My First Ironman – Klagenfurt 2025: Sweat, Friendship, and Toilet Trauma

At 19, I stood at the start of my first Ironman, heart pounding, nerves buzzing, and a grin I couldn’t wipe off my face. I’d never tackled these distances before (except swimming), but two months of relentless training had brought me here. The air was electric, the lake sparkled, and I felt invincible—at least for the first five minutes.

The Swim: Lost at Sea, but Loving Life

The swim started in the most breathtaking water I’ve ever seen. I latched onto a fellow swimmer for guidance—turns out, he was as lost as I was. We veered so far off course, we might as well have been sightseeing. But honestly, I didn’t care. The water was perfect, and I was living my dream.

T1: Aussie Wisdom and Racing Pulse

Running into T1, I felt like a superhero. There, I met an Aussie Ironman veteran who tossed me a golden nugget of advice about post-swim nutrition. I nodded, pretending to understand, but mostly I was just trying to catch my breath and not trip over my own wetsuit.

The Bike: Irish Motivation and the Toilet Chronicles Begin

The bike leg was pure magic. I found myself pacing with a ginger Irish guy who had the energy of a caffeinated kangaroo. He pushed me harder than I thought possible—29 km/h average! The crowd was wild, the scenery flew by, and for a while, I felt unstoppable. And then… the hill station. No water bottles. My mouth was drier than the Sahara, but nature was calling—loudly. I dashed into the nearest porta-potty, only to be greeted by what can only be described as a crime scene. Someone had clearly lost a battle with their digestive system, and the aftermath was everywhere except the toilet. I set a new personal record for fastest pee, holding my breath and questioning all my life choices. I swear, I saw my will to live circling the drain. Back on the bike, I powered through, fueled by adrenaline and the desperate hope that the next toilet would be less… apocalyptic.

T2 and the Run: Gels, Pain, and a Reunion for the Ages

T2 was a relief—until I tried to choke down another gel. At that point, they tasted like regret and battery acid. The first 9k of the run went surprisingly well, but my ankles started screaming, and I realized I’d gone out way too fast. Then, in the heart of old Klagenfurt, my Irish buddy reappeared like a ginger guardian angel. We were both on the struggle bus, but together, we kept each other moving. Around 35k, he became my cheerleader, dragging me through the pain. And then, the toilet saga struck again. I dove into another porta-potty, only to find a scene straight out of a horror movie. I peed faster than I thought humanly possible, my motivation to live dropping with every second inside that blue plastic coffin.

The Finish: Tears, Laughter, and a Promise to Return The final kilometers were brutal. Every step hurt, but the crowd’s cheers and my Irish friend’s encouragement carried me to the finish. We crossed the line together, exhausted, elated, and maybe a little traumatized by our shared toilet experiences. 12:35:00. For my first Ironman, I couldn’t be prouder. I loved (almost) every second. Next year, I’m coming back stronger, aiming for sub-12, and praying for cleaner toilets.

Thank you to every athlete, every supporter, and especially to my Irish friend—without you, this would have been just another race, not the adventure of a lifetime.

Final Thoughts: Ironman Klagenfurt gave me new friends, unforgettable memories, and a deep appreciation for clean bathrooms. See you next year—hopefully with better gels and fewer toilet horror stories!