So, here I am sitting across the desk of this officer at a police station in Paris. As she asks for my name and address, I’m thinking that it’s an unusual way to start a season.

Getting to the start line

Last year was my first time competing in a triathlon in five years, since IMTX 18. With my trusted P3 bike slowly rusting on the trainer at home for that extended time, I figured it was time for a new bike, so I got a Px and raced IMCH 23. Shortly after, I discovered that it had been stolen from our building basement in Lausanne. That led to a couple of weeks of frantic search on the web, talking with local bike shops, visiting pawn shops, and asking help from friends to help me search anywhere and everywhere for any trace of it (thanks, Stéphane!). But, no luck. My Px was gone.

And right when I had given up hope, I got a call from one agent de police judiciaire Chariha Slimani in Paris—some 500 km away—who said that they had found my bike and that I might want to make plans to travel to Paris to get it back. Talk about a happy ending!

There’s packing your bike and packing your bike. The first time I packed my Px for travel was in a commissariat de Police in Paris to bring it home to Switzerland. And everyone I met there was simply fantastic! Thanks for finding my bike and making it such a memorable day. Paris, September 28, 2023.

Comparatively, the rest of my prep was rather problem free. Last year’s IMCH ended up slow (11h05) but it took place in the midst of a heat wave, and work was particularly challenging. Oh, and IMCH's bike course tends to be a little more hilly than what I used to race on in Texas and Florida. So, gone are the days of low 9 hours; these days, I’m happy with slower times. Or content with those.

My heavy work travels in the spring prevented an ideal build but 2024 remained free of any major emergencies. Aside from a minor chronic Achilles pain that I’ve been nursing for twelve months and which prevented me from building up run mileage seriously, I was all good on the physical side.

Volume wise, François and I designed something around the travel and heavy work periods. I increased the volume in December–January, backed down the next three months to take care of other stuff and had a solid build from early May on with a number of weeks of 20 to 22 hours of weekly training.

The build to IMCH 24 looked good overall, considering that my heavier workload (actual work) and travel in September–April prevented full dedication.

Swim wise, it took me far longer than it should to realize that regular routines at the local pool were much more logistically feasible than I had assumed. As a result, I only started swimming two months before race day when I could have started much earlier or even never have stopped. I know, I know. But give me break, I'm still young in this sport; one day, I'll learn.

2024 was also the second year consecutive year since moving to Switzerland in 2018 when I was able to train somewhat consistently so, all told, François and I hoped for faster times. A few days before the race, our predictions were nearly identical:

As race day approached, it was clear that the weather wouldn’t be last year’s heat but … unusually cold. So cold and rainy, in fact, that on the eve of the race there were talks of cutting the swim distance as the water temp was too low. On race day, though, the water was at 16ºC, “warm” enough for the full distance but making wetsuits mandatory.

I had a decent night of sleep—in part because Switzerland getting kicked out of the Euro 2024 meant minimal celebrations that evening, sorry Swiss friends!—and was relaxed on race morning. Arguably a little too relaxed, in fact.

Maybe that explains why I got the start time wrong (it was 30 minutes earlier than I thought), I forgot to check the PX' tire pressure in transition, I didn’t think about whether my Garmin was installed on the bike (it wasn’t) until I was at the start line … Lots of small things that fortunately ended up not costing much but could have.

Because that’s what you do in the transition area on race morning, you proudly fly your E4S colors on selfies instead of checking your bike … Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: My right arm.

Swim – 1h21 – (2m06s per 100m)

I might have prepared for a 7AM start ("oh, so that's why the hotel's breakfast area was rather empty when I got there!"), Leslie and I made it to the swim start in time for the real 6:30 start … only to hear that the start was delayed. I never heard why, but we got on our way around 6:50.

Pre-race corral. No particular stress. Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: Leslie Farnsworth.

The big novelty this year was swimming with FORM goggles. I figured they would help with keeping truer headings, and they did; they were great!

I self seeded in the 75-to-85-minute group and after the gun went off we were corralled into the water at a pace, with four starters every three seconds or so.

My swim was mostly uneventful. I just took it easy and apart from a bit of contact right around the 1.2km mark, it went smoothly. Having experienced a grossly long course last year—my Polar measured it at 4,400m!—I was ready for a repeat. On the plus side, the water was a lot less turbulent than last year and visibility while not great by Swiss standards was still amazing from my Houston-based conditioning where you’re happy to see the heel that’s about to strike you on the nose a micro second before contact. There was a bit of a swell on the way home but I rather enjoyed that, almost surfing at times.

