Ironman Miami 70.3 Race Recap: Triumphing Through Pelotons, Pizza, and Unforgettable Challenges

This detailed account serves as my official race recap for the Ironman Miami 70.3 triathlon – an event that, ironically, turned out to be the very last of its kind in this iconic location. It was a race that threw everything at me: the good, the undeniably bad, and the downright ugly. Yet, it also became one of the most profoundly rewarding experiences of my triathlon journey, a true test of mental and physical fortitude.

From the outset, I anticipated the formidable conditions: relentless wind, oppressive mugginess, and a stifling heat that promised to challenge every athlete. I also mentally prepared for the inevitable rule-breaking that can sometimes plague large races. Despite these expectations, this particular half Ironman proved to be an absolute beast – perhaps the most challenging of my five 70.3 attempts and fourth successful finish. To summarize, Ironman Miami 70.3 pushed me to my absolute limits, a truly brutal endeavor. However, the immense satisfaction of crossing that finish line, coupled with the fantastic venue and the unwavering support of the volunteers, made it an incredibly rewarding experience. The feeling of accomplishment after such a long and arduous journey is, as always, unparalleled.

My Personal Pre-Race Journey: Emerging from a Training Slump

Before diving into the race specifics, it’s important to share my current state of affairs. Following the completion of Ironman Louisville last year, I found myself in a significant training rut. I had gained around 20 pounds, and my workout consistency had become, to put it mildly, embarrassing. I understand the原因: training for a full Ironman is an all-consuming commitment, affecting every aspect of life. Once it was over, I was simply spent, completely depleted. While I managed to race several sprint triathlons successfully earlier this year, the consistent, disciplined training required for longer distances had simply not been there.

Acknowledging this reality, I decided not to dwell on it or beat myself up. It is what it is, and that’s perfectly acceptable. However, I recognized it was time for a change, a definitive snap out of this year-long slump since IM Louisville. I didn’t feel good, and that was the primary motivator. Signing up for Ironman Miami 70.3 was a deliberate step, hoping it would reignite my passion and discipline. It did, to a certain extent. My training for Miami was probably only about half of what it should have been. But the act of racing again, and especially the profound sense of achievement from conquering such a challenging course, proved to be powerfully addictive. This race, despite its difficulties, was the catalyst I needed to feel like I’m truly back on track.

This little backstory and self-evaluation provide the context of my mental and physical state heading into this significant race.

Pre-Race Logistics and Miami Vibes

The day before the race, getting to the venue for the mandatory check-in was surprisingly straightforward. My accommodation at the Holiday Inn, conveniently located across from Bayside Marketplace, proved to be an excellent choice. Bayside Marketplace is a vibrant, fun hub in the evenings, bustling with live music and offering delicious food right by the bay. Crucially, it also placed me just a couple of blocks from the transition area. Checking in was quick and efficient, my bike was racked at my designated #400 spot without any fuss, and I felt ready to go with minimal pre-race stress.

I observed a surprising calmness within myself that day – a cucumber-like composure. As I wandered through the Ironman Village, searching for compression socks to soothe a swollen ankle (a long story involving an unfortunate encounter with fire ants the day before), I couldn’t help but notice the overwhelming prevalence of Spanish speakers. As I messaged a friend later, “This is the Spanish-est race everrr!” And the athletes looked incredibly fit, much like at any major triathlon, with their super fancy bikes. The distinct difference this time was the predominantly Latin presence. In previous races, this might have triggered nerves or intimidation, but on this occasion, I felt a serene detachment.

Once all the pre-race formalities were completed, I made a quick stop at CVS on my way back to the hotel. My shopping list included water, a reliable breakfast for the next morning (Cliff bars, always a winner), and, inevitably, tampons. Ah, the joys of being a female athlete on race day – just one more logistical detail to manage.

In the early evening, I ventured back across the street to the Marketplace for dinner. Typically, the night before a long race, I opt for something light, like fish with pasta or rice. However, given my acknowledged undertraining and my decision not to aim for competitiveness but simply to finish, I felt no pressure. After all, I am an IRONMAN, and this race was only half the distance. This relaxed mindset allowed for a truly chill dinner choice: pizza and beer. Yes, you read that correctly. And it was absolutely delicious.

