Fresh off my fifth (OMG, how is it my fifth), Ironman this past weekend. I went into it thinking this would be the last one, my first was back in 2019, so over the past 7 years (seriously?) there have been 5. Madison 3 times, Tulsa once and a solo over the Covid year when all the races were cancelled. Then if you want to get really technical, I did an indoor one at the YMCA in Wausau in preparation for Ultraman in 2022. Anyways, the point is this was my fourth actual Ironman even.

So, it felt comfortable in an odd way, experience has a way of doing that. It felt celebratory in a way as well, thinking about it being the last. I knew going in the time wasn’t going to be a PR. My training was focused on a life balance, not on the perfect race. And that worked, it worked really well actually, physically things went pretty great. Sure there’s cramps, fatigue, stomach issues… the usual suspects that join in on the fun, but that’s all expected, part of the process.

The crowds, the volunteers and the support from friends and family was amazing, as usual, so truly incredible. That’s probably my favorite thing about the Madison Ironman course, the crowds along the climbs and the State Street run. It really does need to be experienced, words can’t do it justice.

Yet something about the whole day was a bit, well, off. So here’s my old man Hoehn yelling at traffic post. Because after really taking some time to digest it, I think I know what felt off, and why I’m perfectly fine with this being my last full Ironman.

I’ve spent the last seven years learning that there’s a difference between suffering near other people and suffering with them.

What’s changed in these past few years then?

Since I really started getting into the endurance races, before my first full in 2019 even, it was the community around the activity that really drew me in. People doing hard things, and welcoming others to expand their horizons. Giving them a permission slip to do hard things themselves. It’s strange, I know all to well, the concept of an Ironman or a 100 mile run, it’s insane. Let’s swim 2.4 miles, then bike 112 miles over 6+ hours, then go run a marathon. But when you see people you know do it, break it down, to one mile at a time, one step at a time, and just chunk it into manageable segments, it becomes just another thing you’re doing.

I know that may not make a lot of sense, it still doesn’t to me until I’m in it. But I found out years ago that surrounding myself with crazier people, with bigger goals and bigger accomplishments, meant that my races, were pretty normal in comparison.

So, I hate doing this, but I think it needs to be done to really tell this story, here’s what I’ve all been up to since that first Ironman back in 2019.

• Ultraman – crewing twice and racing once
• 100-miler runs and other ultras.
• Crewing the best people.
• Volunteering at amazing races.
• Race directing for 6 years with WausaUltra.
• Coaching other athletes to achieve their goals.
• Spending long hours on both sides of the aid-station table.

That all brings a perspective shift. How can it not right? I’ve learned what really matters to me in these races, figured out a much clearer vision for why I do these things.

Let’s Review Ironman 2026.

The corral before the swim is always packed with nervous energy. I was doing my best to practice the first P word of the day, Patience. Knowing it’s a long wait, packed in tight, I listened to the conversations around me. A lot of first timers at the race, and a lot of young ones, more than I ever remember seeing before. So, cool, new generation coming into the sport. But there wasn’t too much banter between people who didn’t know each other, in fact I only remember hearing one conversation outside of the bro’s talking to each other and the volunteer who was handing out advice.

Where you from?
Canada.
How do you feel about us taking your lake? HAHAHAHA

Sigh – Eye-roll

So it’s going to be like that huh?
Seriously, I’m sure they were just all kidding and it was just in jest, but the world’s a stupid place right now, and seeing it get stupider in front of my eyes is disheartening.

Anyways, putting that dumbness aside, I focused on Patience. Got to the front of the line and for the first time ever in a triathlon swim, just started swimming, no panic breathes, no stopping to calm, just smooth sailing, er swimming. It was absolutely amazing. I felt comfortable through the swim despite the people unable to sight, zig-zagging and collisions and arms and feet, whatever, all part of the open-water swim.

On to the bike

I wasn’t in a hurry to get up the helix to T1 – loads of people running up past me, I walked, the whole damn thing. Running uphill, on unsteady legs, barefoot, was all just a bit too much of a risk for a race I didn’t care about a finish time on.

Out on the course it was, quiet. Like, really quiet, no one was talking to anyone else. An occasional, ‘on your left’. That was about it, for hours. While my memory certain is suspect, I don’t recall that back in my pervious races. There always seemed to be some conversation, on the quick passes, ‘you’re doing great’ or ‘keep it up’ just little words of encouragement. Nothing much, so I started to try and make it a point on the second half of the ride to say something to all those I could. (This was after the pain pills kicked in and I wasn’t just in a shoulder/neck pain hell).

So we rolled on, and I got to realizing there was more than just the missing talking.

Apparently people didn’t show up for the rules, or didn’t care. The amount of riders drafting, or riding the yellow center line (not allowing someone to pass on their left without illegally crossing that line), was just astounding. It was like an ill-mannered group ride out there, everyone just kinda doing whatever they wanted to. Then we get to hills, yeah Madison has a shit load of them on the bike course, kind of known for it… so why don’t people know how to ride them? As I was forced to weave in and out of bike traffic, only to get passed on the climbs again.

Ok, rant over.

But honestly, that was all kind of the point here. That riding mentality is a symptom of it. Maybe they didn’t know the rules, but that isn’t it exactly, it’s just the awareness. Other people are out there on the course with you. That’s the lesson. The road isn’t yours, even if it’s closed to traffic.