Given the temperature, wearing a neoprene cap certainly was no luxury, but I was also happy that it wasn’t my first cold swim, having trained in the Léman at least a couple of times in less-than-ideal conditions.

IMCH 2024 swim was one of my cleanest race-day trajectories. I think the FORM goggles helped a lot.

The swim course appeared long again—my GPS tracked it at a tad over 4 km in lieu of 3.8. Better than last year’s, but still long-ish. Judging from the field’s overall slow times, I'm guessing that the course was long—it wasn’t just me adding up distance because I can’t sight properly.

Getting out of the water brought the perspective of starting the dry part of the day. Except that it was cold and rainy—or was it hail coming down?—so the dry part would have to wait. The transition area was also rather busy, with no seated spot available. But that was only part of the challenge. Let me explain. After moving to Switzerland six years ago, I love it. Except for one big problem.

The biggest problem with Switzerland is, there are no strippers.

See, in Texas we’re used to see strippers everywhere. Same in Florida. Here, nothing. What’s up with that?

(At the risk of ruining a good line, for my non triathlon-savvy readers, strippers are volunteers who help you get out of your tight-fitting wetsuit after the swim. You unzip the top half, get to the transition area, drop to the floor, a stripper grabs the arms of your suit, and in one fell swoop, voilà, you’re free of the whole contraption.)

Not only that but the lack of seated spot and the shaking resulting from 80 minutes in cold water made for a slow transition.

And IMCH’s transition area is on an Astroturf surface that has pebbles. These will stick to your wet feet. In fact as I’m writing these lines a week after and in a different canton, I’m still finding some in the apartment. So, I got some stuck in my socks. I debated spending even more time cleaning them out or leaving them in at the risk of creating some serious blisters on the run. In the end, I went with an intermediary approach, hoping for the best.

A change of jersey, adding gloves, a cap, and a vest, and off I went. All for the hefty bill of 9min and 30 seconds. That's got to be my slowest transition ever. Which would prove to be expensive. But you do what you gotta do, right?

Bike – 5h46 – 193 AP / 211 NP

The bike started cold and wet. I figured pushing a few watts early on would help with warming up, and it did. Luckily, with 2,200m of climb over the two laps, the course gave us plenty of space to rev up when we felt like pushing.

The first few minutes got me out of Thun and clearing heavy traffic and soon it was time to start fueling. By now I was close to two hours into the race, so getting some calories in was much needed. I reached for my block of marzipan, had exactly one bite, and as I was replacing it on the bike … dropped it. There goes that plan. Oh well.

If you’re going to drop your nutrition, you may as well do so in front of the photographer (look in between my wheels). Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: Sportograf

I also felt bloated, so I wasn’t able to get as much liquid calories in as we had planned. Instead I switched to gels, which helped.

IMCH consists of two identical laps. I took the first one easier hoping to get times comparatively faster than last year’s, thanks to being fitted on the bike and deeper wheels. Well, a quick check of the clock at the halfway point showed that I was in fact slower than last year. That didn't feel good but I committed to push more on the second lap.

The hilly course gave us plenty of places to stretch the back out of aero. Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: Sportograf

When we had picked up our race numbers we'd received a sticker showing the course profile. I didn’t bother with it last year but this year I stuck it on my aerobars, and it was super useful to have it there to gauge my efforts.

Seeing some of the photos it’s clear that my position needs some work. Those forearms slope downwards nearly a much as Cadel's! Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: Sportograf

The rain stopped during my first hour of riding but no matter: Exposed to heavy rainfalls during the night and at the onset of the ride, my chain was noisy. Rinsing it off with water bottles every so often only helped that much and led me to another epiphany: I’ll wax the living hell out of it ahead of my next race.

The last fourth of each lap is rather rolling, leading to smile-inducing speeds. Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: Sportograf

I took it easier during the first lap (185 average power / 204 normalized power) and pushed more during the second (199AP / 218NP), flirting with the upper limit of what seemed appropriate knowing there was a bit of running coming up.

It might not look like it judging from the course profile (the grey area) but the two laps are actually identical.

