Taupo 70.3 World Championships Race Report
We touched down in New Zealand on Wednesday, just ahead of race day, and stayed at the airport for the night. Thursday, I made my way to Taupo, though not without a hiccup—our rental car had coolant issues, delaying things a bit. Finally, by Friday, I arrived in Taupo, ready for the big race, but not without a bit of drama!
On Friday, I did a quick reconnaissance ride and had a heart-stopping moment. Coasting down a hill, a sudden crosswind caused me to experience terrifying speed wobbles at 80 km/h, according to my Garmin. Somehow, I managed to regain control, but it left me shaken. From that moment, I made a mental note to slow down on race day.
Race morning came early at 4:15 AM. I quietly ate in the dark, trying not to wake my family. Then came an emotional goodbye with my wife, who dropped me off at transition around 5:45 AM. I had plenty of time to check over my bike and make my way to the swim start. As they announced the pro athletes, I lined up for the rolling start, nerves building as each wave of athletes surged ahead. When our wave—40-44 age group—was called, the crowd pushed forward, and I found myself pushed back by several spots, now about 8 or 9 places behind the front runners. I wasn’t sure where my competitors were, but I hoped they’d be spread out so I could race them throughout the day.
Swim Leg
The seconds ticked by, each wave going off every 12 seconds, and finally, it was our turn. The swim was brutal. I’d planned to start at an easy pace, but before I knew it, only one other person had surged ahead of me. I quickly latched onto their feet, but they were swimming faster than I’d expected. My first 200 meters ticked by in 2:40—quicker than I wanted, but I was breathing well, so I decided to stick with it. I lost the swimmer I was following before the first buoy, but by the time I reached it, I’d caught up with a larger group ahead. I swam on their feet for a while before feeling like I could push a little more.
By the second buoy, I found myself at the front, with others drafting behind me. It was strange—weren’t they supposed to be faster? But I kept swimming, all the way to shore. I resisted the urge to sprint into the finish, knowing I’d make up more time running to transition than gasping for air at the end of the swim. I clocked a 29:59 swim time.
Transition 1
The swim-to-bike transition is always a struggle. After finally managing to get my wetsuit off, I forced myself to start running up the hill to transition, passing a few athletes along the way. I grabbed my helmet and stripped my wetsuit handing it to a volunteer, than sprinted to find my steed. I momentarily slowed to grab my bike and then dashed out of transition, clocking 3 minutes 42 seconds for the whole process.
Bike Leg
The bike leg started with a steep hill. I held back, determined not to push too hard too early, sticking to my self-imposed upper limit of 300 watts. As I made my way out of town, I passed several riders and soon found myself on the highway, with fewer competitors around me.
When the big descent came, I played it safe, aware of the risks. An athlete passed me on the uphill after the descent, and I thought, This is perfect! We can work together to catch others. My power output hit 310-320 watts on the climb, and though I was pushing hard, I started closing the gap on the rider who’d passed me. By the crest of the hill, I took the lead and encouraged him to push with me. I flew down the next descent, but quickly found myself alone again. All I could do was focus on closing the gap to the pack ahead, which was now out of sight (though I’d measured about 90 seconds ahead at the top of the big climb).
It was a lonely ride, with only a few riders scattered between me and the group I was targeting. I passed athletes and encouraged them to hang on, but they couldn’t keep up. By the time I reached a slight hill, I saw the group ahead of me, and the gap started to close slowly but surely. At 50 km, I was within striking distance—about 45 seconds back.
With renewed focus, I pushed harder, hitting the corners faster and gradually chipping away at the gap. 40 seconds became 30, and then, as I closed in on the group, I was on their heels. I caught up to them partway along Broadlands rd and I took 5mins to regain composure (and fuel) dangling about 15 meters behind, but there was a huge guy at the back providing some much-needed shelter.
