Ironman Italy 70.3 - Race Report, shared by Sharon Hammond (Bermuda)

Sharon and her husband Richard wearing Team Jonnie kit.

A heartfelt purposeful way to participate (and turns out, win!) in a Half Ironman.

~Christine

Emilio Romagna - what an experience!

It’s hard to know where to start this, because really, this story starts a long time ago.

Our dear Johnnie always wanted to do this race but never saw the day.

Frances—his wife, whom you know—wanted to honor him by doing the race and getting the old Miami Man crew to participate, bringing back to life the experiences of racing and celebrating together.

The Miami Man crew consisted of Jonnie and Frances, Richard and me, Alec and Becky, and Gordy and Elaine. Elaine was always support crew, and Gordy stopped racing after the second Miami Man.

In January, when Frances planted the seed, it took all of about five minutes for us all to jump at the idea.

She wanted it small and cozy, but as word got out that this was happening and people who loved Jonnie found out there was the option of competing as a team, more and more of Jonnie’s friends signed up. The best team was the “Bettmond Team”: the youth—Angus Betts swimming, Louis Hammond cycling, and Connie Betts running. What pedigree!

As the crew grew, I realized this was something bigger than me, and I embraced it wholeheartedly, knowing that everyone who was coming loved Jonnie and adored the Betts family dearly. The icing on the cake was Alan and Margaret—Jonnie’s parents—saying they would come too.

I arranged team kits for all participating and all support crew so we could spot each other on the course, and this was phenomenal.

This past 12 months, I have enjoyed dabbling in gravel riding and having fun- with less structure to the year and races.I have had a few fails as far as running was concerned, and the little demons were starting to creep in. I have not done a triathlon since 2022 and a 70.3 since 2019, so there was plenty of room for doubt.

With this in mind, I signed up with Frontpack Swim to get some intensive swim coaching, and I knew you had me covered for the bike, run, and all-around tri training. You know me so well.

Training was hard—menopause is challenging —and this summer, the heat and humidity were relentless. The doubt was real: could I really do this again? The only rays of hope were my week in Paris and four days in London, where running in cooler weather was actually enjoyable, and made me believe a little more.

Reflections on this training period: I am not scared of pool swimming anymore, and I have conquered the long bike (2 hours 30 minutes) on the trainer and long run (1 hour 45 minutes) on the treadmill. When I reminded myself of Jonnie’s suffering—oh boy—anything is possible. I learned I need to do more strength and mobility, especially mobility and will factor this in the coming months.

I was also using the Fuelin app, and as far as fueling was concerned, I was really comfortable with my plan, as I had practiced it many times. It was the first time I had gone into a 70.3 confident that fuel and hydration were not going to let me down if I stuck to the plan.

The call with you a couple of days before we left was pivotal for me—especially on race day and execution. You asked me what I hoped for, and I said a strong run. You challenged me on the bike aim—sub 3—and I changed that to “steady.” You told Richard and I to believe in our fitness. I cannot tell you how many times I reminded myself of that before and during the race. It was such a grounding thought.

This summer, training with Richard—not so much with him in person, more along side him, encouraging each other—and seeing Louis train gave such meaning and purpose to this, and I truly enjoyed it, as I often feel a little solitary in my training. I can tell you that Richard really enjoyed the journey despite how challenging it was for him to fit it in with work life . I am incredibly proud of him and Louis, their achievements should be celebrated.

So, after the weeks and months, the day arrived to fly to Bologna. On our arrival, the weather was awful; the region had experienced the worst flooding in years, and the waves were treacherous—good for a surfboard, not so good for a swim. But hey, we were here, and the weather forecast for the coming weekend was good; this was going to settle.

I had forgotten quite the pomp that goes with Ironman events, but it was fun to get swept up and carried away. For he newbies in our group who were part of a team this was quite the experience.

Bike sorted, registration done—this felt real.

The feeling of the next few days was one of anticipation and excitement, yet comfort in knowing I had been through this before. Our crew was slowly arrived in Bologna, and the excitement was building. I had to keep reminding myself I was here for a race and to stick to the plan. It was tough at times, but having Richard and Louis there made this easier- my partners in crime.

On race day eve, just us and the Shepherds went for our pre-race pizza, and after watching the full Ironman event all day, we wandered down to the finish to see those incredible people coming in. There was something comical yet inspirational about the Italian commentator shouting, “You are IRRRON-MAN!” Just brilliant.

And off we went to bed, with the music of the finish line pumping outside the hotel room—earplugs did the trick.

Race morning: we racked our bikes and hung the bike and run bags on our individual hooks, then off to breakfast to contemplate the 800m long bike transition. I closed my eyes many times and talked myself through T1 and T2. It was different here with the bags—nothing by the bikes so I had to visualize it.

I felt somehow flat and melancholy—something was missing. As Frances and I walked back out of transition, I asked her how she was feeling; she said, “Weird.” I told her I felt the same—it felt somehow wrong; there was this obvious void. But we were joined by Angus, Connie, and Louis, and somehow their presence diminished that a little. It’s funny how the younger generation can put different spin on things.