Race Morning: Roosters, Gear, and Nutrition Strategy

Race morning arrived abruptly at 4 am. A quick snooze until 4:40 am, then it was time to rise, fuel up with my Cliff bar, enjoy a crucial cup of coffee, and patiently wait for the “poop gods” to bless me. By 5:30 am, with my gear in hand, I walked towards transition. Along the way, I encountered an unexpected sight: a pair of crowing roosters. Random, even for Miami, but their presence brought an inexplicable smile to my face.

At transition, I meticulously organized my gear around my bike. The water temperature was a balmy 80°F, precluding wetsuits. I had wisely brought my own bike pump to inflate my tires, a lesson learned from a previous race in Louisville. My nutrition strategy for the bike leg was carefully planned: a bottle of PhD Endurance + Battery concentrate securely placed in my downtube cage (a trusted spot where I’ve never lost a bottle), water in the aerobar torpedo bottle, BASE salt in my bento box, and my favorite Honey Stinger Pink Grapefruit chews as a backup. The primary plan was to consistently consume the PhD Endurance/Battery mix and BASE salt every 15 minutes, mirroring my successful approach at Louisville, while continuously sipping water. Hydration, I knew, would be absolutely critical. For the run, I simply attached two Gu vanilla gels to my race belt, but my main intention was to rely on the aid stations along the course.

The Washing Machine Swim: A Brutal Start

The race start itself was unique and immediately presented a challenge. For the 1.2-mile swim, the waves were structured as follows: first, pro men; second, pro women; and critically, the THIRD wave consisted of women aged 45 and over, followed by women 40-44 in the fourth wave. The subsequent five waves were comprised of men aged 30-39. Do you see the potential issue here? Younger, faster men were starting just 10 minutes after us “old ladies.” This meant we were almost certainly going to be swum over, adding another layer of chaos to the already daunting conditions. Moreover, the forecasted wind (~10mph in the morning, escalating to 15-20mph on the bike course) had already whipped the water into a significant chop. No bueno.

When my wave’s turn came, the horn blasted, and we plunged into the fray. Instantly, the taste of the water assaulted my senses – it was exactly as one would expect foul marina water in Miami to taste. The chop was relentless; every time I turned my head to snatch a breath, a wave slapped me in the face. The initial congestion was severe, forcing me to swim with my head slightly elevated to avoid getting kicked. This eventually aggravated my back. The swim seemed to stretch on endlessly, a chaotic mix of debris, choppy water, strong currents, gusting wind, tangled seaweed, and countless other athletes. The only apt description is that it felt like swimming inside a washing machine. Finally, I emerged from the water and checked my Garmin: 52 minutes. A frustratingly slow time for me. However, my Garmin also recorded a distance of 2333.5 meters, significantly more than the official 2000 meters (1.2 miles). Given that I wasn’t deliberately swimming off course, my data strongly suggests the swim was longer than advertised, adding to the perceived difficulty.

The Windy and Rule-Breaking Bike Course: Pelotons and Pain

Leaving the swim behind, I focused on the 56-mile bike leg. My transition was smooth, and as I headed out, the wind was initially at my back, propelling me to strong splits of 20-23mph for the first 20 miles or so. Everything felt great, until the turnaround. Oh, that wind! Immediately, my speed plummeted to a grueling 14mph. I struggled and pushed with everything I had, trying desperately to regain at least 17mph, but the headwind was simply too powerful. I resigned myself to maintaining whatever speed I could without completely burning out my legs, knowing a run still lay ahead.

It was during this brutal headwind section that the “pelotons” truly emerged. For those unfamiliar, drafting or riding in large group packs is strictly prohibited in USAT-sanctioned triathlon races. However, these rules were flagrantly disregarded throughout this event. Huge – and I mean truly massive – groups of cyclists, tightly packed together and moving at speeds around 20mph (many in aggressive aero positions, which is incredibly unsafe in such close quarters), continuously surged past me. There were so many of them. Oyyyy, I simply moved to the right, held my line, and let them go. The sheer amount of machismo and disregard for rules was astounding; I had never witnessed such widespread drafting in any previous race. Beyond the drafting, I also encountered numerous athletes struggling with bike mechanical issues and many more who looked on the verge of collapsing, clearly needing medical attention. The bike course felt incredibly brutal and, at times, chaotic.