I was made aware that a second pack had joined us, as a rider passed me. I thought it was a good opportunity to increase the pace so went all the way to the front and did a 5min effort. We caught a couple more riders, as the pace picked up. But just as we attacked the infamous Heartbreak Hill, disaster struck: I dropped my chain—not once, but twice! I ground to a near stop, losing valuable time. Everyone passed me, and I was suddenly 100 meters behind with 10 km left in the race. I couldn’t panic. I just had to keep working hard.
The gap began to close as I powered down the descent towards transition. I passed a few more athletes and could see the remnants of the group up ahead. I had one final cautious moment as I navigated the chicane, but I was catching and passing athletes. By the time I reached transition, I’d managed to reduce much of the time loss due to the mechanical. The bike leg wrapped up in 2:21:04.
Transition 2
Transition went smoothly, though it was a bit chaotic with so many athletes around. I grabbed my bag, threw on my shoes, and sprinted to the exit in 1 minute 40 seconds.
Run Leg
As I hit the run, I quickly realized my legs weren’t going to cooperate. My goal pace for a half marathon off the bike was around 3:30 per km, but today, it felt too ambitious. I settled into a 3:40 pace, trying to stay consistent. Along the course, I spotted my wife, who told me the lead was over 7 minutes ahead. I asked about the podium, hoping to find something to motivate me as my brain screamed for me to stop.
The course was packed with spectators, and I focused on my form, trying to stay cool as the day heated up. The first lap felt like a blur, but I saw Rhys ahead, about 2 minutes up. I made a mental note to try and catch him. At a particularly tough hill, I passed my family again and decided the top of the hill would be my finish line on the second lap.
On the first lap of the run, only my age group and the pros were on the course. It was quite a cool experience, with lots of spectators out and easy access to stuff at the aid stations. The funniest sign was ‘Run faster or I’ll drop the sign.’ The gentleman holding the sign had his pants already down around his ankles (as seen in the below pic).
The crowds got bigger, and the energy was contagious. I was exhausted, but I kept challenging myself to do better. By the time I reached the final turnaround, Rhys’s gap was still about the same. No chance to catch him now, but I focused on the finish. With about 3 kilometers left, I decided to go all in. Up the hill to my fake finish – it felt brutal, but I powered up it, determined not to let up. I then launched myself downhill, quads screaming, but I kept pushing.
As I reached the final stretch, my legs were shot, but I focused on my breathing and keeping a steady pace. The red carpet was in sight, and I knew the finish line was close. I crossed it with a final time of 4 hours 14 minutes, a half-marathon run of 1 hour 18 minutes, and a deep sense of satisfaction. Result: 6th in AG.
Reflections and Lessons Learned
Looking back, this race was an incredible experience. Despite not racing the way I’d hoped, I learned so much. The swim is still my biggest weakness, and I need to prioritize it. Age group racing is only getting tougher and you can’t have a big deficit if you want to be competitive and part of the race.
In rolling starts, you have to fight for your position at the front—nobody will just hand it to you. My race for a result effectively ended before it started by being too far behind to take advantage of pack dynamics.
Bike maintenance turned out to be a hard lesson. I should have fixed my chain issue before the race instead of hoping it would hold up. I had a new chain ready to go, but it was too short! According to my wife, I was about two minutes slower than my projected bike time, during the section where I dropped the chain (she even worried I’d had an accident!). Whether I lost one minute or two due to the chain issues is unclear—I’d dropped it twice earlier in the lap, but luckily, I was on a downhill, so the impact was minimal. In any case, it was a good reminder: always make sure your gear is in top shape before race day to avoid these kinds of problems.
When I rolled up on the pack I should have talked to some of the guys (and gone to the front) to understand where we were in the race rather than just assuming. I could always sit up and let them overtake me again.
Even though I didn’t get to race those ahead of me, this experience reinforced why I do this—it’s not just about the results (though I do care about them!). It’s about testing my limits, competing against myself, and knowing that, win or lose, I gave it my all. And, most importantly, those who matter are proud of me no matter where I finish. I still feel like I can go faster.
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Copyright © Luke Jones
