Dancing with the Darkness: My Ironman Frankfurt 2025 Experience
Ironman Frankfurt 2025 wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Not physically, at least. I had trained well, felt strong in the lead-up, and expected the usual battles that come with an Ironman. But what unfolded was something far deeper, and far darker, than I could have imagined. What I faced wasn’t just fatigue or lactic acid—it was the quiet, overwhelming voice of doubt. It was a confrontation with myself. And at times, I nearly gave in.
But let me start at the beginning.
The Swim: Panic in the Langener Waldsee
The Langener Waldsee is an iconic venue, and even though I’ve raced before, that early-morning fog, the tension at the water's edge, and the sudden chaos of the starting gun always hit hard. I knew what to expect. Or so I thought.
About 300 meters in, I had what I can only describe as a "normal panic attack" – as if panic could ever be normal. It wasn’t my first, but it was the first time it struck so early and so intensely. My chest tightened. My strokes shortened. I felt the old irrational fear surge in: What if I can’t breathe? What if I can’t finish? What if this is the end of my day?
I flipped onto my back, trying to calm my breathing, looking up at the sky and counting seconds instead of strokes. I thought about quitting right there. The shore still felt close enough to retreat. The help with a kayak was close enough. But I gave myself a moment. Then another. Slowly, my heartbeat settled. I turned back and kept swimming.
It wasn’t the time I was coming for. I exited the water well behind my expectations, but honestly? I didn’t care. Because once the panic passed, I found a rhythm. The swim in the Langener Waldsee actually started to feel enjoyable. The water was calm. The crowd of athletes began to thin. And in those final hundred meters, I found myself smiling. I had survived the first battle of the day. And that was something.
The Bike: Effortless Freedom
Transitioning to the bike felt like slipping into my comfort zone. My legs knew what to do. My lungs had recovered. And most importantly, my mind was finally quiet.
Frankfurt’s bike course can be deceiving. It’s not a mountain stage, but the rolling terrain keeps you honest. I rode conservatively for the first third, letting others surge past me. But I trusted my pacing. The hours started to blur in that way they do when everything clicks. Pedal. Drink. Pedal. Gel. Pedal. Smile.
I knew I was making up time from the swim, but I didn’t push the watts. I was saving something for the marathon.
The bike wasn’t just smooth – it was fun. Pure, focused joy. No overthinking. No fear. Just me, the road, and a belief building that maybe – just maybe – I had turned the day around.
The Marathon: Breaking at Kilometer 15
It always comes down to the run.
I rolled into T2 feeling fresh. Too fresh, maybe. My legs moved well through the first 5K. I held back, stayed relaxed, fueled like I should. But then something changed. Somewhere between kilometers 10 and 15, the lightness vanished.
It wasn’t physical fatigue at first. It was something darker. I could feel it creeping in, a low hum of despair under the surface. My body was still moving, but my mind began to spiral.
I remember vividly how quiet things felt around kilometer 15. The crowds were there, but my mind didn’t register them. There was no music, no inner mantra, just a hollow emptiness. The brightness of the day faded into a sort of mental fog. I wasn’t in pain, not yet. But I couldn’t find a reason to keep going.
I slowed to a walk. Looked at my watch. Didn’t care. Tried to sip Coke at the aid station. Couldn’t stomach it. I vomited several times. I was close. Really close. To stopping. To giving up.
A Face in the Crowd
And then – almost miraculously – I saw him.
A former colleague, someone I hadn’t spoken to in years, standing along the course, cheering. He recognized me instantly. Called my name. Just seeing him for a moment, hearing him call my name, was enough to shift something in my head. A reminder: Quäl dich, du Sau! – the legendary words of Udo Bölts.
That moment didn’t fix everything. The darkness didn’t magically disappear. But it gave me just enough of a spark to start running again. Slowly, painfully, I picked up my feet and started to believe that I could reach the finish line. I was ashamed of the time, but I kept moving.
I made it to the next aid station. And the next. And eventually, I stopped counting.
The Final Stretch
Those final kilometers in Frankfurt are a blur of emotion. The red carpet, the crowd, the music. It felt like emerging from a storm into sunlight. I wasn’t fast. I wasn’t pretty. But I was moving.
I was proud not to finish the Ironman at the hotel. That is Ironman. It was my 4th finish line and 3 DNFs. You never know what will happen.
Crossing that line wasn’t triumph – it was survival. It wasn’t the time I trained for. But it was, without a doubt, the race I needed.
Reflection: More Than a Finish Time
Ironman is supposed to test you. That’s the point. But I always thought I’d be tested by hills or heat or cramps. I never expected the real test to be me. My mind. My fears. My silence.
In my experience, Ironman Frankfurt is the hardest race out there. The course pushes you physically and mentally like no other. And then there’s the Mainkai — when the sun comes out, it feels like a sauna. The heat there is brutal, a relentless wall that drains you and forces you to dig even deeper.
That day, I didn’t conquer the course. I endured it. And in doing so, I learned something powerful:
Finishing isn’t always about strength.
Sometimes it’s about patience.
Stillness.
Letting the storm pass.
If you’re reading this and you've ever hit that place – that mental wall where everything inside you screams to quit – know that you are not alone. That darkness is part of the journey. And sometimes, it just takes one voice, one familiar face, one tiny push to carry you through.
Ironman Frankfurt 2025 was the hardest race I’ve ever done. Not because of the distance, but because of the space I had to go through inside my own mind.
And still, I would do it again.
Because finishing that race didn’t prove I was strong.
