I deactivate airplane mode on my smartphone. It's already past midnight when we finally land in Hamburg. This flight, too, would arrive at its destination with a considerable delay. "So much for German punctuality," grumbles my Italian seatmate. Just a few hours earlier, after downloading a whole range of podcasts, I spotted Nicola. I've known Nicola for quite some time, yet I was still surprised to find him here at Gate A16 in Budapest. We'd both been too stingy and left the seat selection to the algorithm. Now we're sitting side by side—what a coincidence! He tells me about his last race, the prestigious World Cup in Tiszaujvaros, Hungary. Not good, not bad, but the points are in the bag. When he then goes on to describe the pitfalls of traveling to a competition solo, I feel a pang of nostalgia. I think back to all those trips I undertook in pursuit of the world rankings, all the successes I celebrated on the international stage, yet I completely forget those hours I spent huddled up, starving, and without the coveted world ranking points in my luggage, whiling away the hours on long-haul flights. It's a tough business, and we both laugh when I steer our conversation back to how we met out on a night out. That was ten years ago: During the qualifying event for the Youth Olympic Games, my first international competition, we found ourselves in the Dutch nightlife. In the race itself, I had a nasty fall right in front of my mother and finished the sprint triathlon with bent handlebars, but a spirited run, in tenth place overall. Like Nicola, I missed qualifying, yet just a few days later I was sitting beaming on the team bus back to Freiburg. The German-Italian fraternization had consequences: International short-distance triathlon was now my thing.
Focus on short distances | Photo: Simon Gehr
There was hardly a soul left at Hamburg Airport. Only a dozen triathletes were still waiting at the baggage carousel. Even more athletes had managed to sneak onto the Eurowings plane. We all looked visibly worn out, tired, yet stressed, as we would be at the starting line of the World Championship race in three days. We had to swallow hard at the prospect of the already-dawning schedule for Thursday: setting up our bikes, media appointments, briefings, plus the daily training routine, meals, and team meetings. In times when recovery in professional sports is glorified in the media and our competitors are already fast asleep, we wouldn't reach the hotel until 1 a.m. at the earliest. We all seemed tense as the shuttle coordinator assigned us to our hotels. I tried to break the lethargic spell and pointed out to a British fellow traveler that we weren't exactly making things easy for the shuttle company representative, since none of us were wearing our national uniforms. She reassured everyone: The association wouldn't cover a single cent of the travel costs. Nicola agreed. So did I. Midnight at Hamburg Airport: A group bound by fate, but a group nonetheless.
The following morning, getting up is harder than usual. My eyelids just won't stay open. A short stroll along the Alster lake should help and also give me some orientation. Since arriving in Hamburg, I'd entrusted myself to the organizers. The receptionist had kindly shown me to my double room, and I'd quickly grabbed a couple of gummy bears from the lobby, but apart from that, I hadn't really noticed much around me in the middle of the night. I'd barely been walking for five minutes when I heard a cheerful "Moin, Jannik" behind me. Matt Hauser, who would win the race two days later, had already laced up his running shoes early that Thursday. Respect, I thought to myself in my morning lethargy, and couldn't help but tell him about our arduous journey. He, on the other hand, raved about what a glorious morning it was: "Take it easy, man. Go grab a coffee. See you at breakfast!"
"Coffee first!" | Photo: Margaux Le Map
I would later recount this youthful lightness, which the Australian delegation has always brought to Europe, in more detail. In a podcast interview with a renowned triathlon magazine—the name says it all—I was asked about my beginnings in triathlon. But contrary to the usual chronological approach, this time the right questions were asked as I recounted my carefree yet highly successful time as a student at Saarland University. Lots of training, lots of partying, and yet winning races—had I lost this easygoing attitude over the years, my interviewer asked. Absolutely, I replied briskly, rambling on about parties and getting older. Not an answer that would have given me sleepless nights in retrospect, but a topic worth exploring calmly at my desk. After all, I hadn't just lived that easygoing attitude, but had also learned it from my beloved coach, Klaus-Peter. When I stormed onto the bike course at the 2016 German Championships, brimming with youthful euphoria, and then managed to break away from the rest of the field along with six other competitors, he gave me only one piece of advice for the final five-kilometer run: Stay relaxed. And so I became the German U23 Champion, celebrating my greatest success in triathlon to date as a junior. An achievement that we, as a training group, naturally wanted to celebrate extensively afterward. Klaus-Peter simply instructed the older members to keep a close eye on "the little one." Said and done, and we had a blast.