As the miles slowly ticked by – 30, 40 miles – I began to notice a growing tightness and pain in my main groin tendon on my right side. I don’t recall its precise anatomical name, but it became intensely painful. It reached a point where every few pedal strokes, I had to physically stick my knee out and push my butt back to open up that area and stretch it. The pain eventually began to radiate, diffusing into my backside and down my quad. This development caused a moment of worry, as the half marathon still awaited me. I dedicated a few miles to focusing intensely on water and BASE salt intake, hoping it was merely a cramp or a sign of inadequate hydration, despite having taken water at every aid station. This focused effort seemed to help, and the pain eventually subsided just enough for me to manage it all the way back to transition. Thankfully, I completed the bike leg in 3 hours and 15 minutes, a time I was satisfied with given the exceptionally challenging conditions.

The Grueling Run: Heat, Coke, and a Surprise Train

After battling the relentless winds on the bike, I didn’t think the 13.1-mile run could possibly be worse, but oh my goodness, it was. The run course for this race comprised a three-loop route winding through and around the Bayside park. It was notoriously twisty and congested, though I must commend the excellent support from the numerous volunteers. As I left the transition area and began to run, I immediately knew my initial plan wouldn’t hold. Between the scorching heat, accumulated exhaustion, and the throbbing pain in my legs, within just a couple of minutes, I had to resort to walking. This prompted me to devise a new strategy, one I had never employed before: a walk/run approach. I settled into a rhythm of running for 4 minutes, then walking for 1 minute. This allowed me to maintain a pace of approximately 11 minutes per mile, and I was perfectly content with that, as long as I kept moving forward. Despite this adaptation, I still felt lightheaded as I approached the first aid station. I began scanning for caloric intake options, and then I saw it – the beacon of light I desperately needed, the magical nectar that had fueled my entire marathon at IM Louisville: COKE. I rarely drink soda, but cola is absolutely magical during the run segment of a long-distance triathlon. With my new run/walk plan fortified by the revitalizing power of cola, I felt a renewed sense of purpose.

Around me, athletes were dropping like flies. Fit, fast individuals who had effortlessly blown past me on the bike were now slumped on the side of the course, openly vomiting. There was so much puke – more than I had ever witnessed in any race. The heat was utterly brutal, claiming victims left and right.

Then, disaster struck: they ran out of Coke. Sigh. At about 6 miles, I desperately needed more calories and reached for one of my Gu gels, only to drop it, watch it get stepped on – ugh. So, I consumed the other. That provided a temporary boost, but soon I needed more, and aid stations were rapidly depleting their supplies, offering little more than Clif bars and Clif shot blocks, which I knew would wreak havoc on my stomach. I was at approximately 8 or 9 miles, needing another caloric infusion, when I suddenly remembered the Honey Stinger Pink Grapefruit chews still tucked away in my back pocket from the bike leg. Thank you, JESUS! Those precious 160 calories provided the crucial energy boost that carried me through the remainder of the run, bringing me to a final run time of 2 hours and 23 minutes.

A funny side note: I have never before had to stop during a race for a train to pass, but it happened here. On my last loop, sure enough, there was a train. At least the race organizers had anticipated this possibility, placing timing mats on either side of the tracks. We were assured that our times would be adjusted to compensate for the delay. I’m operating on faith that they indeed were.

My official final time: 6 hours, 38 minutes.

Crossing the Finish Line: A Sweet, Hard-Earned Victory

That finish was undeniably one of the sweetest I’ve ever experienced. I’ve certainly had tough races in the past – HITS Ocala half comes to mind due to the extreme cold – but Miami, I believe, takes the prize for sheer brutality. And that, paradoxically, made the finish all the more glorious. I felt an immense sense of pride during the race because I was able to effectively apply the strategies and lessons learned from all my training for Louisville. These smart, in-the-moment adjustments were what ultimately saved me and propelled me to the end. While 6 hours and 38 minutes might be my longest half Ironman time ever, this race was freaking HARD, and I did it.

So, I say… Eff that washing machine swim. Eff that merciless wind on the bike. And eff the scorching heat on that run. But despite all of it, despite every single challenging moment, I will absolutely do it again next year. The experience, the lessons, and the profound sense of accomplishment are simply too powerful to resist.