Enea Bydgoszcz Triathlon was supposed to answer one question: could I still race well after three weeks without consistent training? It had no right to work. The result was not the performance I had hoped for, but it gave me something more valuable — a lesson in humility and one of my biggest personal victories.
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A difficult road to Enea Bydgoszcz Triathlon
This had not been a smooth season. First there was the encounter with a dog, then an injury, and altogether three unplanned breaks from training. My knee had hurt since IRONMAN 70.3 Gdynia, badly enough for me to stop training. Until the final days, I did not know whether I would even travel to Bydgoszcz. The pain eased shortly before race weekend, so I made the call: I was going.
Unlike my trip to Gdynia, I arrived almost at the last possible moment. I checked in after 6 p.m. on the day before the race.
Pre-race organisation
The organisers deserve credit for keeping packet pickup and bike check-in open until 9 p.m. I found the venue without trouble and left my bike there that evening. The covered transition area was an excellent idea — no worrying about rain or wet equipment.
The race pack also included a voucher for #mamCEL merchandise. From a marketing perspective, it was very well done: the slogan was motivating and the products looked genuinely appealing.
The start and swimming in the Brda
The race started at 8 a.m., a welcome change after the 6 a.m. start in Gdynia. The half-distance swim consisted of two laps in the Brda, with an Australian exit between them: twice upstream and twice downstream.
A calm rolling start
In the morning, athletes could still enter transition, add anything needed to the bike, change without rushing and leave their bags in storage. I also appreciated having portable toilets close to the start — something I had missed in Gdynia.
We started in pairs every eight seconds. I positioned myself toward the back and enjoyed the cleanest swim start of my life: no washing-machine chaos, no fighting for space. The riverbed had reportedly been cleared, and mats were placed at the exit to reduce the risk of slipping.
Lap one: finally enjoying open water
It felt as if I had broken the spell that open-water swimming had held over me. The fear I had experienced at Silesiaman was gone, and I was excited about racing in a river for the first time. During the warm-up I felt relaxed. The water seemed warm, and even the weeds did not bother me much.
I settled into my own pace without having to dodge other swimmers. I made contact with someone only two or three times. The current was strong, though: the first 500 metres took more than 15 minutes. At the first turn, a swimmer in ordinary trunks and no wetsuit lapped me. He made it look absurdly easy.
The downstream leg was much faster. In places I had to push through thicker weeds, but even that could not spoil my mood. I saw Ola cheering near the swim exit, and the extra energy arrived immediately.
Lap two and T1
I was more tired on the second lap, yet I still enjoyed the swim. The upstream pace was never going to be spectacular, but turning back with the current felt wonderful. I finished in 51 minutes, the 62nd-fastest swim. I was not quick, but for the first time I had genuinely enjoyed an open-water race — and that gave me hope that speed could come later.
After leaving the water, I ran toward the hall. Athletes had to remove their wetsuits before entering and put them into a bag. My change took 2:25, and then I was out on the bike course.
The bike: four laps and a missing-distance mystery
The bike leg consisted of four laps. The official distance was listed as 82 km, but my Garmin recorded only 77.8 km. I liked the layout itself: two U-turns and two 90-degree corners per lap. The only real issue was that the promised kilometres never appeared.
I usually ride by feel: hard, but at an effort I believe I can sustain. Because I had barely ridden since Gdynia, I had little idea what my legs could deliver. My initial target was roughly 30 km/h. The first climb forced me to adjust, but I soon found a rhythm, kept eating and tried to hold a steady effort.
Around kilometre 20, the knee that had interrupted my training began to hurt. It was not a good sign, but I tried not to dwell on it. The downhill stretch from kilometres 10 to 21 averaged 42 km/h. The pain faded after a while and returned only mildly a few more times.
I spent much of the ride alone. I passed a few athletes and was passed by a few others, especially the leaders on later laps. I did not mind: it meant less time worrying about the legal gap to the rider ahead.
I saw Ola as I began the final lap. I still felt good, but a glance at my Garmin knocked me out of rhythm — there was no way the course would reach 82 km. Even though the route was clearly marked, I kept wondering whether an extra section was waiting somewhere. Pauli from idacprzedsiebie was about 100 metres ahead. I planned to catch her, but I never managed it on the bike.
