Race Recap: Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’alene

Idaho isn’t the first place that comes to mind when most people think of a travel destination in the US. But to a triathlete, a small city at the top of the state calls every summer with one of the most highly-rated triathlons in the country. Dad had raced the full Ironman in Coeur d’Alene eight times before the full distance was unfortunately discontinued. But with the half distance still offered, as an 8-time Ironman Coeur d’Alene spectator, it was about time I took on the course myself. During the short runs, rides, and swims leading up to the race, it was clear as the lake water why this was Dad’s favorite race venue. It was already mine, too!

While it wasn’t the biggest, longest, or most daunting race we’d ever signed up for, its significance couldn’t be understated. On top of the nerves and excitement that accompany any race, there was a lot of added emotion surrounding this one – feelings of inspiration, gratitude, and grief. This race signified the official launch of Join the Race, providing an extra dosage of motivation and purpose to the long day ahead. It would also be Dad’s first triathlon since his heart attack in February, after which he wasn’t sure he’d be able to race again, mixing in some thankful and anxious feelings. On top of those things, it was Father’s Day; the first one spent with one less father in our lives. We’d lost Grandpa ten months ago to the day. Suffice to say, as Dad and I looked out at the choppy water in our own sea of green and pink swim caps Sunday morning, there was a lot on both of our minds. The plan all the way back since registration was to race separately, but as athletes were being sent three by three into the water, I called an audible. This special day of celebration, gratitude, and remembrance was made to be spent together.

Warming up - and cooling down - in Lake Coeur d’Alene before race day.

Swim

With the rolling swim start, Dad entered the water about five seconds before me, just after 6:15 am. I hadn’t felt strong in my swim training (or lack thereof) leading up to this race, so I was anxious to get it out of the way. A few moments after my face hit the water, I was surprised to find that the water felt a little rougher than it appeared from shore. The way out went straight into the south wind. Sighting was difficult as buoys would rise and fall behind the waves, and my face was met with a splash each time I lifted my head to stay on course. Many racers were clinging to buoys to reorient themselves, and to make things tougher, the sun peeked over the hills just by the time we were making the turn, making it especially tough to see.

The waves nudged us along on our way back toward shore, but not in a very helpful way. With about 500 yards to go, my stomach began to turn. I’d never dealt with motion sickness in the water before, but something about my lack of control in the way the waves were tossing my body around brought it on fast. Once I was close enough to the gate, I could’ve saved a few seconds by swimming all the way to shore, but I couldn’t take another second face down in the lake. I stood up early in chest-deep water and finished the last ten yards of the swim on foot.

T1

Relieved to be on shore while walking up the beach to T1, I saw a familiar short stride walking into the bike corral. Dad had exited the water just ten seconds before me. Somehow in all that chaos, between trampling bodies and being trampled, rounding the turn buoys and fighting the waves, we’d been right by each other! Guess all of that training together really had us in sync. It was a sign! As we tightened our bike shoes and zipped our jerseys, I let Dad know I was going to stick with him.

Bike

Still a little shaken up from the swim, I mounted the bike with a bit of nausea that subsided the farther we pedaled from the lake. But I was reminded the rest of the day of a familiar bloated feeling that comes from transitioning from water to wheels. The first 14 miles of the bike course went out and back alongside the lake on a scenic road. The excitement of transitioning sports had mostly worn off by the time we reached the base of the hill going out of Coeur d’Alene, settling in for over two miles of nonstop grinding up a 6% grade. This began about a 20-mile ride out of town on the highway, mostly uphill.

The majority of the bike course took place on two lanes of a four lane highway, where the only shade it gets is nighttime. As the sun rose higher overhead, I couldn’t help but notice from a few bike-lengths behind Dad that he hadn’t reached for his sparkling water bottles. Not to foreshadow or anything, but I began to form a pretty safe assumption based on past experiences about the direction the race was headed. I also realized somewhere on the way out that I’d forgotten to put my spare tube in my jersey, since it didn’t fit with my repair kit in the storage compartment on my bike. Thankfully the roads were smooth the entire way, making up for the rough water.

The 20 miles back toward Coeur d’Alene went much faster. The day before the race, Dad drove me out on this road to give me an idea of the hills. On our way back, he pointed out a house that came into view sitting a few dozen feet above our elevation. He said he recalled that house marking the summit of the hill, and he told me to look for it as a finish line for the climb when my legs were feeling shot. Sure enough, the grade tapered toward flat ground just beyond the house. Now mid-race together, when it came into view, I shouted from behind him in a few spare breaths: “There’s that house!”

