The Waco Ironman: Lessons Learned on the Road to the Finish Line

Scott Hammel, CFP®, CRPC®

October 31, 2022

Ironman Waco: Lessons Learned on the Road to the Finish Line

For much of 2022, Ironman Waco sat quietly in the background of my life.

Every training session, every early morning swim, every long bike ride around Dallas-Fort Worth seemed to point toward a single day in October. Looking back, the race itself was only a small part of the experience.

Why Waco?

In short, it's GeeGee's fault.

Coming off an uninspiring finish at Ironman 70.3 Galveston in April, I was hoping to schedule another race soon to keep my momentum and find the inspiration I had during my first season of triathlon. To my surprise, GeeGee told me I couldn't do a race in June, and since I don't do well with rejection, I found a work-around by scheduling a more difficult race later in the year.

I'm not sure I fully considered how much work I had just caused myself.

The Why

If you know my wife, GeeGee, you know that she's unfairly fit and effortlessly beautiful, so keeping up with her is a never-ending task.

I signed up for my first triathlon in December 2021 because I knew swimming was a good way to stay in shape, but I couldn't swim more than 20 yards without doggy-paddling. YouTube swim tutorials and my father-in-law's bike got me through my first race, a half-Ironman in La Quinta, California.

It was a blast. So I signed up for another.

The Galveston 70.3 in April of 2022 was a different story. It was my second half-Ironman, and I didn't feel like I trained with the same excitement as the first one. Everything felt familiar. The unknown was gone. I wasn't impressed with my time, and overall, it felt like I was simply going through the motions.

I knew I needed something bigger. Something challenging enough to get me excited again.

I originally circled the Lubbock 70.3 in June, but GeeGee quickly shut that down since we were supposed to be moving into our house that month. The only other race in Texas was Ironman Waco in October.

Considering I had nearly 30 weeks to prepare, the full Ironman felt like it was taunting me. The thought was intimidating. But it was also exciting. And that's what I needed.

The Training

Thirty weeks is a long time to hold onto a goal. And this goal was big enough that I knew I needed help.

GeeGee was already tired of hearing about my training complaints, so I hired a coach to keep me accountable and provide structure.

What I quickly realized was how important accountability can be. Out of approximately 180 scheduled training sessions, I missed only five. Not because I was exceptionally disciplined, but because I hated the idea of going back to my coach with excuses.

This kind of external accountability is something I think about in our work as well. Our planning process is built around the same idea — having a structured framework and someone to keep you on track makes a meaningful difference over time. Whether you're training for a race or working toward retirement, the accountability structure often matters as much as the plan itself.

Training wasn't smooth sailing. I got COVID for the third time in June. I broke my hand falling off my bike in July. More than once, I came home from a workout dry-heaving on the kitchen floor while GeeGee and the girls looked down at me with what can only be described as a judgmental "why are you doing this to yourself?" expression.

Slowly, things began to change. Three-mile runs became thirteen-mile runs. Twenty-mile bike rides became sixty-mile bike-and-run sessions. Most weekends included long rides and runs throughout North Texas, often starting before sunrise and ending just in time to coach my daughter's soccer team, attend family events, or get ready for the work week ahead.

All things considered, I was beginning to think I might actually finish this race without dying.

Race Day

As I packed for Waco two days before the race, I was quietly freaking out.

The forecast was hotter than normal, and after spending an entire Texas summer battling heat exhaustion during training, I was dreading what race day might bring. If the water temperature got too high, wetsuits would be banned. Considering the swim was the one portion of the race where I genuinely feared quitting or drowning, that wasn't ideal.

Fortunately, race morning brought good news. The race was declared wetsuit legal.

As the gun went off and I settled into my first strokes, I became convinced I was going to crush this thing. The swim went extremely well. I finished the 2.4-mile swim in roughly 90 minutes and exited the water feeling confident. More importantly, one-third of the race was over.

The Wall

Transition one went smoothly and I settled into the bike ride. Two laps. 112 miles. Eat every 15 minutes. Keep the heart rate low. Simple.

For the first 75 miles, everything felt great. I started thinking about personal records. Maybe even Kona qualification. (Delusion is apparently common during endurance events.)

Then mile 80 happened. The temperature climbed into the 90s. The sugary sports drinks stopped cooperating. My stomach turned. Fifteen minutes later, I was standing on the side of the road dry-heaving and wondering how I was going to finish the remaining 30 miles on the bike, let alone the marathon waiting for me afterward.

The Texas heat was relentless. I poured water on my head. Then realized I needed that same water to drink. Fifteen miles outside of Waco, staring at endless pavement and reflected heat, I was regretting nearly every decision that had led me to that moment.

Eventually, I made it back to transition after a 7-hour, 12-minute bike ride. I was in rough shape.

Seeing GeeGee and the girls helped. Hadley was especially proud of her sign that read: "Smile if you peed during the swim."

At that point, all I wanted was a bag of ice and a few minutes to question my life choices before starting a marathon.

The Finish

The first six miles of the run were manageable. It felt good to finally be off the bike. My headache began to fade as the sun went down. But I still couldn't eat much, and the lack of nutrition was catching up to me.

Twenty miles remained. I had no energy. My legs threatened to cramp every time I changed stride. My feet hurt. My willpower was fading.

Eventually, warm chicken broth became the hero of the day.

As darkness settled over Waco and I made my second lap around the Baylor campus, I finally began to believe I might finish. Somewhere along the Bear Walk outside McLane Stadium, I found myself deliriously playing hopscotch on the painted pavement. At that point, logic had left the building.

Finally, after 15 hours and 28 minutes of racing, I crossed the finish line at 11:19 PM.

What I Learned

Looking back, Ironman Waco reinforced something I've seen repeatedly in both endurance sports and life.

Big goals are rarely accomplished in dramatic moments. They're accomplished through consistency.

The race itself lasted one day. The preparation lasted eight months. That's where the real work happened. The early mornings. The missed social events. The long rides. The setbacks. The broken hand. The COVID recovery. The countless moments when quitting would've been easier.

This is something I think about often in our work with clients. In our article on long-term investing, we explore a similar idea — that successful investors are rarely the ones who make a single brilliant decision. They're the ones who stayed consistent through difficult periods when stepping away would have been easier.

Whether you're preparing for an Ironman, building a business, raising a family, or working toward retirement, progress usually happens much slower than we'd like and much faster than we realize when we look back.

Crossing the finish line was rewarding. But the greater reward was discovering I was capable of more than I originally believed. That's a lesson worth carrying into whatever challenge comes next.

Looking Back

After eight months, roughly 250 hours of training, 400 miles of running, 900 miles on the bike, 50 hours of swimming, three pairs of shoes, one broken hand, three rounds of COVID, and countless loads of laundry, I was ready to turn the page on this chapter.

I didn't qualify for Kona. I didn't finish near the top of my age group. I even got beat by a 70-year-old. But strangely, none of that mattered much.

What mattered was showing up. Doing the work. And finding out where my limits really were. Or maybe just getting a little closer to them.

For the families we work with throughout Dallas-Fort Worth, I think about this often. The goal isn't perfection — whether in a race or a financial plan. The goal is showing up consistently and making thoughtful decisions over time. That's how we help clients build toward the futures they want.