Bike result and T2
I was pleased with the bike leg. My pace declined slightly on each lap and the climb became harder every time, but I averaged about 34 km/h and recorded the 42nd-fastest bike split. The power numbers also looked better than they had in Gdynia.
In T2 I racked the bike, drank some water, changed shoes, removed my helmet and ate a jelly. It took 3:08. I passed Pauli in transition, but the real question was how long I could stay ahead once the run began.
The half marathon: from confidence to survival
The run also had four laps and three aid stations. Most of it followed the river on gravel paths. Not every section was scenic, but the stretch near the market square had real atmosphere. There were a few short climbs, good pockets of support and outstanding volunteers.
Could I run a good half marathon after two weeks without running? At the time, I thought so. I planned a conservative pace of around 4:30 min/km. The opening two kilometres felt excellent: I took a gel, kept on top of hydration and ran at 4:24 min/km while passing athlete after athlete.
The first warning signs appeared around kilometre four. The effort felt similar, but the watch showed a slower and slower pace: 4:45, then 5:00 min/km. I was concerned, but decided there was no point overthinking it. I simply had to keep running.
Oranges and a brief lift in morale
By the second lap I already looked rough, even if I had not fully realised it myself. Ola ran beside me for a while and urged me to push. I wanted to respond, but my legs would not cooperate. The pace slipped to 5:20–5:30 min/km as fatigue took control.
Then I spotted oranges at an aid station. I was tired of sweet gels and drinks, and those slices tasted better than anything else in the world. My head came back to life, even if my body continued to fade. When Ola suggested racing to the next corner, all I could do was laugh. My legs felt like concrete. The fourth lap would become unforgettable.
Horror on the final lap
The pain became almost unbearable and my legs felt as if they were on fire. I had to walk the small climbs, but I was determined to keep moving forward. Other athletes asked whether I was all right and encouraged me as they passed.
The kilometres slowed to 6:15 and then 6:48. Running became a shuffle broken up by walking. The familiar question returned: why had I done this? Near kilometre 20, completed in 7:42, severe cramps struck my quadriceps just above the knees. I had to stop and could barely keep my balance. A man passing with a running stroller offered to help me stretch. After standing for a while, the cramps eased. Ola was waiting at the finish — I had to move again.
Turning anger into forward motion
That was when I discovered the power of negative energy. I thanked the man for helping, started moving and focused on what was left. When the cramps returned, I shouted. There was anger, pain and some strong language under my breath, but instead of fighting those emotions, I tried to turn them into movement.
It worked. After a few shouts and grimaces, the pain became manageable and I began to accelerate. I ran the final kilometre at roughly 5:00 min/km. Ola looked surprised when she saw me. This was no longer just a face twisted by pain — I was furious, and that anger carried me toward the line.
The finish and everything that followed
I crossed the finish with my arms raised in victory over myself and shouted one last time, loudly enough to make the announcer turn around. I collected my medal, took a few steps, grabbed a post for support and simply burst into tears.
The finish area was well located and properly organised. The announcer created a great atmosphere, athletes broke a ceremonial ribbon at the line, and the finisher zone compared favourably with the one I remembered from the Berlin Marathon — in some ways, it was even better.
Enea Bydgoszcz Triathlon 2021: result and lessons
I completed the run in 2:05:08, the 46th-fastest split. It was my slowest and one of my most painful half marathons. After the interruption to training, that should not have been surprising. Still, I was proud to learn that even anger can be used constructively. Pauli, whom I had passed in T2, came back past me while I was fighting the cramps.
My final time was 5:27:53, placing me 43rd overall and 11th in the M35 age group. The organisation, atmosphere and whole setting made a strong impression on me, and I wanted to return. My only clear complaint was the bike course coming up shorter than advertised.
Thank you
Thank you to Ola — Sztanga.is.a.girl — for being there and cheering, to the Enea Bydgoszcz Triathlon organisers for a great event, to the volunteers for their energy, and to the Instagram friends I met or hoped to meet. I am also grateful to everyone who supported my preparation, including Adventure Sports, and to Maratonmania.pl for the race photos.