Transition 2 was not a repeat horror story. With a lot less traffic, dry weather, and much fewer items to sort out, it was also much faster than T1 at 4min04s.

Run – 3h30 (5min00s/km pace)

The run is where I do best. It’s my happy place. Well, let’s call it my “happy” place. I might not have any top speed but I can go all day at 5min/km. And I’m usually able to go faster, around the 3h15 mark. Ok, fine, I used to be able to go faster.

IMCH’s run is three laps of 14km, which is good because you get to see friends more often. But when you hit the marker at 2km, you know that you’ll also see it at 16 and at 30 km, which makes for a double-edged sword.

Thun was my first marathon running with super shoes. I traditional train and race in Newtons but had bought a pair of Metaspeeds last year. Not feeling comfortable wearing them for last year’s race, I kept them in a closet until three weeks ago. So, here I was, with carbon soles that I had never run long with (my longest run in them was 21 km) that were one-year old and had about 250km on them. Not only that but I had all sorts of pebbles still in my shoes. Borderline judgment in more ways than one, right? And, frankly, that was on my mind during most of the run. Of course I should have reverted to the Newtons. In the end, there was no spectacular blowups. There were no impressive feasts of speed either. So, I’m glad I experimented with super shoes, but I have no clue what to conclude out of that experiment! 😂

A few kilometers into the marathon I should still be fresh, and yet … Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: Leslie Farnsworth

Last year’s horror story of trying to salvage a run under challenging conditions was still fresh on my mind, so I made a conscious effort to keep things slower in the first few kilometers. I could feel the fatigue resulting from pushing harder on the bike from the onset, and it didn’t take long for the marathon to become a pain cave. But you get in a rhythm. You fine-tune your aid station sequence—water, coke, water, gel, danke!—you try not to overreact when you get passed, you look for your family and friends, and you second guess everyone’s age on the course to help you think that you’re climbing up the classification. You know, you run your standard IM marathon…

True to habit, I fueled the whole run with coke (mostly) and some gels, also taking water at most stations. I had prepared some electrolyte pills but they had remained safely stashed in my transition bag (oops!). So when my right arm started cramping during the final lap, I also integrated some bananas. In all, things remained manageable and nowhere nearly as dark as last year.

Getting it done in Thun. Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: Sportograf

The first two laps went okay. Most kilometers I managed to shave a few seconds from my intended 5min/km base, so I was smack on target. But things got complicated on the final lap.

The third lap is where all those cheques I had written got cashed, which resulted in the need to walk several aid stations.

Lap 3 started with a "quick" pit stop. That’s right, I still refuse to pee on myself; call it a lack of commitment if you will. Then I ended walking a few aid stations. When it was clear that there wouldn't be any blowups, I picked up the pace but that these few walking interludes ate all that time capital I had saved and I finished the marathon in exactly 3h30min.

Garçon, l’addition, s’il-vous-plaît

Alright then. So, we have a slow-ish swim, a very slow T1, a slower-than-planned bike, an ok T2, and no dramatic recovery on the marathon. That amounts to … a grand total of 10h52:05. Meh. That’s gets me 17th in age group (now racing 50–54), 235th among men and 241st overall. Not exactly fast, but that’s what I had. No regrets.

The best part of the day. Thun, July 7, 2024. Photo credit: Sportograf

The dynamics of race days remains the same for me. A slow swim—75th in M50-54—better bike—25th fastest in M50-54— and better still run—8th fastest in M50-54. My run used to get me back more time but not this year. At least that familiar dynamic means that I had as good a day as I could hope for, mostly passing people as opposed to being passed.

So, where does that leave us?

If TrainingPeaks is to be trusted, IMCH 24 was the hardest day I’ve pushed in at least ten years. Why then am I not getting faster?

TrainingPeaks thinks that was the hardest day I’ve worked, some ~10% TSS more than other Ironman days.

Despite feeling good with the prep and the on-day execution, I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed with my results. I have shaved a few minutes compared to last year. Ok. And yet, 17th in an age group where I am now among the youngsters? That left a bit of a bitter taste the morning after.

After passing on a slot to go to the world championship last year, I was equally set on passing in the very, very unlikely event that I’d be eligible. But Leslie and I went to the award ceremony nonetheless, and she made a compelling case for taking the slot if offered. She eventually convinced me and a few minutes before my division was called I committed to take it if I had the chance.