So, the bike ended, let’s get to the run shall we?

Focusing on my run first, I was shocked how well it went. Here’s where the experience seemed to kick in. The 100 milers, the long ass runs almost seemed to welcome my body back into the pain cave. It hurt, there’s no sugar coating it. But, the strange thing, it was like saying hi to an old friend. Fucked up right? I knew it was coming, it was awkward at first, and then we just kind of fell into our old rhythm. My knee would hurt, I’d run differently, my calf would want to cramp, I’d eat a banana and walk a bit. This part felt like the most natural part of the day. That’s so weird.

But let’s next revisit the bike rant, because running on the right side is as hard as biking on the right side, although much less dangerous. But honestly the most obnoxious thing I saw the entire run was in the aid stations, seeing people just throwing trash on the ground instead of one of the garbage bins that are every 10 feet. I really think this comes from working those aid stations, and specifically, working them at Ultra running events. I’m not with the pack that’s going out to win the race here, and it honestly would cost them nothing to just toss the cup in the trash can, they miss, ok, normal, but to just drop it drove me a little bonkers.

Rant two over, I think.

So my special needs visit was fun on the bike, but even more fun on the run, where I just had a bag of Nerd Gummy Clusters in the bag. The volunteer held up the bag, I was like, yay dinner, and ripped it open to pull out the one thing in there. They got a good laugh out of it, as did the lady I was running with shortly after who I offered some to. Sometimes it’s the small things.

Seriously, was everyone else competing just a jerk?

I know I’ve come off pretty harsh so far, it’s to try and make a point that I promise I’m getting to fully laying out. But I’d be remised if I didn’t over the fact that there were great people out there too. Chad saw so many great interactions between competitors and athletes and volunteers. He was able to help 3 people with bike mechanicals on the course (Don’t tell Ironman!).

There was a lot of good throughout the day, and like every time I’ve done this race, so much of it comes from the crowds and the volunteers, I can not say enough good things about them. You are all such amazing people for taking time out of your Sunday to come down and help people achieve their goals like this.

And of course there was My Team Triumph athlete Jacob and his angels, and the two other parathletes out there. Both in such amazing spirits every time I crossed their paths.

Scale and anonymity

One other small note, a sort of caveat of the thesis of this post… Ironman’s huge. 1375 finishers, I’m uncertain how many started. That’s a lot of people on the course, and throughout the day, it’s hard to keep seeing the same people due to pacing. Which leads to a certain level of anonymity, which leads to a bit of isolation. Unless specifically trying, it’s rather hard to ‘make friends’ out there. And sadly, in my opinion, it becomes easier to just ignore the other athletes out there. Who are they to you? Just another person on the course… but I might argue, another person who signed up to suffer like you, but we’ll get to that.

But that’s a stark differentiation point between ultra’s and Ironman. The smaller community of the ultras naturally leads to repeated contact, whether over days, or just repeated leap frogs on the course, a familiarity starts to grow from the contact. Ironman, allows for everyone to remain in their own little bubble moving along and doing their own thing.

One last little finish chute story

Knowing this was the last one, I walked the last 1/2 mile or so. Partly because it’s largely uphill, but more so, because I was really getting emotional, and wanted to take it all in. The smells, the people, the Capitol, the lights, the everything.

During this time, a guy was next to me, walking as well, a said a few things to him, like, take it all in man, congratulations, remember this. That kind of stuff. Then I hiked up the hill a bit faster (ultrarunning) and got to the chute and started jogging in, taking it all in, peoples faces in the crowd, making eye contact. I slowed and walked once on the red carpet, and here that guy comes flying around me, leaning for an imaginary tape.

It was honestly the most bizarre ending, but somehow perfectly fitting to this race. A fellow competitor, a first timer, who wouldn’t respond when I talked directly to him, who walked the last 1/2 mile or so with me, felt the need to sprint the finish line to pass me before the line.

I don’t know him, maybe he had a time goal, maybe his family was watching, maybe someone told him to sprint the end. I have absolutely no clue what he was doing, nor was anything inherently wrong with his actions.

But that solidified the feeling.

I tried to share with him in the accomplishment, the experience, all the training and work and everything that goes into it.

None of that was reciprocated.

Which leads me back to the point and title of this post – What do we owe the people suffering beside us?

I really want you to think about that, what does that mean to you? Can you add that to your why? Does it make sense to?

For me, I think we owe each other recognition.

It’s not the race, not the finish time or the goals. It becomes you, at your most raw, your most vulnerable, your most honest and your core essence.

I love these events and the endurance community because it’s full of people who aren’t afraid to break themselves down. To put all the time and effort and dedication in their life into a focus on something so damn stupid. I get it, none of this is inherently communal. Hell, “YOU are and Ironman” is the antithesis of communal.

While that accomplishment is certainly individual.

The process is shared. The hours before the race, the sweat and pain and tears during the race are shared.

Acknowledging that, indulging in that. Helping someone else at a time when they’re low, and maybe they’ll help you at a time you’re low. It is a community.

Sometimes it’s just looking at the person suffering beside you and acknowledging that they’re there, simple really.

Personally though, I don’t feel it with Ironman anymore, but I do in other places in my life, and that’s where I’m going to choose to spend my time.

That’s my answer – what’s yours?