Ironman World Championship – Nice 2025

It all starts with a dream… racing a World Championship.

After the first years of work, it happens: first a Sprint triathlon, then the Olympic and, why not, a half Iron too.

The new dream is even bigger: getting to and finishing an Ironman World Championship (3.86 km swimming, 180 km on the bike and 42.2 km running). A tough goal, because to qualify a lot of things have to line up: races, experience and, above all, lessons you only learn with time. And here's where this journey begins…

Anyone who has done an IRONMAN knows the suitcase is everything: it holds all you need for the race. In the days before, everything revolves around the race: the details, the thoughts, the nerves. Yes, there's still work to do, but the mind is already underwater, the body on the bike and the spirit running.

How we managed to pack so much, I still don't understand. It looked like we were moving house! With that load heading to the airport, the only sensible thing was a good breakfast to fuel up before a veeeeeery long trip toward a dream waiting to come true. I tried to sleep on the way, with limited success: of the 18 hours between leaving home and arriving in Nice, I managed to sleep six.

We landed thinking we'd get to the hotel and rest, but the adventure was just starting. Getting on public transport with four suitcases and a bike through the streets of Nice is a sport of its own. I thought: "Come on!", this is the first world, but even developed countries have their limits. With that much luggage there's no easy way to get around.

And the first thing I wanted to do when we arrived wasn't eat or hit the bathroom: what I wanted most was to assemble the princess. I'm not talking about Rox, I'm talking about my other princess: the bike. Luckily, everything arrived safe and sound, without a single scratch. With a box like that, I expected nothing less.

The new mission was to avoid falling asleep and make the most of the rest of the day. Like zombies, we went out for our first gourmet experience, obviously outside the hotel, after crossing Nice with our entire move in tow.

We had onion soup, it had to be that one! I'd been craving it for months. We paired it with seafood with a French touch, pretty good by the way. Then, to keep killing time, we walked several kilometers and started discovering the scenery that would soon be our home for fifteen days.

We strolled along the Promenade des Anglais until we reached the Cadran Solaire, which to our surprise had been taken over by a giant sea urchin, a temporary installation celebrating the 2025 Year of the Sea. We ended the day with our first sunset on French soil, but not before running desperately along the whole promenade looking for a bathroom. We almost missed the moment, but got there just in time to enjoy it while, courtesy of a fellow Mexican, Calma (Gangalee Remix) was playing.

Rox ditched me while I rested and got ready to head out on the bike. It was our first cycling adventure in this wonderful place: we rode toward Cagnes-sur-Mer, with the sea on one side along that endless bike path that runs the whole Côte d'Azur. I wanted to ride all of it, but no way… I only had an hour scheduled. Well, I ended up doing an hour forty: I couldn't resist riding more in a place this spectacular.

Then we walked in search of our well-deserved meal of the day. To our surprise, they were already setting up what would be our home for the next few days: the Ironman Village. There was the famous poster with the names of all the athletes. I walked up excited, goosebumps everywhere, and took the long-awaited photo. Me and everyone who qualified, together in one place. What's incredible is how the "mortal athletes" and the pros share this space, all under the same symbolic roof.

Time to eat our well-earned and sacred food: paninis that, to our surprise, were ordered and ready in just five minutes, made on the spot. Not even Starbucks' ready-to-go is that fast. Ufff, they were delicious!

Later we visited the Fontaine du Soleil, by Alfred Auguste Janniot, in Place Masséna. There stands the imposing figure of Apollo (or "Apolititititititititito", as we nicknamed him for his Olympic-steroids physique), guarded by five planets from Greco-Roman mythology: Venus, Mars, Mercury, Saturn and, of course, Earth. We were also amazed by the black and white mosaic floor: simply incredible.

Swim test. We got up early to try out the gorgeous blue waters of the Mediterranean. It was a warm morning, no need to bundle up. We walked, once again, along our new favorite street in the whole wide world: the Promenade des Anglais, heading to the Baie des Anges.

I was a bit nervous. I knew it wasn't an official race, but it felt like one. For safety reasons they gave us a swim chip, and you had to get ready as if it were race day. There were tons of people. Worth noting that this test wasn't only open to World Championship athletes, so Rox was signed up too. With the championship so close, nobody wanted to miss the chance to rehearse part of the swim.

With the tension maxed out, I realize: my goggles weren't synced with my watch! And by then it was too late. I'd have to go in like that, without pairing my Form goggles. Looking back it was a minor detail, but in that moment, with the nerves, it felt huge. Nothing left but to improvise. In the end, that's what an Ironman is: many hours of racing, many challenges and hundreds of decisions to make on the fly. My decision was clear: swim unsynced.

