Ten Years, One Target: The Journey to Achieving My Ironman World Championship Dream

Qualifying for the Ironman World Championship is a tough goal in endurance sport because it’s not just about finishing, it’s about placing at the top of your age group.

Each Ironman event is allocated a limited number of World Championship slots, which are then divided across age groups. Usually, this means you need to finish in the top few percent of your category, the top 3–5 athletes depending on the size of the field. After the race, the coveted slots are awarded at a ceremony and if someone ahead of you doesn’t take their slot, it rolls to the next finisher.

For me, that breakthrough came at Ironman Canada in 2024. I had targeted the race because the course played to my strengths (and because why not make a holiday out of an event!) and after years of structured training, I finally delivered the performance I needed.

I placed high enough in my age group to be in the mix for a slot, and when the ceremony came, my name was called. It was a surreal moment, standing there, knowing that all the early mornings, endless training blocks, and setbacks had led to this.

That small note on the fridge became a daily reminder, something to glance at each morning before I left for work, or as I made a coffee. It kept me going when training felt endless and when injuries or setbacks threatened to derail me.

This past year was the final push. A full year of structured training, early mornings, long weekends, and sacrifice - all building toward this one race.

Then, just as everything was coming together, I was hit with pneumonia 6 weeks out. It knocked me flat, forced weeks of rest - which I don’t do well - and left me wondering if I’d even make it to the start line in Nice.

By the time race week arrived, I was uncertain of what my body would give me and unlike before most races, I was extremely nervous.

My family and friends came out in force to Nice, France for the World Championships event. My partner Jordan, her dad Steve, who has trekked down from Leeds to keep her safe whilst she travelled 6 weeks away from giving birth, my Dad, Auntie, Sister, and friends Tom, Guy, Claire and Vicky.

I also had two friends, David and Emilio, both racing with me, as we did last year, in Canada.

The support from all my favourite people was the fire that kept me smiling.

Being given a day to travel from work I had the luxury of a relaxing day before the race and start to mentally prepare. The weather was hot, the course looked brutal, and my bike was seemingly sorted and ready. I felt calm and buzzing. 

The Swim

After a restless night’s sleep race morning brought a surprise: a non-wetsuit swim, starting from deep water. Not ideal, but exciting all the same.

The gun went off and we launched into the 3.8 km swim in the turquoise waters of Nice. Beautiful, yes, but astonishingly salty. By the halfway mark I felt strong - be it now with a lot of the sea in my stomach. Still, I settled into rhythm and came out in 1 hour 26 minutes, a time I was more than happy with - however the chafe had begun - I was sure it had been a jellyfish - it wasn’t - it was just my own body rubbing itself.

The Bike

Exiting the water, I nearly sprinted past my bike rack because I was so distracted by my family cheering. Transition was a blur of smiles and adrenaline. I grabbed my bike, splashed myself with cold water (a poor decision—it only worsened the chafing), and set out on the course.

The bike leg was hot. Stifling, relentless heat bouncing off the tarmac, and the opening 60km climb was as intimidating as promised - all up hill.

At that moment, I made a conscious choice: today was not going to be about racing. Today was about embracing the experience, no matter how long it took. So instead of my planned 6½-hour bike, I pedaled through the mountains of France for 7½ hours, soaking in the views, the charm of the little villages, and the shouts of support from locals.

The descents were another story. Fast, technical, and dangerous - ambulances rushed past too often for comfort. Knowing my limits, I kept a stong grip on the brakes and erred on the side of caution. For once, there were no mechanical issues, no major mishaps, just steady progress and gratitude for the chance to ride through such stunning scenery - the mantra that plays over my mind each time - it’s a privilege to be racing.

The Run

As I rolled into transition, Tom’s voice carried across the barriers, giving me the perfect boost heading into my favorite discipline: the marathon.

Running is where I feel most at home, and I set out buzzing with energy. I knew David was a little ahead of me, and part of me wanted to reel him in, but another part just wanted to savor every step. The course along the promenade was spectacular, sea views and the kind of crowd support that makes you feel like a rock star. I stopped at music stations to dance, posed for pictures with my family, and high-fived kids on the sidelines.

