Completing a 70.3 Ironman is no small feat. It’s a journey that tests every part of you—physically, mentally, and emotionally. For me, the most intimidating part of this journey wasn’t the 90km bike ride or the 21km run. It was the swim—the 1.9km stretch of open water that had once filled me with anxiety. But as I stood on the beach at dawn in Da Nang, surrounded by over 2,400 fellow triathletes, I realized just how far I had come.
This post is Part 1 of a blog series documenting my 70.3 Ironman experience. I hope it inspires anyone who’s ever doubted themselves in the water—or in any area of life—to keep showing up. Because fear doesn’t stand a chance against preparation and support.
The Calm Before the Swim
Race day began at 3:30 AM after a surprisingly restful night of sleep. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t start this day in a rush or panic. Tri, my training partner and close friend, and I met in the hotel lobby at 4 AM. We had decided to arrive early at the race site to give ourselves ample time to settle in and get into the right headspace. I didn’t want to feel frantic—I wanted to feel grounded.
Thanks to Tri’s thoughtfulness, the hotel had prepared a breakfast box for me: a banana, a hard-boiled egg, and some bread. Just enough to fuel me without overwhelming my stomach before the swim. These small gestures from friends and teammates made all the difference. Tri and I had joined our triathlon club around the same time a year ago. We started from zero, encouraged each other through countless early mornings and tough training sessions. Knowing he would be racing right next to me was deeply reassuring.
Race Prep: Organizing the Chaos
Once we arrived, we went through our transition setup: checking bikes, laying out cycling gear in one bag, running gear in another. I had written out a checklist the night before—everything from tire pressure to snacks to helmet position—so I could stay focused and calm. Every item had its place, and every movement had a purpose. Being organized helped me feel in control in a situation that could easily feel overwhelming.
As we wrapped up, we chatted with other athletes nearby, exchanging good lucks and quiet encouragements. The camaraderie of race day is something truly special—strangers becoming instant teammates because we’re all chasing the same finish line.
At 5:10 AM, we were asked to leave the transition zone and head to the swim start. The sky was still dark, but energy buzzed in the air. I looked around at the ocean of athletes moving toward the beach, all wearing colored swim caps that indicated our expected finish times. My cap was grey—reserved for swimmers anticipating a swim time over 45 minutes.
Flashbacks and Forward Motion
As I walked barefoot toward the water, I remembered last year’s race. The ocean had been rough, and the swim course was shortened to just 700 meters due to safety concerns. I finished the race and received my medal, but the swim left me feeling unsatisfied. I knew I had more in me.
That’s why I signed up again this year.
And this year, the conditions were better. The water was calm. The air was electric. It was also the 10th anniversary of the Ironman in Da Nang, and you could feel the celebration in every corner of the event. But more than anything, I felt peace. I felt ready.
I had spent the past few months training with absolute focus. Five swim sessions per week. Two intense training camps. Gradual progress. Quiet victories. My swim technique improved, but more importantly, so did my confidence. The test swim with my team the day before gave me a boost. I actually enjoyed it—and that wasn’t a feeling I ever associated with open water in the past.
The Start Line: A Moment of Gratitude
Our group waited for our turn at the start line. The sun began to rise, casting golden light over the ocean. I took a deep breath and tried to absorb everything—the cheers from spectators, the sounds of the waves, the quiet beating of my own heart.
When the whistle finally blew, it was our turn.
As I stepped into the water, memories of all the difficult training days flashed through my mind. The early mornings. The cold pools. The times I swallowed half the ocean during practice. The fears. The doubts. The breakthroughs. I hadn’t finished the race yet, but in that moment, I felt proud.
Because I had already done the hardest part—I had shown up, again and again.
Finding My Rhythm
The first few strokes were cautious. My goggles fogged up a bit, and I felt the usual nerves. But then something amazing happened. I found my rhythm.
Breathe. Stroke. Kick. Repeat.
I stopped thinking. I stopped worrying. I was just moving forward.
The water was cool but kind. I focused on my technique and let my training take over. I remembered what my coach had told me: “Trust the work. The body knows what to do.”
The first few hundred meters were rough—not because of the ocean, but because of the sheer number of bodies in the water. Arms flailed, feet kicked, and waves of adrenaline surged through me. I tried to find a rhythm and stick to my breathing pattern, but open water swimming is never that easy.
At one point, I took a solid kick right to my face. It was sharp, fast, and disorienting. For a second, panic rose. My goggles filled with water, and I lost my stroke rhythm. But then I remembered all those early mornings at the pool, the drills, the breath control. I stopped, cleared my goggles, and reset. I reminded myself: You are safe. You are trained. Just keep moving.
I pulled to the side slightly to avoid the chaos and focused on the buoys ahead. With every few strokes, I found more rhythm. The crowd thinned out as we reached the first turning buoy, and from there, I began to feel what every athlete dreams of in the water: flow.
The Final Stretch
As I made the final turn toward the beach, my arms were starting to tire, but my heart felt light. I could hear the music from the shore and the distant cheers of spectators. I lifted my head and saw the swim arch getting closer with every stroke.
And then, just like that, my hand touched sand.
I stood up, a little wobbly but beaming, and jogged up the ramp toward the transition zone. My watch buzzed—I had swum the full 1.9km. Not fast. Not fancy. But steady, strong, and fearless.
More Than Just a Swim
Crossing that swim finish was about closure. It was about rewriting the story I had told myself—that I wasn’t a strong swimmer, that open water was too scary, that I didn’t belong here.
Now, I know I do.
And if you’re reading this, wondering whether you could ever do the same, here’s my message to you: Yes, you can. With the right support, the right mindset, and a little bit of courage, anything is possible.
This was only Part 1 of my 70.3 Ironman journey. Next up: the 90km bike ride. Stay tuned.