In the middle of my restlessness, Rox was calm. Her composure bothered me and calmed me at the same time. I kept thinking: why isn't she freaking out like me? But thanks to that serenity, I always find a space of peace.

Time to squeeze into the wetsuit. After several months without wearing it, getting into that diver's girdle was a whole adventure. Between the heat, the sweat and the nerves, it was harder than usual. After several minutes of battle, Rox helped me with the final adjustments and we were ready to hit the water.

Getting into those blue waters was a different experience from the very first moment. There's no sand here, there are huge rocks that, when you step on them barefoot, feel like they stab you all the way up to your throat. Keeping your balance was nearly impossible. I remembered stepping on toys scattered around my room as a kid, that sharp pain like Darth Vader had plunged his lightsaber straight into the top of my foot.

Once in, I expected something like Cozumel, where you can see the bottom. Here, just a few meters and then only a deep blue that didn't invite you to wonder what might be further down. The water wasn't cold; on the contrary, fresh and perfectly bearable without a wetsuit. But it was heavy, choppy, and it made me feel slow. OK, I told myself, this won't be my best swim, but it'll be different, with incredible visibility and in a place that commands respect.

I moved forward calmly, testing the currents, feeling the heaviness of the water and, why not, swallowing the odd gulp saltier than Mexico's luck in a World Cup round of 16.

We finished the test, handed in the chip and got water to wash out the taste of the sea. Time to collect the medal… but surprise: they'd run out! At a World Championship, no less. Hundreds of annoyed athletes. Minutes later, they announced they'd bring more soon, while we consoled ourselves with croissants and coffee. Well, correction: croissants without coffee, because that ran out too. We had to sacrifice ourselves with a dry Frenchie croissant.

Finally, our volunteer friend showed up with the forgotten box of medals. We went for ours, and even though the moment was gone, we finally had it.

On the way back to the hotel, we first stopped at the Ironman DOT for another photo with my name, then the expo for the obligatory shopping and to say hi to our Norwegian buddies Gustav and Blummenfelt, who were just walking around like it was nothing. We also signed the giant map, where us Mexicans always proudly leave our mark.

Then it was time to pick up the race packet. I nervously went to the table to get my numbers. Just then, a Japanese athlete asked me to take his photo. I kindly agreed… but it didn't stop there. He asked for another from a different angle, another in the line for the backpack, another waving, another with the backpack on. Come on, man, I want to pick up my stuff too, not become your community manager. With a smile and a hundred photos later, I gave him back his phone and could finally get my commemorative backpack.

The backpack, gorgeous. I looked at it with love while the volunteer spoke to me in French. I thought: why did I never study French, when I can barely manage Spanish? Noticing my confused face, she switched to English and explained what was inside. I left that athletes-only area happy with my backpack, ready to meet Rox.

I found her in the garden lounge, watching one of those Ironman videos that make you feel like Tony Stark himself saving the world. And yes, Rox already had tears in her eyes.

We stayed at the expo and took the chance to go to the hotel next door, IM's corporate headquarters, to get Rox's packet accredited. I couldn't take the exhaustion anymore and literally collapsed in the lounge of that fancy hotel (note: I didn't put my feet up on the couch, I'm not that tacky). With carb loading at full tilt, we ended the day with a delicious pasta at Café de Paris before heading back to rest.

We got up early to ride again, this time in the opposite direction from the day before, toward Monaco. I only had to do 45 minutes, but we made it all the way to Villefranche-sur-Mer. There was a bit more traffic than on the previous day's bike path, but nothing serious; in fact, it was fun. The views were still spectacular and, honestly, I was eaten up with envy for the people who live there and ride these landscapes every day.

At one point the bike path turned into a road and I thought: we don't have a sweep car… hahaha. Although, of course, you don't need one here. People respect cyclists so much more. A honk or a curse anywhere near me? Not a single one. Fack, incredible!

When we finished, we did an unofficial photo tour on the bikes, stopping at every corner to save memories of those magical moments. On the way back, we thought we were late for the swim briefing (the one where an "expert" explains the course). To our surprise, we made it to the talk and picked up some useful tips for the race.

Then we rested a bit, although I had homework from my coach Claudia Beristain: "Don't push it, put those feet up". I left that advice for the next day, because we had a tour of Nice with a friend of ours, a lovely woman who took us to see the most iconic spots.

