At last, the long-suffering run leg I’ve endured from the very start has finally entered the long-awaited final lap. π At the turnaround in TaupΕ town, I briefly rejoiced, thinking, “Yes! The last one!”—only to realize there were still about 14 kilometers to go. π± Running through the streets, that realization was a bit disappointing, and as far as I can recall, the outbound portion of this final lap was the toughest part of the entire race. π By this point, almost no one could still run properly, so I had to constantly face the temptation to just join them and walk.
However, even if it’s a distant dream, I challenge myself in Ironman with the thought of Kona in mind. Kona is a world only accessible to the very best. I believe that a weak mind, one that walks just because everyone else does, will never get close. So I grit my teeth and keep running, eyes fixed forward.
That said, I’ve been in this state from the start, so it’s incredibly tough, and my mind nearly breaks many times. At such moments, I happen to notice a young woman running ahead. She seems determined, like me, not to take a single step except at the aid stations. Weaving through the walkers, she clenches her teeth and keeps running relentlessly.
Encouraged by her, I continue running behind her. Together, we navigate through the rows of walking runners and somehow make it to the last turnaround. π
Immediately after this turnaround, there was an aid station. As soon as I left it, something inside me changed. π² Probably because it was “just a matter of returning to the finish line” and I was confident I would complete the race, a weight seemed to lift from my shoulders. My body, which had felt so heavy until now and caused me to run with a sumo-like style, suddenly felt light. The light, almost dancing stride I had trained for over the year began to appear at last, and I effortlessly surged past the young woman who had carried me this far.
Here, I passed through the gate to receive the final armband. I had been waiting for this moment for so long that as I took the band, I couldn’t help but blurt out, “I’ve been waiting for this all along!” and a big smile naturally appeared on my face. π Then, as always, a volunteer who had warmly encouraged me each time I passed by said with a broad smile, “You can see the results of your training! We’ll be waiting for you here again next year, so see you then!” π I replied as I ran past, “I’ll definitely come back next year! Thank you so much for today,” and headed back on the return leg.
After this, I experienced a strange sensation. Even though it was the final lap of the Ironman, my body felt lighter and lighter. My form, which had collapsed from the start, suddenly recovered, and running—after struggling for over 30 kilometers—became unexpectedly easy. π² I didn’t understand it during the race, but looking back now, I think that what I had been working on over the past year, and the adjustments I had continuously made during the race, suddenly took shape in my stride.
At that moment, I realized, “Ah, so this is why R-kun can keep the same form until the very end of an Ironman!”
For those who haven’t read last year’s report, I have a local rival named R-kun. Last year, although I had a 15-minute lead at the end of the bike, he caught up to me with about 2 kilometers left in the run π’π. Running alongside him, I realized that there was something fundamentally different between his running and mine, even in the final 2 kilometers of an Ironman.
This year, I spent the entire year reworking the fundamentals of my running and swimming to search for that “something.” After a year of effort and trial-and-error in extreme conditions during the race, I finally began to grasp that “something.” π (By the way, this year I beat R-kun by 43 minutes, paying back last year’s debt with interest π.)
Revitalized like this, just as I felt on the bike that the return leg of the final lap was my best ride, this return leg of the run was undoubtedly my best run. π
With this newfound energy, I could accomplish the other goal of this race: “to fully enjoy the race until the very end.” π I think Ironman isn’t a race you run alone. It’s about fighting alongside fellow athletes, volunteers, and the crowd, sharing energy with them, and pushing yourself to heights you could never reach alone. I felt this very strongly this time, my second experience.
Because of this feeling, on this final lap, I made sure to express my gratitude individually to the volunteers and spectators who had sincerely encouraged me and carried me this far. I high-fived those who extended their hands and smiled and said “thank you” to those who congratulated me, fully enjoying the thrill of Ironman that I couldn’t experience last year.
Around the last 2 kilometers, after climbing the final hill, I suddenly remembered running alongside R-kun in this same spot last year. I felt immense gratitude toward him. When it was unbearably tough early on, and I had to give up my goal of a sub-4 marathon at Ironman, I could switch my mindset to run to the end thanks largely to the thought of R-kun chasing from behind.
