Starting Your First Triathlon After 40

It's Not Too Late

Let me tell you about my impressive first attempt at triathlon, which went about as well as you'd expect from someone who thought "how hard can it be?" Famous last words!

My Humble Beginning at 40

I did my first sprint triathlon when I was forty and calling it "humble" is being generous - it was more like "completely delusional." But let's start from the beginning, shall we?

Watching the Brownlee Brothers Changed Everything

I'd been watching the Brownlee brothers competing in the London Olympics, and honestly, they made it look like a lovely day out. There they were, gliding through the water like dolphins, cycling like they were out for a pleasant Sunday ride (all be it a super-fast one), then running like their legs were made of springs. "That looks fun," I thought, in what can only be described as a moment of complete madness. "I could probably do that."

The distances didn't seem that intimidating on paper. A bit of swimming, some cycling, a short run - piece of cake, right? Oh, how wrong I was. But at 40, I still had that dangerous combination of optimism and complete ignorance that makes you think you can just rock up to things without proper preparation.

So, what did I do? I borrowed a bike (I hadn't ridden one in years), went on a few short rides (and by "a few times" I mean twice), bought a wetsuit online (without trying it on, obviously), and swam in the local lake exactly twice. TWICE. Anyone could run 5km, that was nothing. I basically did the athletic equivalent of cramming for an exam the night before, except the exam was testing whether I could avoid drowning, falling off a bike, or collapsing in a heap.

I ticked that box, sure enough. But I finished feeling like it was one of the hardest things I had ever done, which obviously it was particularly the run, because I wasn't fit enough, prepared enough, or sensible enough to have trained properly. I was exhausted, demoralised, and convinced I'd made a terrible mistake. I sold my wetsuit the next day. "Never again!" I declared, with all the dramatic flair of someone who'd just survived their own stupidity.

Why I Thought Triathlon Wasn't for People Like Me

For years after that disaster, I thought triathlons were for the elite, for fitness fanatics, or just people who had been athletic their whole lives. You know the type - those annoyingly perfect specimens who'd swum for their country, cycled from John O’Groats to Lands End and run Ultra Marathons.

I wasn't one of them. I was just a regular woman getting on with life, juggling work and family, who went for a leisurely swim in the mornings, and jogged the odd kilometre. The idea that I could be a "triathlete" seemed as likely as me going to the moon.

Those proper athletic types seemed to speak a different language - all talk of "splits" and "transitions" and "brick sessions" (which I assumed had something to do with construction work). They had expensive kit, impressive times, and that casual way of mentioning they'd just done a "quick 50K" like normal people mention popping to the shops.

I'd watch them at the gym or pool and feel like I was from a different species. They belonged there; I was just visiting. They had a right to attempt these challenges; I was clearly deluding myself if I thought I could join their ranks.

Taking That First Scary Step

But 11 years later, something had changed. I wasn't the same woman who'd impulsively signed up for that first triathlon on a whim. I was fifty-one, feeling invisible, menopausal, and like I was slowly disappearing into everyone else's needs. My kids didn't need me the same way anymore, my job felt meaningless, and I was drowning in the kind of existential crisis that hits you when you realize you've been living on autopilot for too long.

When my daughter suggested we do a Half Ironman together, something inside me that I thought had died years ago suddenly sat up and paid attention. This wasn't about ticking boxes or proving anything to anyone else. This was about survival - not physical survival, but the survival of who I was underneath all the roles I'd been playing.

It was different this time. I "needed" this. It felt like if I didn't do something dramatic to shake myself out of the fog I'd been living in, I might just fade away completely. The scared, unprepared woman who'd failed at triathlon a decade earlier was gone, replaced by someone who was desperate enough to try anything that might make her feel alive again.

This time, I wasn't signing up because it looked fun or easy. I was signing up because it looked hard, scary, and took me completely out of my comfort zone. I needed something that would demand everything I had and more. I needed to prove to myself that I was still capable of growth, change, and surprising myself.

You Don't Need to Be Elite to Start

Here's what I learned about starting triathlon in your fifties that I wish someone had told me at 40, you don't need to be elite, but you do need to be honest about what you're taking on.

Starting a triathlon in my fifties wasn't easy. My body didn't bounce back like it used to - what used to be a mild ache after exercise became proper soreness that lasted days. Motivation sometimes ran dry, especially on those dark winter mornings when every sensible person was still in bed. I often questioned if I was "good enough," if I was too old, too slow, too late to be starting something so demanding.

But here's the beautiful paradox: each swim stroke, pedal turn, and running step built more than endurance. It rebuilt my confidence and sense of purpose. Every training session was proof that I was still capable of learning, growing, and pushing my boundaries.

Age is Just a Number

Starting later gave me unique advantages that my younger self had never possessed. More mental toughness from life experience. I'd survived teenagers, job stress, family crises, and general life chaos. Compared to that, a bit of physical discomfort during training was manageable. I knew what real problems looked like, and struggling through a swim session wasn't one of them.

A clearer sense of why I wanted to do it. This wasn't about impressing anyone or collecting medals for my shelf. This was about reclaiming myself, proving I wasn't past it, showing that invisible women could do visible things. The motivation came from a much deeper place than my 40-year-old attempt.

The ability to appreciate progress, not perfection. I wasn't trying to be the fastest or strongest - I was trying to be better than yesterday's version of myself. Every small improvement felt like a victory because I understood how hard-won it was.

If you're standing where I once stood, wondering if it's too late, if you're too old, too unfit, too sensible to try something that scares you - I'm here to tell you: it's not too late. Your starting line can be today, not yesterday.

The woman who can barely swim a length might become someone who completes an Ironman. The person who gets out of breath walking up the stairs might discover they can run for miles. The individual who feels invisible might find themselves crossing finish lines and inspiring others.

Every journey begins with a single step - or swim, or pedal. The question isn't whether you're ready. The question is whether you're brave enough to find out what you're capable of.

Ready to start? Because I promise you, the best time to begin was yesterday. The second-best time is right now.

Read Stronger Every Mile and take your first step today – I’ll show you that it’s not too late to start.