personal development
from zero to triathlete: a journey of discipline
in just one year, i went from never having run to placing first in my age group at an ultramarathon and pursuing professional triathlon.
a reflection on how consistency trumps talent, and what happens when the body finally says enough.
i had never run before. not recreationally, not competitively, not even when chased. running was simply not part of my identity or experience. and yet, something compelled me to sign up for the Monument Valley 50k Ultra Marathon—a race through the iconic landscape made famous by Forrest Gump.
this wasn’t a cautious dip into the world of running. it was a headfirst dive into one of the most challenging endurance events imaginable. most people start with a 5k. maybe a 10k. perhaps eventually a marathon. i skipped all that and went straight to an ultramarathon—a 50-kilometer test of will through the red dust and towering buttes of monument valley.
and somehow, inexplicably, i placed first in my age group.
that day changed everything. it revealed possibilities in myself i had never considered, opening a door to a world i never knew existed. what began as a wild challenge became the first step in a journey toward professional triathlon.
the acceleration of progress
after the ultramarathon, i didn’t rest. i didn’t celebrate for long. instead, i asked myself: what else might be possible?
the answer came in the form of triathlons—a three-headed monster of swimming, cycling, and running that demands complete athletic development. for someone who had just discovered running, this meant learning two entirely new disciplines.
my progression in the 70.3 distance (half-ironman) tells a story of relentless improvement:
RACE TIME NOTES
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Calgary 70.3 5:29:43 First ever triathlon
Washington 70.3 5:01:39 Just 2 weeks later
Victoria 70.3 5:01:01 Opening race of new season
Coeur d'Alene 70.3 4:28:00 Shortened swim, breakthrough performance
the numbers don’t fully capture the magnitude of this progression. in endurance sports, improvements typically come in small increments, measured in seconds or minutes over years of training. i was cutting hours in a matter of weeks.
let me take you through the journey, race by race:
calgary 70.3 — the baptism by fire
my first triathlon ever. i had no idea what i was getting into. the preparation was meticulous: a three-day carb load of 900g per day, primarily pasta and rice. i woke at 3am, fueled with a bagel, biscoff spread, banana, and greek yogurt, plus a salt solution. the morning started with watching a bird fly into a power line and explode—an ominous beginning.
the swim was a revelation—39:23 for what should have been 1850m, but poor sighting meant i actually swam 2030m at a pace of 1:54/100m. getting out at the aussie exit between laps spiked my heart rate to 175bpm, leaving me dizzy and disoriented.
on the bike, i managed 143 watts to average 31kph—slow by competitive standards, but a breakthrough for me at 97% of my functional threshold power. the run began with an ambitious 4:47/km pace that quickly proved unsustainable. kilometers 12-17 brought demons—questioning why i was doing this at all—before finding a final surge for the last 5k.
i finished with a 5:29:43, placing 7th in my age group for the run split. not bad for someone who’d never run before that year.
washington 70.3 (maple valley) — just two weeks later
most coaches would advise against racing another 70.3 just two weeks after your first. i did it anyway.
this time my fueling strategy was more precise—targeting 95-100g of carbs per hour. the swim started with a brutal 200m sprint that spiked everything: heart rate, lactate, adrenaline. i had to mentally regroup three minutes in, telling myself “it’s just 12 more of these.”
the bike felt like flying. following advice to race by heart rate and speed rather than power, i pushed 170 watts normalized (94% of my FTP) through brutal climbs in the second half. i clocked 2:41, significantly faster than calgary despite more elevation gain.
the run started strong at 4:26/km until the hills demoralized me. then something magical happened—a female competitor pulled ahead, and i refused to let her drop me. she unknowingly paced me at 4:30/km until the end. the final uphill kilometers cost me a sub-5 hour finish, but i still managed 5:01:39 and earned a top-5 age group plaque.
all this just two weeks after my first triathlon.
victoria 70.3 — the battle against elements
victoria brought brutal conditions. the swim was a breakthrough, taking 3 minutes off my previous time. but then came the rain—constant, pounding rain.
i decided to bike without socks to save time in transition, but it hardly mattered. my helmet fogged completely in the downpour. headwinds, crosswinds, and road spray made the bike leg dangerous. i pushed 2.5 watts/kg for a 2:45 split, while others with similar times were pushing 3.0-3.4—evidence of my improving aerodynamics. i watched competitors fly into ditches and lose control on descents.
by transition 2, my fingers and toes had lost all feeling. i couldn’t even remove my helmet until i’d warmed my hands. the run started with numb legs, but at 9km feeling returned and i began pushing. when i spotted a competitor i disliked, something primal kicked in—i negative split the course, running the final 3.5km at a blistering 3:54/km pace. i finished in 5:01:01, heartbreakingly close to breaking the 5-hour barrier, but with another 4-minute personal record.
perhaps most telling was my half-marathon time off a 90-kilometer bike: 1:33. for context, that’s a 4:26/km pace after already swimming 1.9 kilometers and cycling 90 kilometers. elite age-groupers dream of breaking 1:30 in this scenario. i was almost there in my first season.
the science behind the progress
what set my approach apart wasn’t raw talent—it was methodical precision.
from the beginning, i approached training like a scientist approaches an experiment. every workout had a purpose. every training block built toward specific adaptations. nothing was arbitrary or based on feel alone.
between april 24th and july 30th alone, i logged 197 hours of training: 117 hours on the bike, 56 hours running, and 22 hours swimming. this wasn’t just mindless volume—it was carefully structured around physiological principles.
