70 Days to Ultraman Mexico

70 Days to Ultraman Mexico — A Starting Line in Milwaukee

One day until the USAT Olympic Distance National Championship. I have to admit—I’m not where I’d like to be preparation-wise. But maybe that’s me moving the goalposts again. This was always supposed to be a bonus race, something fun. Now that I’m here, of course I want to be competitive. That’s not a reasonable desire when all my training is built around Ultraman, a race more than twice the length of Ironman. You can’t train for double-Iron endurance and also expect to peak at short-course speed.

Physically, I don’t feel great. Travel drained me, yesterday’s delays stretched me thin, and my body is carrying some tension. My right knee aches on the outside. My left calf keeps cramping—a sharp stitch halfway between ankle and knee. Still, I know what will happen: tomorrow, when the gun goes off, I’ll feel good. Maybe not my best, maybe not perfectly trained—but good enough to race. And technically, it’ll be a guaranteed PR. I’ve never done an Olympic road triathlon before.

So I reframe it. Tomorrow I get to line up with some of the best athletes in the country, swimming in Lake Michigan and racing through the streets of Milwaukee. That’s a privilege. I qualified for this championship almost by accident—only two people in my age group showed up at my qualifier. But even that wasn’t simple. I had to rent a mountain bike, swim in frigid high-altitude water, and drag myself through a race that could have easily broken me. The hard part is always just getting to the start line.

Tomorrow is another start line. Different distance, different setting, higher level of competition. My aim is simple: set my own bests. What happens, happens. My only real job is to show up, ready, without expectation.

There’s no amount of thinking tonight that will prepare me better than what I’ve already done. I’ve trained for years. I know how to swim, bike, and run. That’s all this is. The rest—the stress, the projections, the imagined outcomes—that’s noise. It creates fake narratives that can only leave me falsely confident or falsely defeated.

So instead I’ll go in clean. No beliefs, no stories. Just instinct, reaction, adaptation, presence. Racing is simple, and yet the emotion wrapped around it is immense. I’m grateful to be at a point where I don’t drown in that intensity. The big races will still shake me, but I’m learning. I’m growing.

Tomorrow, another start line.