What made my self-supported IronMan harder than the organised race
Most people assume that an organised IronMan is as hard as it gets — and physically, they’re right. The distance is brutal:
3.8 km /2.4 miles swim
180.2 km / 112 miles bike
42.2 km / 26 miles run
But when I decided to complete a self-supported IronMan, I learned something most race-day participants never do:
Without the infrastructure, support crew, or crowd, the challenge transforms not only into something far more mentally demanding and logistically exhausting but also into a tremendous shift within.
Here’s what made my DIY IronMan even harder than the official version.
No nutrition or hydration support
In an organised IronMan, you’ll find regular aid stations stocked with everything from isotonic drinks and energy gels to bananas, crisps, etc.
In my self-supported event? I was the aid station or I shall say my van. I had to plan, prep, and stash my own nutrition. I needed to know exactly when I’d be hungry, how I’d access my next snack, and what I’d crave when everything felt impossible. Every sip of water had to be pre-planned and self-carried — no one was handing me bottles at mile 30. To be honest, a friend of mine seriously came down to Bournemouth beach and support me a long stretch on the run. He offered to help me refilling my flasks at the public water stations but I said: “Nope, please don’t touch me or my equipment. I want it to count 100% self-supported.” So I fiddled around with my flask whilst pressing that button so some water would pour out - you can imagine the scenario :) And then I added my Tailwind powder to the flask which I had stashed in plastic bags.
I am not exaggerating: Just image exactly this: A woman in a trisuit looking quite exhausting trying to fill her little water flask with water from a public water fountain on the beach and then trying desperately to fill white powder into the flask while more small plastic bags filled with white powder are hanging out of her race belt. I think we know what the majority of people was thinking ;) It didn’t help that it was a brutally hot day that day.
Drop bags? Just me, myself & my van
Official races often allow "special needs bags" at key points — a dry top, your favourite snack, a mental reset tool. I had no such luxury. I couldn’t just drop a bag full of nutrition and gear somewhere around Bournemouth and The New Forest. So I came up with a cunning idea:
On the swim: No change to bring any nutrition with me. I trained without any hydration or nutrition on the swim anyway - so no biggie.
On the bike: Now that was a different story. The bike course was 160 km / 112 miles long! I needed to refill my water bottles and eat. So I mapped out a course in The New Forest which was 80 km with decent elevation and I prepared my van as my aid station in front of my house. The plan was that I had EVERYTHING ready to quickly refill and change socks, etc. in the van and then head off on my second bike loop and then quickly change into my running gear.
As with most of the plans: That didn’t go so well. Only 8 hrs before my start at 5 AM, someone rang the doorbell at home. Long story short: Someone drove into my van, smashed the whole side of it and drove away - no note, nothing. Hit & drive of my parked van. The person who saw the accident happen, came to inform me. One hour later the driver who destroyed the side of my van came back because his conscious kicked in. I couldn’t handle him talking at me and trying to figure out a way to fix it without insurance - what he wanted. So I said: “Listen, I can’t deal with this right now. In 8 hours, I’m going to do a self-supported IronMan and I can’t handle this right now. I can’t be distracted. I will deal with this on Monday morning after I finished my IronMan.” He just looked at me and I guess he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about - I don’t blame him ;)The most important thing for me at that moment was that I could open one slide door and access my prepared aid station.
On the run: The only possible scenario that I could come up with was: Run the marathon and take EVERYTHING I’d like to eat with me on the run. Everything. I knew I could refill the flask at the public water stations. So I staffed everything possible into my race belt. I don’t need to mention how many times something fell out of my race belt and I had to squat down and pick it up - after I was already 12 hours on the road.
No closed roads — Just traffic, potholes, and roundabouts
During the 180+ km ride, I navigated open roads, local traffic, and gravel paths with zero signage or road marshals. Every turn was guided by my own organised route, and I had to stay hyper-alert while already fatigued.
The run? Same story - with an important twist in the end. No closed course, no cheering sidelines, no volunteers with Vaseline or water sprays. In the beginning, it was just me and after ~15 miles a friend of mine came running! He really came down to the beach to run with me the last bit of my DYI IronMan and to be there at the imaginary finish line. And after a ~21 miles, another friend came down to the beach cycling up and down to find me running. These two legends were the greatest support and I can’t even describe in words what a difference it made that they were there - especially when I finished my self-supported IronMan. I’ll be forever deeply grateful.
No volunteers, no supporters — Except my inner circle
There’s something deeply comforting about high-fiving strangers at an official finish line. In my version? No cowbells. No pumping music. No crowds. Well, the roads were crowded with cars and the promenade was bursting with people but they weren’t there to cheer me on.
That said — the couple of friends who showed up for me and the ones I knew would be thinking of me from their sofa? They were everything. Their hugs, their cheers, their presence at the end meant more than any professional hype ever could!
No shuttle buses or recovery zones
After 226+ km (140+ miles) of swimming, cycling, and running, most IronMan participants collapse into a shuttle, hotel shuttle, or recovery area. I had none of that. Just the open, empty road on a Sunday evening, a hill to walk up, and my own tired legs trying to figure out how to get home whilst shaking from feeling so cold.
My take-away: Logistics don’t seem sexy — but they matter. And when they’re missing, the mental load becomes another mountain to climb. But if you decide to do an IronMan, DYI or not, you didn’t really expect something easy anyway.
But you know what? I’d do it again - just a longer distance
Because despite (or maybe because of) all these challenges, I’ve never felt more alive, more capable, or more connected to my own abilities, my will, my resilience, my why.
A self-supported IronMan strips everything away — the noise, the medals, the fanfare — and leaves you with the raw, unfiltered truth of who you are when no one’s watching.
And that’s where the real strength lives.