The chafing hadn’t magically disappeared, and to make matters worse, the gels started to come up with their own race plan on my stomach. Around halfway, I fought off waves of nausea before finally ducking into a port-a-loo for a necessary, if unglamorous, pit stop. I emerged feeling lighter and determined to carry on.

One of the highlights came when I finally caught up to David. Sharing a few photos and laughs together on course was a reminder that these races are about the journey not the finish line. Eventually, I pushed on for the last 10 km, legs heavy, smile oon my face.

The final stretch along the Promenade des Anglais was electric. The atmosphere, the scenery, the knowledge that this was the Ironman World Championship - all of it hit me at once. I’d dreamed of this moment for years. Crossing that finish line wasn’t just about one race; it was about ten years of persistence, setbacks, recovery, and stubborn belief.

When I finally crossed, the emotion was overwhelming. Relief, pride, joy, it all washed over me. This had been a long-term target, scribbled on a fridge and carried through countless training sessions, and now it was reality.

I couldn’t have done this without the support of my partner Jordan. Putting up with my 5am alarms, the endless Lycra in the laundry and constant chat about timings and bikes - a true teammate and support I couldn’t have dreamed of when I set my goal 5 years before.

I think this might be the moment I hang up my full Ironman shoes. There’s something fitting about closing this chapter here, in Nice, at the World Championship. Whatever comes next, I know I’ve lived this dream fully, and I couldn’t have asked for a better way to end it.

When I first scribbled “Qualify for World Champs” on a note stuck to my fridge, I had no idea how many years of training, setbacks, and persistence it would take. Qualifying for the Ironman World Championship isn’t something that happens by chance, it’s the product of a lot of effort stacked together. 

These are the tips that helped me turn that fridge note into a finish line.

1. Pick the right race for you. Not every Ironman is the same, and choosing wisely can make all the difference. Look for a course that matches your strengths. If you’re a strong climber, maybe a hilly bike course suits you; if you prefer cooler conditions, avoid the hot, humid races. For me, picking the right race wasn’t just about qualifying; it was about setting myself up for the best performance I could give.
   
   
2. Be consistent with your training. Qualifying doesn’t happen overnight (for most of us!) it’s the result of years of showing up to sessions, even if the motivation is low. Even when life gets busy, consistency is what builds the engine you’ll need. It’s not about doing superhuman sessions every week, it’s about stacking months and months of steady work. Those small, consistent efforts add up far more than short bursts of intensity.
   
   
3. Take a long-term approach. For me, qualifying was never about rushing, it was about playing the long game. I gave myself a five-year plan, and each year I focused on one discipline to improve. One year it was my swim, the next it was the bike, and then I really dialed in my run. That long-term focus took the pressure off and allowed me to grow steadily.

Standing on the start line of the Ironman World Championship is surreal. After years of training, the moment finally arrives and it’s easy to let nerves or self-doubt get the better of you.

What helped me most was focusing on a few simple truths that kept me grounded, steady, and able to enjoy the race I’d been dreaming of.

1. You’ve made it this far, so embrace the day. Getting to the start line at the Ironman World Championship is already an achievement that so few people in the world will ever experience. Don’t let nerves or pressure stop you from enjoying the moment. Take in the scenery, the crowd, and the energy around you. Smile, thank the volunteers, and remind yourself that this is the celebration of all the hours, early mornings, and sacrifices you’ve put in.
   
   
2. Fuel wisely and pace yourself. This sounds so obvious but it’s so easy to get caught up in the adrenaline of race day. Stick to the nutrition plan you’ve practiced in training and don’t let excitement push you into going too hard too early to keep up with others around you. Keep the heart rate low, stay steady, and remember that the goal is to finish strong, not to be a hero in the first 20 miles. That way, you’ll avoid the dreaded bonk and give yourself the best chance of enjoying and being 'competitive' the whole day.
   
   
3. Trust the process. You’ve done the training, put in the consistency, and made it this far for a reason. On race day, it’s not about questioning whether you’re ready, it’s about letting all of that work carry you. When things get tough, remind yourself of the sessions you nailed, the progress you’ve made, and the resilience you built over months and years.