“Marius, you are an Ironman,” echoes through the speakers, as the crowd at the finish line erupts in cheers and applause. I feel like a champion, a hero. For the eighth time. I’ve just swum 3.8 km, biked 180 km, and run 42.2 km. One after another, in 12:33:20. Twelve and a half hours. Not my best time, not my worst. A solid, middle-of-the-road time. A time that allowed me to soak in the atmosphere along most of the bike course and every single moment of the run. I struggled in the first part of the marathon, but I swore I wouldn’t walk, I wouldn’t give up, I wouldn’t make excuses—I would keep running. I had already given myself excuses this year at UltraBalaton, and that was enough, even if they were valid. And I did it—I didn’t break, I found solutions. I ran with a smile on my face most of the time. I danced to YMCA with a group of 25-30 people, sang “Buffalo Soldier” with another, high-fived at least 60-70 kids, and tapped every single sign that said “Tap here to power up”—signs decorated with all sorts of drawings and characters, many from cartoons and video games. The best ones were the Mario signs, which even played sound effects. I ran through every sprinkler and shower along the route to cool down, and I soaked up every bit of encouragement and energy from the thousands of spectators lining the course. 

About 2 km of the 14 km loop ran through the historic city center, where the running course was lined with barriers, right down the middle of pedestrian areas, allowing people to gather on both sides. When they weren’t cheering and shouting our names (our race bibs had our names on them), they clapped in perfect rhythm, like at the theater. Words can’t describe what that feels like. You forget the pain, the exhaustion, the… everything. Two or three times, I got so emotional that I teared up. I didn’t collapse on the ground, but yeah, I had to sniffle a little. ? At one point, I saw a little girl, maybe 3-4 years old, having a full-blown tantrum on the grass, screaming at the top of her lungs, while her parents kept cheering on the athletes. I looked at her mom, who laughed, gestured that everything was fine, and shouted, “Heja, heja, go, go, go!” A little further along, another girl was saying something very determined and reaching out her hand. I couldn’t bring myself to pass by without a high-five. ?

So. Many. People. Everywhere. It was hard to even find a decent spot to take a… well, you know. ? Half-joking, half-serious, but yeah, my stomach was a mess from all the bike gels. I hadn’t brought any from home, thinking I’d find PowerGels there, but nope. Instead, I had some insanely raspberry-flavored gels. Great taste, worked well on the bike. For the run, I was counting on the Maurten gels provided by the organizers. They’re usually great, but after taking two within 25 minutes, my stomach cramped up, and I couldn’t eat anything until kilometer 18, when I made a bathroom stop. And what a bathroom—shockingly clean and odor-free. After that, I started feeling better. I snacked on some banana pieces, drank cola (a weird combo, but it worked like magic), and had lots of water. Everywhere. At every aid station, I dumped liters of water over myself and ran through every cooling shower along the course. 

The bike leg went well. I had some saddle discomfort in the first 40-50 km—couldn’t quite find my position, and the pain started spreading down my legs. But then things settled. I hit my goal: a 30 km/h average, finishing in 6 hours. Even though I’ve done about 6 hours in my last four races, this time, my power output was 160W—higher than my previous max of 155W. Plus, I had energy all the way to the end. I pushed through those last few kilometers, even on the climbs and flats. Transition 2 (bike to run) took me 12 minutes—4 of which were spent in the bathroom. I’d needed to go since km 150 but refused to stop. And yeah, when I finally got to the toilet and “turned on the faucet,” it just wouldn’t stop. ?

I loved the bike course. It was a single 180 km loop, taking us through all sorts of rural areas. We even crossed one of Europe’s longest bridges—Öland Bridge. At 6 km long, it connects Kalmar to the island of Öland. Stunning. Just incredible. In every town, people were outside their houses in lounge chairs, with tables full of food and drinks, watching like it was a festival. Or they gathered “downtown” in groups of dozens. ? And the cheers never stopped. Even outside the towns, people were stationed at intersections with lawn chairs, blankets, and all kinds of noise-making devices. Apart from the swim, I pretty much had a grin on my face the whole time. :))

The swim was the first leg. Since our hotel was right by the start and finish, we suited up in our wetsuits straight from the room. It took us just three minutes to get to the start, where we planned to start with the 1:45 group. Somehow, we ended up with the 2-hour group, and by the time we got into the water, there were only five people left behind us—out of 2,000. ? Swimming isn’t our strong suit, so we never start too far up “in the battle.” But this time, it was a lesson learned. I ran into all sorts of… let’s say, less experienced swimmers who couldn’t swim straight. I kept finding people cutting right in front of me at weird angles, zigzagging all over the place. ? The course was a bit complex. We swam out of the harbor into open water, then after several direction changes, we returned to the harbor, swam through a narrow canal, and passed under two bridges—pretty cool, actually. The water was strange—not too salty. I came out feeling super motivated and eager to get on the bike. My time wasn’t great—1:51—but I can’t say I pushed hard. Transition 1 was fairly quick, about 5-6 minutes, just enough to get out of the wetsuit, put on my shoes, helmet, and race bib.

Interestingly, in Sweden, just like in the Netherlands, people kept calling me “Markus” (about 80% of the time). You’d think they don’t like the name Marius, but hey, it’s fine. ?

All in all, this was an unforgettable experience. Even though everywhere in Europe people understand what this race means and know how to cheer, here, it felt like another level. So many more spectators, both on the bike and the run. And the grandstands at the finish? Packed. Until the very last athlete crossed the line. 

I’m beyond happy with the result. I had Covid less than two months ago, and the recovery was tough. I wasn’t sure where I stood. But I’m so, so glad I pushed through and didn’t break mentally. 

That being said, I can’t wait for the next one. ❤️??‍♂️?‍♂️?‍♂️