at the center of this approach was lactate testing. by precisely measuring blood lactate levels during progressive exercise tests, i could identify the exact intensities where my body shifted between energy systems. this allowed me to target specific physiological adaptations with surgical precision:
TRAINING ZONE LACTATE LEVEL PRIMARY ADAPTATION
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Zone 1 (Recovery) <1.0 mmol/L Capillarization, fat metabolism
Zone 2 (LT1) 1.0-2.0 mmol/L Mitochondrial density, fat oxidation
Zone 3 (LT2/Threshold) 2.0-3.0 mmol/L Lactate clearance, muscular endurance
i followed a pyramidal training distribution based on this three-zone model. lactate is a byproduct of anaerobic respiration—higher levels lead to acidosis, making prolonged exercise nearly impossible. the two lactate thresholds (LT1 and LT2) mark points where blood lactate concentration increases. these thresholds are highly trainable, and my objective became increasing my speed at each threshold across all three disciplines.
even nutrition was scientific. for races, i calculated carbohydrate intake down to the gram—targeting between 95-125g per hour, depending on the race. my hydration strategy included precise sodium concentrations. i even tested different aerodynamic configurations, like using a 2L hydration bladder inside my tri suit as an aerodynamic fairing rather than mounting bottles on the bike.
this wasn’t just about training hard—it was about training smart. the body adapts to specific stresses in specific ways. by applying the right stress at the right time, progress becomes not just possible but inevitable.
every workout became a data point. every race became an experiment. and the results spoke for themselves.
the deeper lessons
the journey from non-runner to competitive triathlete taught me far more than how to swim, bike, and run efficiently. it revealed fundamental truths about achievement and personal growth that transcend sport entirely.
consistency trumps intensity. the single most important factor in my progress wasn’t how hard i trained on any given day—it was showing up every single day. the body adapts through repeated stimulus over time, not through occasional heroic efforts.
on days when motivation was low, when fatigue was high, when life got in the way—these were the days that mattered most. anyone can train when they feel good. champions train when they don’t.
process over outcomes. as the results improved, it became tempting to focus on times, placings, and podiums. but this is a trap. the outcome is never in your control—only the process is. by focusing relentlessly on the process—the daily habits, the recovery protocols, the nutritional discipline—the outcomes take care of themselves.
boundaries must be respected. the human body is remarkably adaptable, but it has limits. pushing beyond those limits doesn’t accelerate progress—it halts it. learning to recognize the fine line between productive stress and destructive strain is perhaps the most valuable skill in endurance sports.
unfortunately, this was a lesson i would learn the hard way.
when the body says “enough”
in the midst of my meteoric rise in triathlon, with performances improving at a rate that defied conventional wisdom, my body finally rebelled.
it started as a mild discomfort in my leg. nothing serious—just a twinge. the kind of thing that any dedicated athlete would train through. and so i did. the twinge became an ache. the ache became pain. the pain became debilitating.
suddenly, the athlete who had never taken a day off was forced to stop entirely.
no swimming. no cycling. no running. just the cruel stillness of recovery and the constant company of ice packs and rehabilitation exercises.
the timing couldn’t have been worse. not only was i at the peak of my athletic trajectory, but i was also looking for work. the psychological toll was perhaps greater than the physical one. my identity had become so intertwined with training and performance that this forced rest felt like an existential crisis.
who am i if i can’t train? what is my purpose if i can’t race? how do i structure my days without the anchor of workouts?
these questions revealed how much of my self-worth had become tied to athletic achievement—a dangerous trap that many athletes fall into.
the unexpected gift of injury
as weeks of recovery stretched into months, something unexpected happened. the void created by the absence of training wasn’t just empty space—it was room for growth in other dimensions.
after my fastest half marathon yet (1:33 off a 90km bike ride), my body finally said “enough.” the leg pain i’d been pushing through—the one i’d convinced myself was just normal training discomfort—became impossible to ignore.
without the constant physical fatigue of training, my mind became sharper. ideas flowed more freely. conversations became deeper. i reconnected with parts of myself that had been overshadowed by the single-minded pursuit of athletic excellence.
i realized that the same principles that had propelled my triathlon career— consistency, process-orientation, scientific precision—could be applied to other areas of life:
career development. the job search became a methodical process, with daily habits and measurable progress, just like training.
relationships. giving consistent attention to important relationships, even in small daily doses, yielded profound improvements.
personal growth. reading, learning, and reflection became structured daily practices rather than occasional activities.
perhaps most importantly, injury provided the gift of perspective. it reminded me that i am not defined by what i do, but by who i am. my value as a person isn’t measured in finish times or race results.
this doesn’t mean i’ve abandoned my athletic ambitions. far from it. but now those ambitions sit within a larger context—one piece of a more focused life rather than its defining feature.
as i continue to recover, focusing on healing properly before returning to training, i’m grateful for both the meteoric rise and the humbling fall. both have been essential teachers.
the path forward
every day, as i perform my rehabilitation exercises with the same discipline that once fueled my training, i’m reminded that this, too, is part of the journey. the path isn’t always forward or upward. sometimes it circles back, sometimes it dips down, sometimes it pauses entirely.
what remains constant is the approach: show up every day. trust the process. measure what matters. adjust based on feedback. respect limits. play the long game.
whether applying these principles to recovering from injury, searching for work, or eventually returning to triathlon, the fundamentals remain the same. success leaves clues, and the clues rarely change.
from monument valley’s red dust to the blue waters of coeur d’alene, from the triumph of unexpected achievement to the humility of forced rest, the lesson remains: what we accomplish is ultimately less important than who we become along the way.
and who i’ve become is someone who understands that the finish line was never the point. it was always about the journey—the daily decision to show up and do the work, whatever that work might be.
@misc{myjourney2025triathlon,
title = {From Zero to Triathlete: A Journey of Discipline},
author = {Raahim Salman},
year = {2025},
url = {https://rsalman.xyz/tri}
}