My age group received four slots (or was it six?). The first got snatched quickly, but the remaining ones rolled down, so the pressure mounted; what if? By the 12th finisher, there were still a couple of slots available. That unlikely invitation suddenly became more probable. By the 15th finisher, there was still one available …

Which got snatched by the fella who finished right ahead of me. So for the second time in my racing life, I missed qualifying for Kona by one slot and a short time (3min and 4s this year which, to be fair, is significantly more than at IMFL 17 😂).

It’s easy to replay a version of the day where I shave 185 seconds off my time: Going through T1 faster. Picking up the running pace a tiny bit earlier on the third lap. Not making a pit stop on the bike (once) and on the run (once). Walking one or two aid stations fewer … All of the above could cover the time difference and then some. Oh well.

Missing the invitation to the Big Island by so little was validating and gave me a smile back. Sure I would have hoped to go faster. Sure, the slots rolled down quite a bit. But I'm still on the bubble.

Moving forward

There are a few things I can definitely improve on.

• First, screw TrainingPeaks. And then screw it again. That substandard platform was substandard 10 years ago, and it has not evolved. You can’t even get a moving average of your weight, which is beyond ridiculous. But my main issue with it is that CTL chart that they’re shoving in your face each time you connect (supposedly to help you gauge your fitness). And that CTL drops any day you don’t train, which is stressing me out and is outright counterproductive. Against my better judgment, it has conditioned me to think that any day should have a CTL count somewhat close to my fitness score or above. You see, there are useful tools, useless tools, and worse-than-useless ones. For training tools, aptly named TP defines the latter, because that little chart goes against leaving space to absorb training. So, @Francois, let’s talk about how we communicate and share training plans differently, because this stuff messes up with my brain in negative ways …

TrainingPeaks’ bullshit interface will constantly tell you that your fitness is dropping. How is that consistent with taking appropriately timed easier days to absorb the training loads? That utterly useless platform deserves to be disrupted out of business. Techbros, are you listening?

Right, having this out of the way. 😂

• Related to the above, more isn’t more. I’ve packed more volume than last year—and possibly than ever before?—but that didn’t result in faster times. Even on days where François prescribed less volume, I've tried to put more stuff. I need to recognize that more isn’t necessarily more, give my body the space to absorb the volume, and stop obsessing over losing fitness. Added benefit: It might mean more family time, which sounds fun and healthy.

• Swimming is a lot more feasible than I had assumed, so I look forward to being consistent in that training as opposed to lumping it all in the last few weeks. It’s also fun with a super facility not far from home.

• Biking will start with a revised take on my position. Since last year I’ve slammed the front end, which made me feel good because the bike looks fast but that isn’t necessarily productive. In fact, it’s probably anything but productive, preventing me from producing power and being less comfortable. So, I’ll be playing with the position and probably get a proper cockpit. That Cervélo EX11 stock one is … underwhelming.

• Running will probably benefit from more speed work. In fact I'll start with a clean break of a week or two to get the Achilles some rest. Then some leisure pace during the vacation. But running fast every now and then sounds productive and fun!

• All told, I’ll go back to weight lifting and mobility, rounding off the year with activities others than swim, bike, run. Having discovered ski touring last year, I intend to do a lot more of that type of cross training during the winter, only ramping up the SBR volume as part of race builds.

It takes a village

First, I’d like to thank the gendarmerie de Bellegarde-sur-Valserine, the Police nationale—with a particular mention for agent Chariha Slimani—and everyone I met at the Commissariat de police Hebert for helping me get my trusted Px back and for giving me a most memorable day in Paris last September.

I’m also super lucky to have friends who are taking interest in my crazy hobby; thanks to Stéphane, Louis, Sarah, Fred, FrED, Karl, Caroline, Jean-Philippe, Phil, and Amit.

I’m also grateful to Christie for all her help on the nutrition side—you’ve almost convinced me that fueling my long runs might be beneficial!—and for François for once more crafting a kick-ass training plan and being a great sparing partner.

Finally, I’m most grateful to Leslie who enabled me to dedicate as much as I could to the training. Thanks for supporting me day in and day out throughout months in a very selfish sport!! (Et merci aussi de me supporter 😉…) And thanks for coming with me to Thun and taking care of me while I was having fun on the course. I'm most lucky to have you.