Now facing the other direction on the summit of our first climb, I was ready for the payoff. As we approached the descent, there was a disappointing sign reading: “SINGLE FILE RIDING - NO PASSING”. This wouldn’t have been a problem had Dad and I arrived at the sign ten seconds earlier, but we began the downslope just behind another rider that must’ve had a fear of high speeds, braking down the entire hill to keep under 30 mph. The bike course was highly marked down this stretch making even an illegal pass pretty sketchy. By the time we reached the bottom of the hill, there were probably fifteen riders backed up behind us that were also robbed of the best part of the bike course. In addition to losing a couple minutes of time, it was frustrating to have anticipated that payoff since the initial ascent almost forty miles prior just to get stuck behind a slow spoke on the way down. I joked after the race it took longer to reach the bottom of the hill than it did to reach the top. But a downhill is a downhill, and the long break from climbing made for an easier ride back into town.

T2

Back in the bike corral, Dad confirmed that he’d never taken a sip on the entire ride, and not just because one bottle was dislodged down the final hill in an inadvertent attempt to wipe me out. He knew if he tried to eat or drink it wouldn’t stay down. I’d barely gotten through one bottle of Propel myself, but I was feeling alright with a decent assortment of granola bars and energy chews in my gut. So with a half marathon to go, I had some fuel in the tank – Dad’s stomach was already on E.

Run

The two-lap run course traced back over parts of the first section of the bike course, making its way through neighborhood roads and down the lakeside trail. The route was lively with neighborhood spectators and high-energy aid stations, and offered some nice shady stretches. We held a steady 8:30/mi pace for the first five miles and completed the first lap running strong. Circling back through the park to start the second lap, we saw the support crew set up on a picnic blanket at the foot of Tubb’s Hill. Last time we’d see them until the finish line!

The second lap was a little slower with a short pit stop. The run had been fairly quiet as Dad concentrated on fighting his nausea. Just after mile 8, Dad finally gave an aid station a go for some electrolytes. Twenty seconds after he took a sip, he quickly veered off the road to have a conversation with the grass. After a couple minutes of that, he somehow resumed a sub-8:30/mi pace. With about five miles to go, a sub-2 hour run was in play.

As we weaved through the park trails in the final minutes of a six-hour race, anticipation crescendoed with the sound of the finish line. All of the mixed emotions surrounding this day made room for one more: a feeling of pure relief that only a hard run race can prepare you for. With a straight shot toward the archway, Mom had the blue Join the Race flag held high behind the fence as Dad and I ran by, side by side, crossing the line for a Father’s Day finish in 6 hours, 12 minutes and 23 seconds.

Immediately after the finish, we made our way down to a shady space near the bike corral where Dad could lie in the grass. He ended up making his routine visit to the medical tent to recover from severe dehydration with an IV, but not before grabbing a quick photo to commemorate the first of many meaningful finishes in the Join the Race era!

Reflection

In less than a week of fundraising leading up to this race, Dad and I feel privileged to have carried $10,106 to the finish line in support of MN Adult & Teen Challenge. These funds will help transform the lives of people seeking freedom from substance abuse. We did not know what to expect for our very first fundraiser, but the bar has been set! A major thank you to the many people who contributed to this important cause through our racing.

Grandpa & Dad at MNATC Fishing Tournament in June of 2018.

We chose to fundraise for MN Adult & Teen Challenge as a way to honor Grandpa, who spent hundreds of hours volunteering as a mentor to dozens of men in recovery at MNATC and leading significant fundraising efforts through MNATC’s annual fishing challenge each year. Passing away in August of 2025 after a two year battle with cancer, this May marked the first fishing tournament Gramps missed in many years. His impact will never be matched, but this was our way of stepping up in his absence as a passionate supporter and mentor of struggling men, women, and teens seeking treatment at MNATC. We know Gramps would be touched by the funds raised in his honor for a cause he supported so fervently. In addition to feeling as though we’ve made a difference, we feel as though we’ve made him very proud.

While Grandpa’s memory was present in every mile, so was an appreciation for life in the present. The water was rough, the hills were steep, and the sun was hot, but each breath was cherished as Dad and I endured the day together. Only four months after Dad’s heart attack, we feel extra thankful to share this action-packed life of racing with each other, and now, with all of you. With our sights set on Ironman Wisconsin in September, a busy summer of training awaits us. Until then, we’re celebrating a successful launch of Join the Race, as we leave Coeur d’Alene in a world a little better than it was before.