Standing in front of the Hotel Cresp, she pointed out something we never would have noticed: several of its windows were painted on. They're called trompe-l'œil windows ("fool the eye"). In the old days in France, taxes were charged by the number of windows; many families sealed them up and painted them to keep the building looking good without paying more.

We passed the Nice Opera House, rebuilt in 1881 after the original 1776 building burned down. Then we wandered through narrow streets full of life, with markets, local shops and restaurants. We went into the cathedral to give a small thank-you to the man upstairs for letting us be there.

Later we started climbing the Escalier Jules Eynaudi. OMG, what views and what stairs. Good thing this wasn't the day before the race, because it would've wiped me out. After several climbs we reached an artificial waterfall with a beautiful view, and from there the Parc de la Colline du Château, one of the best lookouts over the city: the sea on one side and the city on the other. From up there you see Nice as a natural triangle: sea, modern city and old town, with Masséna as the point that joins them.

On the way back from the walk we tried socca, a kind of very thin flatbread made with chickpea flour, olive oil, salt and pepper. They told us it's cooked in copper pans in wood-fired ovens and served in irregular, golden pieces. Delicious.

Back at the hotel, we called Mexico to wish Santi a happy 19th birthday (with Ruy's help, of course). We took the official birthday photo, even if it was long distance. Thank you, Santi, for understanding that the World Championship landed on your day and we couldn't be there.

Then it was time to get ready for the Parade of Nations, a classic at every World Championship: each country gathers its athletes and families to parade through the city. This time we started at the I Love Nice sign. We arrived early because, as flag bearer, I had to be there before everyone. The early bird gets the worm… and in this case, the early bird got to carry the Mexican flag.

Little by little more athletes and fellow Mexicans arrived. Photos, videos, swapping IG handles, impressions, nerves. Parading through the streets, our delegation stood out with its own style: a fellow Mexican pulled out a speaker and, music included, we put together the loudest vibe of the whole procession.

To close the day we had dinner with the organizers, at Le Galet. It was more an event for sponsors than for athletes. There were enough bottles of champagne to get half of Nice drunk, and us athletes couldn't touch a glass. That's when we understood these dinners weren't really for us.

The guest was Patrick Lange, who gave a short talk and left right away, with his girlfriend, who was keeping track of every step and every calorie he took in. And of course, the pros have impeccable preparation. That kind of discipline is what puts them at the top.

I could have felt bad about not being at that level… but no. I remembered my goal: this World Championship wasn't about obsessing over times, like my last Ironman, where the goal was breaking the 10-hour barrier and I was so focused I didn't even enjoy the scenery. This time would be different: my goal was to savor every moment, burn it into my heart. This World Championship is a reward for years of dedication.

We ended the day watching an unforgettable sunset, grateful to be there and for everything that had brought us to that moment.

Time to pack the bags. I resist from the moment Rox tells me: "we have to drop them off early today".

What are the bags? In an Ironman you hand in several transition bags:

• T1, with what you need coming out of the water to get on the bike (helmet, shoes, sunglasses).
• T2, to drop the bike and head out on the run (running shoes, cap, gels).
• Two Special Needs: one halfway through the bike and another halfway through the run, with extra food or spares.
• And Morning Clothes, where you keep what you wear before the start.

They all help keep your gear organized and speed up every change. Just telling you about it makes me tired, hahaha.

A wall of procrastination tells me: "wait, do it later". Why do I see it that way? Deep down I know it's one more step toward the suffering, so better to put it off a little. But of course, "intense" Ro yells at me: "Come on, dude, do the damn bags and that's one thing off the list!".

We had breakfast at Ann Ette and then went to the Banquet de Bienvenue. We found our table, settled in and, obviously, started watching to see if the Pros showed up. But of course, they never go to that event: they're all resting.

The opening show had a performance ready for us that recreated a triathlete's journey toward finishing a World Championship. As part of it, they asked the athletes living their first championship to stand up. It was impossible not to reflect: the whole road, the challenges, the suffering, the joys and defeats that had brought me there. Between the video, the music and having my princess by my side, I got goosebumps and the tears just came.

Then they asked the families who support us to stand, the ones who put up with us for months and make it possible for us to be there. Rox stood up with me and we cried buckets, representing my family, my friends and my angels watching over me from heaven: my mom, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles.

The day before. The day you stop sleeping, when all you want is to rest… and it ends up being as long as the Ironman itself, except you barely do anything.

Early on we went to drop off the transition bags (yes, the ones I told you I packed) and the bike. No turning back now, Ro. Praying silently that I hadn't forgotten anything, I loaded the bike with the shifter batteries at 100, the bags ready, and we set off walking toward transition.