In no time, we found ourselves at the beach, getting ready for the start, which had loud music and every single one of the rest of the Jonnie crew (25 of them supporting us in total) at the start line—Jonnie’s parents, kids, and everyone in a Jonnie shirt. It was heart-wrenching yet beautiful at the same time. All five of us seeded ourselves between the 34-38 slot and decided to start together. My final vision was of Jonnie’s mum, Margaret, holding a picture of him above us as we entered the swim pen-there’s motivation!—and off we went.

Conditions had settled down, and the waters were much calmer than the previous few days.

I took off, remembering your advice : first 200m—just go for it—which I did. The waters were brown, and you could not see hand entry. I could only see people in front of me when I sighted so at times, I was on top of another swimmer before I knew it. Not great!

The first 500m was spent trying to get into my groove, but so many people seeded themselves inappropriately and were in the way. This remained true for the whole swim, but I managed to find patches of clear water to swim my own swim. After the first turn buoy, there was a little current that really aided the next 800m and made for a fast swim. I was trying to remember all the pointers I had learned through Frontpack Swim, and I swam hard—but not all out—we had a long day ahead of us. Finally, when I turned again and swam to shore, I ran out of the water, only to be cheered and greeted by the Jonnie crew again—how wonderful!

Wetsuit off and a 200m run to the transition. I looked at my watch—32 minutes—NO WAY! I sat on the bench, gear off, bike gear on, and off to my bike.

Well, an 800m run in bike shoes with a bike is not something anyone should do voluntarily. When I got to the bike mount line, I almost did not make it onto my bike as my hip had been giving me problems these last three weeks. The official also looked like she wanted to help me, but there I finally was on my bike.

Richard had passed me in transition, and Alec and I left at the same time, but he whizzed off.

Getting out of town involved bad roads and many turns, but finally, I was out on the motorway stretch and starting to get my hydration in. I had had a gel in transition, so I knew I was topped up. The bike course is flat for 40km, and I was cat-and-mousing with people. You had told me I could hold 155W per hour; I was more concerned about feel and speed. As long as I was holding over 30km/h and feeling good, I was not going to be dictated by power. I rode well but conservatively, kept telling myself to remember that I had the fitness.

It was impossible not to draft, but as much as possible, I tried not to take advantage of this. After riding through the salt marshes with flamingos and pretty towns, we arrived at the start of the

2km climb. Much fuss had been made of this climb—average gradient of 6% but 15% at the top—but honestly, it was not bad at all, and I passed SO MANY people on the climb. I could not quite believe the number of people who were walking—and before I knew it, I was at the top and starting the descent, which was glorious.

I had already passed Becky, on the motorway and on the descent, I saw Frances climbing, so I shouted words of encouragement at her. Before I knew it, I had finished the descent and was back on the flat again—but now there was a headwind.

Again, so many cyclists; it was hard not to draft, but the drafting police were out in full force, so I had to back off quite a bit. Looking at my watts, I knew my power was down, but speed was still good, and more importantly, I felt good. I stuck to the plan: 60g carbs and 1000mg sodium per hour. I felt well within myself. Any time I had a wavering moment, I would look at my Jonnie tattoo on my arm, curse him a little, and tell myself to trust the fitness.

Bike in— all the team runners of the Jonnie crew were in transition cheering me on.- so uplifting. Shoes on, cap on, and off I went.

Well, what can I say? I felt STRONG. I ran out, felt good, but told myself to settle down—get the legs going—take the first 3km to get into the groove. But after the second km, I knew I felt good and just did not hold back—steady running, seeing all of our supporters all over the course during the 3-lap run. What a phenomenal feeling! Seeing Richard and Connie running, as well as Frances and Elaine gave me goosebumps.We all had those smiles that were hiding the pain on our faces.

I saw Richard at every loop—he looked great the first lap, a little pained in the second, and definitely not enjoying the third. For me, this was my run; I felt good and knew I was running well. Louis chased me around the course, and I could hear his voice: “Come on, Mummy!” OMG—music to my ears. And finally, there it was the red carpet.

And my name announced. I did not even look at my time; I was so happy to finish.

I had accomplished what I had come to do—race as well as I could for a person I love and miss dearly.

I saw Alec in the athlete tent, and over the next couple of hours, one by one, our crew arrived.

When Frances crossed that finish line, and Alan (father in law) handed her the medal, and the Italian commentator was telling her story—honestly, it was hard to keep the tears away. Never have I felt prouder; I knew what it had taken her to get to the start and finish lines. Her enormous smile told it all.

Jonnie brought us here—united us—and created some magic.

When I saw Angus, I asked him to look and tell me how I did, and we shouted in disbelief when he said I had won my age group. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I was capable. Top ten would be nice, with a roll-down spot for Worlds… Well, Jonnie, you made it better than that.

Reflections: Tears were shed, pain was felt, laughter was abundant—but when you do something with such purpose, the meaning is magnitudes beyond expectations. I agree with you, Chrissy—the ripple effect of this experience will show itself for a long time, always with the love and memory of that special person, Jonathan Betts.

The end. xx