Jan Frodeno recently said that something had fundamentally changed in his triathlon life in the last few months. He had the feeling that he finally no longer had to run away from all the expectations, those of others and, above all, his own – just as he had done for 23 years: chasing his body from victory to victory, still keeping a few grams of body fat to save money and, ideally, also on the weight of the socks. But for a few months now, the 42-year-old said, as he is heading towards the last race of his career in Nice, he has been feeling “such satisfaction”: because he has learned “that life can be beautiful even when it isn’t “Gold medals are raining”.
Someone seemed to have arrived before he had crossed the finish line. And Frodeno provided the appropriate scene on Sunday, at the Ironman World Championships in Nice, his last big dance. The professionals had already put 3.8 kilometers on the water and 180 kilometers on the bike over 2,400 meters in altitude in their legs, which seemed even worse than the monotonous pedaling through the heat in Hawaii, where the Long Distance World Championships had nurtured its myth until the end. In any case, the competition for victory had long since slipped away from Frodeno (the Frenchman Sam Laidlow later won it ahead of the two-time Hawaii winner Patrick Lange). And so, before he set off on the final 42.195 kilometers on foot, Frodeno walked over to the family who were waiting at the changing tent, kissed the children, who had seen their father for the first time at a local competition and were now finally inviting him to grill or play games would be able to take the football field with them.
It was a defeat if one applied the usual standard; Frodeno’s three Hawaii titles alone or the Olympic victory in 2008. But wasn’t that just the perfect ending, albeit of a different kind?
Frodeno’s team called the last race “Mission Moonshot”.
Frodeno had prepared his career finale as much as he had prepared every minute of his 23-year career, completely or not at all. “Mission Moonshot” had his entourage excited about the endeavor, a final moon landing, after Frodeno spent his birthday in the hospital just over a year ago. At that time it was uncertain at times whether he would even be able to walk properly again after all the hip damage and Achilles tendon tears. He decided, against much advice and probably also common sense, to rebel one last time against his own downturn, or in Frodeno’s somewhat older words: He is doing it simply because he (still) can.
Sunday’s mission began as scheduled; As the sun crept out from behind the hills of the Cote d’Azur, Frodeno crawled out of the water with the fastest. On the bike, the stronger and lighter pedals quickly got away from him, but he had expected that, especially on the tough 18-kilometer climb up the Col de l’Ecre. But at the latest when Patrick Lange’s group caught up with him and the worse cyclist hopped away from the grandmaster on the last, sharp climb, it became clear that Frodeno’s landing was in serious danger. And, unlike the Americans at their moon premiere in 1969, he didn’t have a ballpoint pen with which he could emergency launch a defective space capsule.
Premiere at the home race: Sam Laidlow, 24, is the first Ironman world champion from France.
(Photo: Ingo Kutsche/dpa)
If they wanted to take the big picture, those who had been worn down by the 42-year-old for years finally sensed their chance, with all the motivation they had gained from many defeats. Every great empire already contains the seeds of ruin.
The followers now performed an impressive game of cat and mouse. Sam Laidlow raced away on his bike on the high plateau after the first climbs – and started the marathon with an athletic average of three and a half minutes per kilometer, which you wouldn’t necessarily expect from a weaker runner. Someone at the gaming table pushed all the chips into the middle early, all for a win. It seemed like a risky undertaking after all the energy that had flowed from Laidlow’s legs on the bike. In Kona he had already achieved second place in this way a year ago, and in Roth it wasn’t just Patrick Lange who caught him last. But the German didn’t have to catch up for twelve and a half minutes.
Lange tried everything, sprinkled in kilometers of running in 3:19 minutes, the lead melted away for a while like water ice at over 30 degrees on the Promenade des Anglais. He collected all competitors, including the Dane Magnus Ditlev, the favorite of many bookmakers. Only Laidlow, from whom many had expected a collapse, simply didn’t collapse, crossing the finish line first after just over eight hours, becoming the youngest Ironman world champion at the age of 24 and the first Frenchman, of all things.
And Frodeno: He high-fived Laidlow, the spearhead of the new generation, when they both met on the circuit shortly before the finish; crossed the finish line almost an hour later in 24th place, with many age group athletes in tow, celebrating the sport’s longtime lead singer like groupies in running shirts. “The gladiator dies in his arena,” Frodeno had shouted into the TV camera a few hours earlier – the old Frodeno, the warrior who had preferred to fail to win the main prize again rather than come fourth or tenth, was still speaking . But the end was only one thing. The other was the beginning of the new life that had just begun. “I’m happy,” said Frodeno at the finish, like someone who had won nothing and everything at the same time.