Unfortunately, this Olympic year wasn't as successful for everyone as the governing body had hoped. After the debacle in Rio, a host of changes were intended to breathe new life into our training group, indeed into German triathlon as a whole. Structural reforms were implemented, resulting in the expulsion of selected athletes from the training group. Furthermore, the coaching team was replaced, and suddenly the primary focus shifted to keeping the competition from other training centers within Germany at bay. Although everyone involved was passionate about the cause, my performance stagnated. I suffered an injury and made decisions with far-reaching consequences I never imagined, as they were, in my view, the only option. While searching for a new path, my own path, the decisions of others also proved powerful enough to pull the rug out from under me. I will never forget the evening before the U23 World Championships in Lausanne, when our sports director called me into the lobby for a meeting. I had successfully completed the qualification process and had spent the entire summer preparing specifically for this race. I had spent four grueling weeks training at altitude, only to be evicted from my base, my home base, the very eve of the race. This was followed by a plunge into self-employment in the sport, right in the middle of the crisis-ridden pandemic year of 2020, a move, and a new environment. At the same time, however, a certain defiance emerged—now more than ever. Yes, at some point you start setting goals and communicating them publicly. You increasingly look to the right and left and are forced to adopt a certain cutthroat mentality. Envy and resentment become daily companions, with social media acting as a catalyst. You fixate on funding amounts and staff turnover, seeing an elite circle to which you don't belong.
Quick change and off we go! | Photo: Simon Gehr
Today I can put all of this into perspective. Here in Hamburg, I'm part of the team, but just as quickly I'll be back on my own if I don't earn the required world ranking points. I enjoy the luxury of a bike mechanic, a physiotherapist, and expert discussions about the upcoming competition, yet I'm also aware of its finite nature. My companion brings up the dilemma I'm currently facing, since I dedicated the first part of the season exclusively to middle-distance triathlons. After missing out on Olympic qualification and all the associated strain, I felt this decision was the only option. I needed a fresh start, and that meant something beyond world ranking points. At the same time, my team and I are clear that the slightly longer distance suits my strengths better than the short, explosive races where tenths of a second in an aggressive race determine victory or defeat. And yet, I find it difficult to completely abandon that. I was fortunate enough to share too many wonderful moments, to spend too many competition trips and training camps in the company of fascinating people.
Generally, you always think the grass is greener on the other side. But even in the middle-distance triathlon, I suffered from chronic dissatisfaction this spring. I had meticulously prepared for the new challenges all winter, longer than ever before, and was immediately rewarded in Valencia: third place and direct qualification for the World Championships in my very first 70.3 race. In the days that followed, I was more motivated than ever, but immediately fixated on the things I could have done better to at least win the epic sprint finish for second place. Although the media coverage undoubtedly made me realize the significance of this result, I overdid it a bit in the aftermath of the race. And unfortunately, this minor setback was only the beginning of a series of, let's say, unfortunate events. After exiting the waters around Mallorca in the lead, I now recognize the decisive mistake earlier. Respectfully, yet also to conserve energy, I had tucked away behind two of the strongest cyclists in our sport for the first ten kilometers. Things suddenly got hectic on the mountain, and although I reached the Lluc Monastery at the back of the leading group, I fell victim to a moment of inattention from someone in front of me on the downhill section and suddenly found myself in pursuit. The crowning moment of my day's learning experience in middle-distance dynamics followed: a five-minute time penalty.
Group dynamics require concentration! | Photo: Marcel Hilger
Ultimately, the aftereffects of Valencia led me to decide to end the race in Mallorca early, because two weeks later I finally wanted to show what I was capable of, to reward myself for all the work I had invested over the winter, and to see my performance reflected in a placing. In Kraichgau, I did many things better, was significantly more skillful on the bike, and was also able to make my mark a few times during the race. I started the run in an ideal position and all I could think was, "Finally, today!" But then, just as I was about to take the lead, and completely without warning—I had read a lot about it: hitting the wall. That hurt, especially mentally. I had also read all sorts of reasons that doom a middle-distance race to failure, primarily on social media. Unfortunately, though, I couldn't blame a lost water bottle, a missing salt tablet, or a torn tri suit for my engine failure. My body, however, sent me signals in the following weeks: perhaps my first middle-distance season had been a bit too demanding. A little distance helped me put things into perspective and regain my confidence, although I could have done without a strained hip flexor, a back spasm, and a cycling crash. Without these setbacks, I'm sure I'd be sitting in this podcast interview today, the day before the World Championship race in Hamburg, with considerably more confidence. What happens next? We'll see. At the end of the day, clear decisions are needed, but not hasty ones. I see myself in the privileged position of being able to make these decisions. A freedom that others don't have, or don't want. I'm focusing on my athletic progress and am firmly convinced that things will fall into place. So I remain optimistic and long for Klaus-Peter by my side, who never tired of emphasizing one thing: always stay relaxed.
