence turns solitude into purpose. in the finish line’s chaos, you realize the truth—you did not cross it alone.
to be an IRONMAN is not to conquer distance, but to discover yourself. it is to learn that strength is born from vulnerability, that discipline builds freedom, and that love sustains endurance. it is not about defying limits, but about meeting them face to face and choosing to keep moving forward. the finish line does not end the journey—it simply reveals who you’ve become along the way.
the journey continues
- a. r. brea written 10/20/25