I have decided not to race Ironman Wisconsin this year. Or, probably, any year.

And I’m completely at peace with that decision.

First, as I’ve mentioned before, I was never entirely sure of my “why.” Why was I doing this? Why was I jumping straight back into a 140.6 after a 12-year gap? Why wasn’t I building back up naturally – sprint, Olympic, half, and then maybe full over a year or two?

Why did I need to prove anything?

To be honest, I still don’t completely know the answer. But I do know that whatever urge pushed me to sign up for Ironman Wisconsin disappeared somewhere around the finish line of Rockford 70.3.

I don’t know why it came. I don’t know exactly why it left. I just know that it did.

Rockford was actually a very good race for me mentally. I didn’t go to a dark place the way I have in previous races. I proved to myself that I could handle the day. And honestly, I think about 90% of that was my fueling plan. Apparently, my “mental toughness issues” may have been less about my brain and more about the fact that I had been attempting endurance events while essentially starving myself.

Who knew that food was important? Science is amazing.

That isn’t to say Rockford was easy. I was miserable for weeks leading into the race with stress and anxiety, and I certainly had moments during the bike where I could feel myself starting to spiral.

But overall, I enjoyed it more than any race I’ve ever done.

That statement is both encouraging and a little absurd considering that my idea of enjoying a race is “I only suffered emotionally for parts of it.”

Progress.

The second realization came this morning when I looked at my training calendar. Next week was the start of another build phase. And I dreaded it.

The thought of driving 90 minutes to 2.5 hours just to ride my bike for four or five hours did not excite me. In fact, it made me want to do anything else.

That was a pretty clear sign.

Less is more.

I still like triathlon. I still like the structure of training. I like improving. I like being fit. I like seeing what my body can do at 60 years old. But I can get all of those things without making my entire life revolve around one race.

That brings me to the third realization.

A few weekends ago, I ran a 5K with my daughter. I had a blast. Part of that was being with her, but part of it was the race itself. I was actually competitive. I wasn’t hanging on for dear life for six or seven hours. I wasn’t negotiating with myself about how much walking was acceptable.

I was running.

Fast.

Well, “fast” with a very generous age-adjusted definition of the word.

The point is, I realized races could actually be fun. What a concept.

So I joined a local triathlon club. This summer I’ll train with them for rides and open-water swims as I prepare for an Olympic-distance race. I think it will be a lot more enjoyable.

Ironically, the training may actually get harder in some ways. Less volume means more intensity. More speed work. More pushing the pace.I’ll still get that satisfying feeling after a hard workout. It’ll just be from a fast six-mile run instead of a slow ten-mile run. And maybe most importantly, I’ll get time back.

Time to hike with my son. Time to kayak with my wife. Time to play pickleball. Time to say “yes” to things instead of checking whether they interfere with a five-hour bike ride or whether I’ll be too exhausted afterward to enjoy them.

So I have no regrets about signing up for Ironman Wisconsin. It got me back into serious training. It got me healthier (depending on how accurate I want to be, I’ve lost 16 lbs, but that last low weight was the day after Rockford, so maybe not the MOST accurate). It got me to Rockford. It helped me realize what I enjoy and what I don’t.

That was worth something.

But the goal has changed. I don’t need to prove I can suffer for fourteen hours. I’ve already done that.

Maybe the next challenge is figuring out how to enjoy the hours in between.

Less is more.