Sue Reynolds gained fame for losing 200 pounds after taking up triathlon at age 65. A few years later, she stunned the sport by winning a world championship as a member of Team USA. Across the Line shares the story of Sue Reynolds’ remarkable transformation into a world champion, revealing Olympic-level training methods and elite coaching techniques. In this excerpt, Reynolds recalls her first world championship win.
As soon as I get on my bike, I hear Brian yell, “Sue! Number 1! Three minutes.” He calls it out perfectly, just as I asked—with no emotion or cheerleader comments—just as Jim Vance had done at the race in Clermont. I am in first place coming out of the water and have a 3-minute lead. Can this be possible? I know my swim has improved under Jim and Sara McLarty’s guidance, but a 3-minute lead? I wondered if Brian had read the numbers wrong. Maybe it was a 3-second lead.
I negotiate the first two turns of the course and then attempt to get my left foot into the shoe. Thankfully, my big toe finds the opening and my foot slips in. I reach down to both shoes and fasten the Velcro straps.
“Settle in,” I say out loud. After all the hurry to get through transition, it feels nice to take a deep breath, collect myself mentally, and settle into race pace.
The 40K (25-mile) bike route is burned into my brain. World Triathlon Organization (WTO) bike courses usually feature multiple laps to allow spectators (and TV cameras) more opportunities to see the athletes as they speed by. The course I’m riding is two laps.
The bike courses in WTO races also tend to require more technical skills with the addition of climbs or turns. Since Abu Dhabi is flat, there were several tight turns added to make the course more challenging. In several places, I will do a 90-degree right turn, ride a few hundred meters down the road, do a U-turn, ride back up the road, and then make another right turn back onto the road I just left. Course design is one of those things I can’t control, but I suspect my bike handling skills will give me an advantage. And negotiating the turns should be superfun!
I find the effort that feels “right” for the day—the max effort that I can sustain for 25 miles. Depending on the day, the effort that is right for the distance may result in a slower or faster speed based on other things that are out of my control, like humidity. I am greatly relieved that today, race effort gives me a speed that I believe will keep me in the lead.
I note my gear configuration and rpms and commit to not switching to an easier gear or lowering my cadence for the race’s 25 miles—no matter how difficult it feels toward the end. After I warm up on the bike, I might be able to switch to a harder gear, but I will not allow myself to ease up. For the last 4 miles, with no run to hold back for, I will just hammer to the finish. If I execute well, I will cross the finish line with nothing left in the tank.
During the first lap, a few women pass me. I check the back of their left calf where a temporary tattoo shows their age. They are all much younger than me. The faster men from the wave behind me pass too. Some of the bikes ridden by men from other countries come within a few inches. At first, I jerk toward the curb as they pass. This is how the game is played, I tell myself. I start trusting that the close bikes will not hit me and stop being startled. I’m pleased with my in-flight learning and calm adjustment.
As the race goes on, I see riders in front of me and feel more confident as I catch and pass one after another. Some of them are younger men who push to stay with me and do . . . but not for long. I think of stories I’ve heard about men hating to be “chicked,” or passed by a woman. I wonder what they’d think if they knew the woman passing them was almost 70 years old.
At the end of the first lap, I study how the turn into the dismount chute is coned—something I had not been able to observe before the race started. I see cones dividing the lane in front of me into two halves. Right goes to dismount. Left goes into the second lap. I take the left side and as I complete the first lap, I shout loudly, “ONE!” hoping to imprint into my brain that I have finished the first lap and should dismount at the completion of the next lap.
Halfway through the second lap, I am pedaling strong, but when I check my gear and rpms, I notice that I am in an easier gear than the one I committed to. Shoot! When switching gears coming out of the last turn, I must not have returned to the targeted gear. I quickly switch back to the targeted gear. From that point on, I monitor my gear and rpms diligently—returning to the targeted gear and cadence coming out of each corner. Tiring, I can no longer rely on feel.
With four miles to go, it hits me. Except for the few (much younger) women who passed me at the start, no women have passed me. Unless I am mistaken, I am probably in the lead. Oh my gosh! I might be world champion! I feel like shouting and giggling at the same time, but I tell myself, STAY CALM. A lot can go wrong in the last four miles.
I remember Bobby McGee sharing that Flora Duffy told him after the Tokyo Olympics that once she was in the lead, she forced herself to remain calm by rattling off his run cues as she made her way down the road to claim the Olympic gold medal. With four miles to go, I am so excited I can hardly stand it. Following Flora’s example, I start going through Sara’s cycling cues one by one, over and over.
I am supposed to pick up the effort in the last four miles. That means pushing hard and taking corners aggressively. I decide to make an in-flight strategy change. I push hard but start taking the corners ultra conservatively. I don’t want to sabotage my race by crashing in a corner.
I start planning for other things that could go wrong at this point. I decide that if I flat, I’ll just ride to the finish on my rim—and not worry about the damage I might do to the wheel.
Somewhere in the last four miles, I run out of my fuel drink. Perfect—exactly as planned. I have hydrated and fueled well. I should be able to make it to the finish line intact.
Right before turning into the dismount chute at the end of the race, I catch a man from the wave in front of me. He is slow and wobbly. I am not sure how this might go as we turn into the narrow finish chute. Do I pass him? The last thing I want is to crash during the dismount like I did in a “C” race a few weeks earlier. So, I slow down, giving him plenty of space.
As I follow him down the finish chute, I slip out of my shoes, place my bare feet on top of my shoes, and coast behind the wobbly man. I can’t believe I’m coasting in a world championship! But I don’t want to risk a crash.
Right before the dismount line, the wobbly man pulls right with enough room for me to slip through safely to his left. I swing my right leg over the saddle, step off the bike while it is rolling, and start running.
I wonder if my legs will carry me after pushing the bike so hard. But my legs are there. To finish the race, all I have to do is put my bike back on the rack and run 150 meters barefoot to the finish line.
I push my bike out in front of me by the saddle and run fast but controlled. At the same time, a voice in my head is quietly screaming, Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Then another voice takes over. FOCUS!
When I get to my spot on the rack, my suspicions about being in the lead are confirmed. The rack is empty—no bikes. All my competitors are still on the course. “STAY CALM!” I demand. There are still things to do: Rack bike—check. Take off helmet—check. Grab the run belt that holds my bib number—check. RUN!
I pull my race belt over my head and make sure my number is facing forward for the officials to see. Then, I finally let my emotions soar. I cannot believe it. WORLD CHAMPION! Just 150 meters to the finish line!
As I turn into the finish chute, I see Hans Ernst from USA Triathlon holding out an American flag to me. I grab the flag and run. I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is coming. No one.
Just 50 meters to the finish line! I’ve never been in the position of winning a major race and hadn’t thought about how to cross the finish line. Possibilities flood my mind as I run the last few meters on the blue carpet. Should I raise one finger and point to God? Raise both arms in jubilation? Whip the American flag through the air? Out of respect for my competitors and the course, I decide to sprint to the very end as I have done in every other race. I feel like I am floating as I cross the finish line!
Explore Across the Line
In Across the Line, Sue Reynolds shares a story-driven case study of her transformation into a world champion triathlete.
Reynolds gained fame for losing 200 pounds after taking up triathlon at age 65. In this sequel to her debut bestseller, Reynolds shares her single-minded pursuit of performance, revealing Olympic-level training methods, elite coaching techniques, Overtraining Syndrome, and the dark side of personal ambition.
How good can you be? How hard can you push? Across the Line reveals truths about human limits and shares lessons on balancing joy and the pursuit of excellence.