Fear set in long before the start line. People say they’re not ready for a race—but this time, I wasn’t.

When the gun went off, it only got louder.

The swim was chaos—arms slicing, bodies climbing over me.

The bike felt like a tightrope—112 miles shared with cars, a flimsy line of cones our only buffer.

The run—four loops of survival. Every step was a fight to breathe, to move, to hush the fear clawing at my mind.

At mile 80 on the bike, I cracked.
My vision tunneled. Chills down my spine. Sweat pouring.
I panicked—afraid I’d crossed a line I couldn’t come back from.

But then I thought of 2023 Ari—sick, stuck in bed, praying for a moment like this.
A heart pounding with purpose, legs that burned, and a shot at life.

Still, guilt crept in. That quiet question endurance athletes know all too well:
How far is too far?

Out there, fear doesn’t disappear. You carry it. You decide to keep going anyway.

And somehow, I walked away with a 33 minute PR

My mantra was clear:

“Become a force of nature by surrendering to your own.”

To surrender to your own nature—your fear, fatigue, need for rest—is to honor what you need. 

Those six still weeks before Brazil weren’t weakness. They were surrender.

Proof that listening to your body is sometimes the bravest thing you can do.

Race 4 was where I met my edge—where only your why remains.

Ironman Brazil reminded me: real fear is where we meet ourselves.

Fear isn’t the enemy. It’s proof you’re alive.

So if you’re standing at the edge of something that scares you—
Let it be your invitation.
Feel the fear. Lean in. 

And find out how alive you really are.