Just walking with the bike and the bags already made me feel the race had started. The nerves reminded me a very important day was coming. Grateful, nervous, wanting to laugh, cry and scream, I picked up the pace. I walked fast, trying to forget everything, with a single goal: get there and drop it off.

We crossed the red carpet into transition and my heart started racing. The bike felt out of control, like it was about to fall; the bags felt heavy; my body started inventing pains I didn't have. I kept telling myself: "they're phantom pains", because I knew that when the World Championship's iconic cannon went off, it would all disappear.

I reached the blue carpet, the one that tells you you're in T1. The Ironman World Championship logo print made me pull out my inner "millennial" and record the moment. Oh my God, my spot was right next to a huge championship sculpture. There couldn't be a better landmark to remember where I'd left the bike coming out of the water.

I racked the bike, gave it its blessing and whispered: "Owner of my butt, take care and behave tonight. Tomorrow I'll take you to unimaginable places, with beautiful landscapes that won't be easy to conquer, but if you behave, together we'll beat them".

That night, Rox helped me put on the bib number stickers. Then, rest and feet up, just like my coach had asked.

We set the alarm for 5:20, but I've been awake since 4:30, imagining myself crossing the finish line. I visualize every stroke, every pedal turn, every stride. I talk to my body: "Don't let me down, we're ready. Today's the day".

Dear lumbar hernia: I know you're there, you've been with me these last four years. At some point you're going to scream, I know, but today I'm not listening. Sorry, I know you do it to protect me, but we trained to be strong. So behave, keep it together and don't scream too much.

The alarm goes off. I pretend to be asleep, not sure if Rox is pretending too, but it's time to check my HRV. All good, the body says: "ready". Coffee, breakfast, bathroom, sunscreen, chamois cream, trisuit, back stretches… hoodie on and let's go!

Morning Clothes bag in hand, bottles full of electrolytes and clothes ready to swim. No wetsuit: the water was above 24 degrees, so no way it would be allowed. That means a slower swim, but also a more comfortable one.

We walk under the sunrise toward T1. I have to be there at 6:30, even though my group starts near the end. I go in nervous, set everything up, look for a pump for the tires… and Rox shows up in transition! How did she pull it off? Only athletes and staff get in. Maybe her badge got her through, or maybe they mistook her for someone from IM. Doesn't matter, she was there. Lovingly, she helps me check everything: bike, nutrition, sensors, Garmin. What looked quick took us more than 40 minutes.

We go watch the starts. The pros are already in the water. Group after group, the nerves rise. Do I go to the bathroom? Am I OK? I stretch, take my last sips of electrolytes, a Maurten, and there are ten minutes to go.

My stomach tightens, my hands sweat, my feet shake, my heart races. My eyes don't know whether to laugh, cry or hide behind the goggles. I put on the speedsuit; I can't zip it up, but Rox is there, steady, helping me through the nerves. Now, goggles ready. No tears: they fog up the lenses.

I check the watch in triathlon mode, verify the transitions and the connection with my Form Goggles. Cap, goggles, last photos, goodbye to Rox and her blessing (exactly like the one my mom gave me every morning as a kid).

Time to move, Ro. To the line!

I jump in fast to grab a spot. Two minutes to the start. We float, everyone looking for the best position. Weren't you going to take it easy, Ro? What are you doing all the way up front?

BOOM! Starting gun. Kick, stroke, breathe. In the pool I usually breathe every three, but here it's impossible: every two, and I still need air. I manage to look at the bottom, it's beautiful… until a smack on the head reminds me I'm in the middle of a battle. Elbows, knees, feet, soles colliding. First buoy: chaos. Second, calmer.

Halfway through we catch stragglers from the previous group. Poor guys, they must be getting hammered. The first half was hard; the second felt smoother. The pace wasn't the usual: the current was brutal.

I come out of the water, see Rox and yell: "That was brutal!". I run to T1. Bag, quick change, helmet, gloves (mistake, I should've left them on the bike). Shoes, I run with the bike, cross the exit and the 180 km stage begins!

Minute one, the Garmin screams in my face: "Critical battery in Front Derailleur". WHAT THE HELL?! I charged it yesterday! This can't be happening, not today, not here. My stomach turns, my mind screams I've been sabotaged. I pedal furiously, but at 2 km the battery dies. A single thought hits me: "Someone swapped it, there's no other explanation". I feel rage, frustration and fear that my whole World Championship will fall apart because of a damn battery.

