I trained for an Ironman mostly on my own.

That does not mean nobody supported me. Friends joined me for certain rides, runs and training sessions, and those moments mattered. My fiancé deserves a special mention for the sacrifice she made.  But much of the process still felt solitary: the early mornings, the long weekends and the sessions where nobody was waiting for me and nobody would have known if I had stayed in bed.

In South Africa, the training groups I knew had always felt like communities. People took the work seriously, but once the session ended, the seriousness ended with it. You trained together, suffered together, had a coffee, made jokes and became friends.

In Israel, I struggled to find the same thing.

The groups I encountered often felt intensely focused on performance. There is nothing wrong with that. An Ironman demands commitment, discipline and seriousness. But I missed the part that came afterwards: the friendships, the laughter and the feeling that the people beside you cared about more than your pace, power or result.

So, while I was not completely alone, much of the journey felt like something I had to carry myself.

Long rides. Long runs. Early mornings. Weekends built around training while most people around me continued living normally.

There is a particular kind of loneliness in preparing for something that slowly consumes your calendar. Your social life changes. Your body is almost permanently tired. You organise your sleep, meals, work and travel around a race that is still months away.

Nobody forces you to continue.

That is partly what makes it valuable.

Then, as the race approached, Disaster hit!!!

The obstacles became slightly........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)