Last year, R-kun completed the run leg in just over four hours under terrible conditions. I predicted he’d likely finish in under four hours this year. Even though I had gained more lead during the bike, if I had collapsed and walked, that lead would have evaporated. I would have been teased again until next year, “I gave you another lesson!” π This thought alone kept me from collapsing during the early race. π
I remembered that last year, despite feeling immense pressure and doubt at this point, when R-kun caught up, I could follow him surprisingly easily even though his pace was slightly faster. I had been intrigued by this phenomenon and wanted to try it alone this year. So I gradually increased my pace from this point.
Soon, I returned to TaupΕ’s main street π. Increasing the pace further, I saw my wife and father-in-law in the stands. High-fiving them with energy switched something inside me. As I wrote in my blog, I had challenged this year’s Ironman intending to leave an even bigger “piece of myself” on the course than last year. I didn’t want to finish with leftover energy; I wanted to burn everything left inside me. So I pushed the pace even higher.
Surprisingly, even in the final kilometer, my pace naturally increased π². Unlike previous final sprints, this was not powered by muscle (after a full day of racing, there was none left ππ’), but by combining skeletal mechanics and inertia, balancing and timing, letting me run effortlessly π. “Wow, I can run this easily without relying on muscle at all!!” I felt a striking revelation. π
I didn’t check my pace for the final kilometer (I didn’t want to obsess over a watch at the very end π), and I even forgot to stop my Garmin until after getting home, so I don’t know the exact pace—but it felt like I was close to sub-4-min/km. It felt like the culmination of the “other-powered” running style I had been seeking all year finally appeared in the very last moment of Ironman π.
Personally, in both my Ironman experiences, I felt a presence of “heaven” at the very end of the run. It may sound exaggerated, but it felt like an Ironman god (in my imagination, kind-hearted but stern, like the comic-style Enma DaiΕ π). If you face suffering without turning away, run with gratitude for others, this presence rewards you by showing the next path forward. Both times, I felt this. (I guess these “visions” appear because of extreme conditions π.)
Last year, through R-kun, it felt like he was saying, “You worked hard to get this far, so I’ll let you finish, but you’re still far from perfect. Start over and come at me again.” This year, at the finish, it felt like he said, “You’ve worked hard for a year, endured my challenges in the race, and ran to the end. As a reward, I’ll show you the world ahead; grasp it and come back.” π
Feeling this mysterious sensation, I returned to the finishing shoot with the red carpet. By now, there was no need to think—just enjoy the moment. I high-fived the outstretched hands along the way, met my wife and father-in-law again, and exaggerated the high-fives so much that the crowd along the route followed, creating probably a longer high-five line than the winner π.
I know I must have looked silly π’π. Also, my O-shaped legs make this Ironman seem even more unnatural. π±
One reason I returned to Ironman this year was to see what it would feel like to reach the finish line a second time, after the emotional finish last year. This year, after enduring even more suffering, the feeling was different. I felt deep satisfaction, accomplishment, and immense gratitude toward everyone involved in this wonderful Ironman—a supreme sense of happiness. So I arrived at the finish, clapping overhead, fully celebrating this incredible race.
In short, although my run leg was a mess, I managed to run to the finish line safely π.
Looking at my pace, it tells the story: from the start, I struggled, flying extremely low, but I persevered—an “ultra natto run” π’π. The time spent walking at aid stations increased in the latter half, but my running pace hardly changed from start to finish. Taking measures early helped avoid a major collapse π. Considering R-kun finished the run in 4:30 (his 7th Ironman), and even Kona hall-of-famer M finished in 4:40 during worse races, it shows how unpredictable Ironman can be, even on good days.
Had it been last year, I wouldn’t have been able to recover from such a tough start and finish the final lap pain-free and strong, so I’ve grown a bit π. But I’ve sworn never to over-ride the bike leg again ππ’.
Oh, I almost forgot—my run result was 4:20:15. My bike position was 442nd, and final rank was 353rd, meaning I passed roughly 90 people by running to the end π.
Well, this has been another extremely long race report, but I’ve finally reached the end π. (It almost feels like the race itself π.)
If anyone has read all of this, thank you for sticking with me. I feel Ironman can only be truly understood by experiencing the race, so I needed to record everything I could remember for my own record. I deeply appreciate your patience and support π.
Finally, as Ironman feels like the culmination of a year’s efforts for me, I’d like to close this report with a thank-you to my blog friends. Your encouragement and comments over the year have been motivating, and following your own rigorous training and race achievements has inspired me greatly. Thank you sincerely π. For those attempting their first long-distance race this year, I will now cheer for you. I hope your challenges are wonderful and meaningful. Good luck!
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