At km 10 the first big climb forces me to stop. I'm shaking with adrenaline as I pull over, praying I don't take anyone out. With clumsy hands I move the rear battery to the front derailleur. The shift goes in. I breathe. I keep going.

That's how the whole course would go: four stops, four times forced to work on the bike in the middle of a World Championship, adding up to more than 25 minutes lost. Twenty-five minutes of helplessness, of feeling they were tearing chunks out of my race… and still, every time I told myself: "Keep going, cabrón, keep going. You finish this Ironman with or without batteries".

But oh well: time to enjoy it. 180 km with 2,600 m of climbing.

From the start, every bend was a show. We passed through villages hanging off the mountains, with stone houses and balconies full of flowers. The sea in the background always with us, reminding me where I was racing this World Championship.

The climbs were long, hard, the kind that seem to never end, but at the same time the scenery made up for it. Between forests, narrow roads and mountains that suddenly opened up, the effort felt lighter.

And when the descents came… ufff, pure reward. Tight turns, speed and the feeling of flying with the wind in your face. You had to stay focused because the course was demanding, but every kilometer was worth it.

The rollers, the false flats and the calmer stretches helped me recover a bit, catch my breath and push again. The course had it all: technical, demanding and at the same time stunning.

In the last 10 km, all flat, my legs were at their limit. I wasn't thinking about the marathon yet, I just wanted off the bike because the saddle was begging for mercy. But at the same time, I knew I'd lived one of the toughest and most spectacular courses I've ever done in an Ironman.

I get to T2. Full change right there in the tent :X (allowed in Europe). Worth it: one more minute, but the freedom to run without feeling like I'm wearing a diaper.

I start running. My back yells at me: "Enough already, you useless idiot!". I answer in my head: "You already made it through the hardest part, only three and a half hours left… let's go".

The first meters are for finding a rhythm. Every aid station is routine: water, electrolytes, gel… and keep going. The course is flat and fast, but with a catch: four laps. Great for spectators (who cheer and push you), brutal for us athletes who have to repeat the same loop over and over. The upside: I'd see Rox eight times, something that never would've happened in any other Ironman. That alone was worth it.

Km 8. Suddenly I hear "La Cucaracha", not the mariachi version but a batucada put together by the Tiburonas Azules. Yes, Rox was there, partying with all her energy. She gets a huge smile out of me, I give her a quick kiss and keep going. Those seconds of joy are worth gold.

Second lap. I feel strong. The body responds, the back stops fighting and I think: "this is going well". The atmosphere is incredible: runners everywhere, people cheering in several languages, kids sticking out their hands for high fives. It's impossible not to catch the energy.

Third lap. Chaos. The dark thoughts show up: "why are you doing this? is it worth it?". I feel tired in every muscle. It's the stage where your mind wants to stop. At times I pray, at times I curse, at times I laugh to myself. But I don't stop running. I repeat it like a mantra: "Ro, enjoy it, you're at an Ironman World Championship! Only 0.8% make it here".

Last lap. The switch flips. I think of my kids following me from home, of how they watch me fight from far away. That gives me strength. I speed up as much as I can. Km 39. That avenue I loved when I arrived in Nice, now I hate it; I just want it over. But I'm grateful for it too: it's the hallway to the dream. I remember every training session, the good days, the days I couldn't handle the pain. Those moments of weakness were the ones that forged the character to be here. I get goosebumps.

Km 42. I see the finish. The blue carpet, the championship logos, the final ramp. It's like symbolically climbing to the very top. I go in with everything I have left. I run, I jump: my Signature Jump. I don't know where it comes from after so much punishment, but it comes. Not from the legs, but from the heart.

Rox welcomes me at the finish and puts the medal around my neck. An indescribable feeling: pride, tears, gratitude. Minutes later my phone rings: a call from my little princess Alexa, telling me words of love and pride worth more than any time or medal.

I close this day thanking everyone: God, for letting me be here. Rox, my partner for every km, every training session and my daily Maurten. My coach Claudia Beristain, without you this dream would be impossible. Pepe and my Mind2Motion teammates, my family, my kids, Dad, Ericka, Ana, Adolfo, Hector, cousins, Luzma, Pepe, Sandra, Jose, the Bike Team (Gabo, Marron, Aguas, Xavi, Chavalo), my doctors: my brother Luiz, Alan, nutritionist Gaby, massage therapist Clemente, and my work colleagues… A whole army that made this dream possible.

I didn't cross this finish line alone. I crossed it with all of you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

The complete set of World Championship triathlon medals: every distance, every finish line.