Leading in Kona, how does it feel? Triathlon legend Mark Allen on precious IRONMAN World Championship moments

Very few people will ever feel what it is like to lead the IRONMAN World Championship in Kona. Six-time winner Mark Allen looks back to a famous day in 1993 and what went through his mind en route to more glory in Hawaii.

Kona 1993. I was the defending IRONMAN World Champion. I was sitting on a string of four consecutive titles in Hawaii that started with the forever epic Iron War in 1989 against Dave Scott.

At the press conference prerace I was asked what it was like for me to be defending. “Do you feel more pressure now? I mean what’s it like? Everyone just expects you to win, so there’s only one place on the podium where you will be considered a success, and that’s at the top!”

My response was simple. “I can only feel a certain level of pressure, and it can’t go any higher than that. And I hit that top level of pressure that I put on myself to perform in my very first IRONMAN back in 1982. It was the level of pressure I put on myself to perform at my best, and the pressure I feel of wondering if I’ll have what it takes to tackle the challenge on race day.”

It sounded pretty vanilla. And it was. It was a lie!

Carrying all of the pressure

I felt immense pressure. I probably had more confidence than any of the other guys competing since I kept winning. But I also felt way more pressure. There was only one spot that would be considered a success for me, and that was another win. Second would be the “first loser” award.

No-one else had that same pressure. They could all fly under the radar. They were free to do their thing, go crazy and if they blew up no one would lament or be disappointed in their effort.

I didn’t have that luxury. Being in this rarified space was an honor, but it had weight. I couldn’t stall until race day to go deep within to find that hidden something inside my character that would take me to the top of the sport once again. It had to start the second I exited the plane and stepped onto the blistering hot tarmac in Hawaii.

I spent as much time each day leading up to the race as I could going deeper and deeper into a place within myself that was silent, that was beyond fear. Fear is crippling in an endurance event.

I went deeper into a place that was beyond confidence. Confidence has a shelf life of about three hours in the Ironman. After that you are left with raw reality.

I went deeper inside into a place that was beyond self-doubt and judgement. Questioning whether my situation in the race was good or bad sucked the life out of possibility and potential. None of that would serve me on Saturday October 30, 1993.

I had to be in a rarified place within myself well before the starting cannon sounded. The rest of the men’s field wouldn’t wait around for me to find it on race day!

One thing I saw the previous years was that preparation needs to be peppered with at least a small dose of good luck and grace if you are going to be faster than every other competitor out there. A flat tire or a missed personal needs bag can spell the difference between victory and missing the podium completely. The day doesn’t have to be absolutely perfect, but you need to be able to look back and see a handful of key moments that could have exploded your dream, but they went your way and made the dream a reality.

I know that’s not what you want to hear. You want to hear that if you prepare, your race will be blessed. It might be, but you’ll also need a couple of turns in your direction that you know you didn’t script.

One of those was about to hit me as I started the marathon. I was in excellent position. Wolfgang Dittrich was out front somewhere, but I wasn’t worried. The rest of the boys that I felt were threats were all within shouting distance.

Mark Allen claimed IRONMAN World Championship glory six times in Kona, Hawaii.

Something was off

But right away from the very first steps on the run I could feel something was off. You never feel great getting off the bike in Kona, but this was extra terrible. I felt like my legs weighed double their usual. Each step was like that nightmare where you are trying to run, but it’s all in slow motion.

I was patient. They’ll come around any moment. But nothing changed in the 10km through town. They were heavy, slow and not getting any better. And worse than my legs was that Pauli Kiuru of Finland was putting not just seconds on me, but minutes!

The rubber band between us stretched to an astounding 7:30 minutes. He had finished on the podium twice already. He was a real threat.

Nothing I was eating or drinking was helping. No change in pace was making my legs feel fresher. But I wasn’t worrying. I wasn’t thinking what it would be like if he won. I had a complete absence of trying to come up with a solution.

I was deep inside where no thought exists, where there is no logic, just silence that could best be described as a steady awareness that has no judgement, no panic, just the patience to see what might come next.

Maybe that was what the Island was testing me for, to see if I’d freak out or if I’d just keep going until something changed.

My moment of grace

My moment of grace was about to come. As I took the left turn at the top of Palani Rd to head out onto the next 20-miles of the marathon, my legs started to come back.

Pauli’s lead stopped growing. My legs gained strength. The gap began to shrink. My legs were doing their job, and it felt effortless.

Going into the Energy Lab he still had over 3:30 minutes on me. But I loved those miles in the Energy Lab. They are hot and sticky. They are solitary. And the exit is a long mile uphill with a tailwind that is always blowing about the same speed as your run pace, which meant zero cooling. Your core temperature skyrockets if you hold pace.

Which is exactly what I did on that stretch. I knew everyone else feared that section. It was my friend because I knew it was only one small dose of intensity and that the right turn back onto the Queen Ka’ahumanu Hwy would breathe relief into a dangerously high core temperature.

I caught Pauli on the way out of the Energy Lab. I made the right turn.

And then it hit me. I was in the position in the race that very few have ever experienced.

Responsibility, and complete humility

For me the feeling almost stops me in my tracks. It’s a feeling like I am paving the way for not just those racing but for the entire sport of triathlon to see what is humanly possible. It’s a sense of being given an immense gift of breaking new ground where no one has gone.

Those final miles running ahead of the entire field felt like I was doing something no-one had done before and that I was the first to experience this, making it a little easier for those to follow to have their own personal experience of closing in on the finish on Ali’i Drive.

It’s a feeling of responsibility, of holding a mantle that is more than a trophy or a time and finish placing. It feels like I’m being gifted the honor of representing the integrity of the entire sport.

It’s a feeling of complete humility. It’s not my victory. It’s our victory because my race and leading would be meaningless without every other competitor who followed in my footsteps. It’s a feeling of owing my win to everyone else out there…competitors, volunteers, organizers and supporters.

It’s a feeling of experiencing possibility in real life and seeing that it has no boundaries or limits, that it encompasses everything all at once. It’s feeling that possibility is not owned by anyone. It’s a feeling I am just a vehicle for limitless possibility to exist.

This is all difficult for me to find the words to express, but I wanted to try. I wanted to share with all of you who have ever done a triathlon and tested yourself through sport to have a window into how it felt for me in those precious moments leading the greatest race in our sport.

We are all part of the fabric of triathlon with no one’s experience being more important than anyone else’s. We all have our unique stories and each one is priceless. This is one of mine. I hope you enjoyed it!