🏝️ Chasing Dolphins and Dreams: Ironman World Championships 2025 - Rebecca Smith

Pre-Race: The Calm Before the Cannon

Race morning at the Ironman World Championships, Kona. The air was thick with nerves, humidity, and excitement. A brief stint of rain had rolled through earlier — just enough to add some drama to the sunrise — but spirits were high.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t as stressed as usual. I felt calm, grounded, and genuinely ready to enjoy this race — a rare feeling when you’re about to take on 140.6 miles of suffering. I checked my bike thoroughly, double-checked my tyres (because who doesn’t need a little pre-race superstition), loaded up my nutrition, and thought to myself: so fat, so bloody good. 

With everything sorted and time to spare, I managed to locate the only WWE-style fold-up chair in Hawaii and claimed it to watch the pro swim start on the big screen — instantly becoming the envy of hundreds of athletes stood on their feet. Emotions kicked in at this point, it was getting real!

The swim pen for my age group was like one big triathlon family - chatting, sharing last minute tips, and trying to keep nerves in check. We shared bottles of water to rinse goggles, a communal tub of Vaseline to stay “well lubed,” and I even got a lesson in how to unzip my borrowed (cheers Linzi!) swim skin. The friendliness lasted right up until we hit the water…

Swim: Dolphins > Drafting

No sooner had Lucy Charles-Barclay flown through T1, it was our turn. I lined up near the front thinking I was a pro — until I realised I was being slowly drowned by people treading water and fighting for front position. A swift tactical retreat later, I found my happy place mid-pack, away from flailing limbs and panic-breathing.

The ocean had a bit more attitude than I’d imagined, but honestly, I didn’t mind it.The chaos felt familiar — flashbacks to LCW and Nice — and I settled in.

Then came the magic moment. Mid-daydream, I started hearing high-pitched clicking noises. My brain immediately screamed “SHARKS!” … but no. To my disbelief, three dolphins appeared right beneath me, gliding through the waves like something straight out of a nature documentary. Unreal. If my goggles weren’t full of seawater, I’d have cried. I told myself right there and then: no matter what happened today, nobody could take that from me.

The rest of the swim was a mixture of slaloming orange buoys, occasional glimpses of teammates (hi Mhairi — totally ignored me😂), and more dolphins. A proper once-in-a-lifetime swim.

T1: Quick Change, Quick Trip

Swim skin off, no problem. Sprint through the hoses — fresh water to the face, lovely.

Then came the T1 obstacle course. A helpful (too helpful) volunteer grabbed my bag to re-rack before I’d even found a chair to get ready on and start emptying its contents. After a polite wrestle, I reclaimed it, got sorted, and almost ran out wearing half my swim skin. They redeemed themselves, though, by saving me from that.

I spotted my family on the sidelines — cameras at the ready — and, predictably, got overexcited. Ran straight into a barrier, then tripped on the Ironman carpet and went full “arse over tit.” Classic me. Recovered quickly, smiled for the cameras, and powered out on the bike.

Pro tip for Kona: Get your supporters to volunteer. Mine bagged “minimal” volunteer roles and somehow gained VIP-level access — perfect for mid-race cheering and photo ops!

Bike: Shoes off if you love Kona

In the lead-up, I’d been wary of on-course nutrition (Mortal - why so mysterious about sodium?). So, I went fully self-sufficient with my trusty Precision Fuel & Hydration setup: 540g carbs (flow gel and chews), electrolyte tablets, and salt tabs galore. Honestly, my hydration and nutrition plan was one thing I felt like I nailed. 

Once on the Queen K, I found my rhythm, passing riders, loving life, and even spotting Lucy Charles-Barclay and Taylor Knibb flying by — pro race unfolding right in front of me!

Kona’s infamous out-and-back route is brutal: relentless heat beating down and a tough rural headwind waiting to greet you on the way home. It’s a course that humbles you fast, no matter how good you feel early on. 55km in, my left quad screamed. Not your usual “ooh that’s tight” — more of a “something just popped” kind of situation. Managed to keep pedalling, albeit with less power, but then the left foot joined the party — white-hot pain along the outside edge. Before I knew it, I was cycling large chunks with one shoe on. 

At that point, the goal shifted from “fast bike split” to “just get to T2.” I focused on cooling at every aid station, pouring water over myself in the 35–40°C heat, and somehow still overtook a few riders — because stubbornness beats biomechanics, apparently.

T2: Off the Bike, Into the Unknown

I’d never been happier to get off a bike, though my legs begged to differ. Volunteers smothered me in suncream (not that you’d know now, judging by the tan lines), and I hobbled off to start the marathon.

Run: The Mental Marathon

The moment I stepped off the bike, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Both my left quad and foot were screaming in pain — every step a challenge. But the goal was simple: keep moving forward, no matter how ugly it looked.

The first 10 kilometers were brutal — roasting heat, relentless hills, and a mental battle that made each step heavier than the last. I leaned hard on every aid station, topping up on Precision Fuel & Hydration gels and electrolyte capsules, and dunking my head in ice buckets whenever I could to stay cool.

Running on the Queen K Highway was like a test of pure willpower. The sun beaming down, the road stretched endlessly uphill (I swear there was never any downhills!) and the support dwindled as the kilometres ticked by. But I knew one thing for sure: there was no turning back. I kept imagining that finish line — every aid station became a mini victory, fuelling both body and mind as I trudged on.

It was on the way back out of the Energy Lab that I met Asa from Sweden — my unexpected mid-marathon hero. We fell into step naturally, quickly realising we were both in that same “just get it done” headspace. From there, we stuck together all the way home. We paced each other between aid stations, took turns talking nonsense to distract from the pain, and refused to let the other stop.

By then it was pitch black, the Queen K lit only by the occasional streetlight. My legs were shot, my feet were on fire, but having company made all the difference. Two really is better than one out there.

And then — the lights, the flags, the roar of the finish chute. We grabbed hands, soaking in the energy, before breaking apart to find our own families. I was overwhelmed — emotional, exhausted, euphoric.

Post-Race: The Big One

Crossing that finish line at the Ironman World Championships — knowing I’d battled through injury, heat, and 140.6 miles of madness — was indescribable. Kona is a whole different beast.

It’s expensive (Kona’s price tag is as legendary as the race itself), it’s unforgiving, and it’s utterly unforgettable. The course, the people, the dolphins. Incredible. 

Would I go back? Finances aside.. In a heartbeat!!