“Same Time Next Year” – that’s how I ended my race report exactly a year ago, after our women’s team got a little taste of the triathlon world in September. It was like a blind date: quick decision, great team. The plan to tackle the full distance this year got postponed over the summer. But then, a month ago, came a sudden impulse: “It comes as it comes!” – and I sent off my registration for the Balatonman. Middle distance: 1.9 km swim, 74 km bike (with over 600 meters of elevation), 21.1 km run. On my own.
Preparation – sort of
Well … let’s just say, with two kids and summer holidays, training happened “along the way.”
Race day
After a pretty rough night (strong winds, the worry that the race might not even happen, kids awake most of the night, and a power outage in our street at dawn), I was already up by six, checking updates with the Ironman athletes and wondering when – or if – we would actually start. In the end, the program was delayed by three hours, the Ironman distance was turned into a duathlon, but for the middle distance, the swim stayed.
Balaton – my Riviera
I tried to get into the water as late as possible to avoid cooling down completely, quickly asked an experienced-looking swimmer about the direction and the laps, and then it started: the underwater brawl. Mentally, I hadn’t been prepared for that, but I adapted quickly.
At some point, I no longer knew if the waves were hitting me from the right, left, or behind – and I didn’t care. I let myself sink into this old, familiar feeling: lying on the water, the sun shining, swimming toward the harbor, exactly along the same line I had swum so many times as a child. Back then, my dad rowed beside me in a boat, just curious how far I wanted to go. (Who says you can’t backstroke in a triathlon?!)
By the third lap, the wind picked up, waves rolled in from both sides. As we climbed out of the water, everyone was cursing the storm. Open water. Balaton. That’s just how it is. And I like it.
When I saw I had easily beaten the cut-off time, I was so happy I completely forgot: this is a race – transitions are supposed to be quick.
The bike – an old/new friend
Then I jumped on the bike, we rolled out of Fűzfő, the main road belonged to us – and that special feeling came: something exciting is happening here. I had prepared as best as I could, I was on my own, and my only job was to live through these minutes.
The places of my childhood, every curve, the trees, the scents – countless memories. This is where I grew up. And today: the wind (sometimes 50–60 km/h 💃🏼), the speed (ok, the wind was faster …), the hills, the freedom, and the gratitude. Grateful to everyone who made it possible for me to be here, who motivated me – and to my body for being my partner in this.
The run – familiar ground
After five kilometers, at the end of the first loop, I could hardly imagine there were still three more to go. My stomach began to protest, I knew my heart rate had been too high on the bike. But it had been too much fun to slow down.
Music or audiobooks weren’t allowed, so it was just me. One by one, the guys from the long distance joined, just finishing their bike leg – and every lap there were at least four high fives waiting.
No light on my bike and the knowledge that by around eight in the evening the kids were supposed to be in bed – I had no choice but to run.
My body and mind knew this terrain. A half marathon – that always works. 15 km, 10 km – every step, every breath was familiar. Almost exactly six hours after I had been scanning the waves of Lake Balaton for the right buoy, I crossed the finish line on the beach of Fűzfő – happily checking off item no. 9 from the bucket list I had written ten years ago.
Gratitude
Thanks for the tips and prep to Hannes, Gergő, Klári, Áron, and Chris, for the joint runs to Evelyn, Anne, Gina, and Katja, for childcare to Kamilla & Co. and my mom, for the physical and mental support throughout the whole year to Ági, Gabi, and Karin. And especially for the cheering to Ágota(s), Ancsi, Zita, Orsi, Judith(s), and Gábor.
Triathlon. Backstroking, munching cookies and pretzel sticks from a granny-bag on the bike, and finishing the run with a piece of my mom’s quince cheese in hand. Same Time Next Year?