Suwako 8 Peaks Triathlon 2024 Race Report: Rain, Risk, and Relief

Suwako 8 Peaks Triathlon was my first A-race of the year and my second time racing this event. It is a middle-distance triathlon in Nagano with a course that stands out for one reason in particular: the bike leg. After the swim in Lake Suwa, the route heads into the mountains, climbs hard, and then brings the athletes back down toward the lake before finishing with a run around it. It is a beautiful race, but not an easy one. Around 850 athletes were registered for the event, which made the atmosphere feel even bigger on race weekend.  

The preparation was mixed. After Tateyama Triathlon, I managed to put together a solid two-week training block and felt that things were moving in the right direction. Then the final week went sideways. I caught a virus the weekend before the race, had to take antibiotics, and could not train at all in the week leading into Suwako. For a while, it was not even clear whether I would be able to start.  

On top of that, the weather forecast looked brutal. Heavy rain was expected both the day before the event and on race day itself. The night before, the organizers confirmed that the race would still go ahead, but with changes for safety: the swim would be cut in half and the run would also be shortened. At that point, it was clear that this would not be a normal race day.  

The rain did not let up. We stayed inside the car as long as possible, delaying everything because stepping outside meant getting soaked immediately. I seriously considered pulling out before the start. In the end, the encouragement from my senpai and his wife made the difference. I decided to at least begin the race and give myself permission to stop later if needed. That felt like the right compromise.  

The test swim was rough. I was freezing, and even my thicker wetsuit was not enough to keep my body warm. Standing around for ten minutes afterward, shivering and waiting for the start, felt endless. It was one of those moments where motivation and discomfort are in direct conflict.  

I started in the second wave, one minute and thirty seconds behind the first. It did not take long before I found my rhythm and moved to the front of my wave. Before the turnaround buoy, I was already catching athletes from the earlier start group. Even though the swim had been shortened to just 950 meters, it gave me exactly what I needed: confidence. I likely came out of the water in the top 10 across both waves, which completely changed the mood of the day. The cold, the waiting, and the doubts disappeared all at once.  

T1 went very smoothly, and I got onto the bike ready to race aggressively. But almost immediately, things went wrong. Just two corners after the mount line, I hit a small bump and lost my water bottle. Annoyed, I stopped, picked it up, and got going again. Then, around 500 meters later, it dropped a second time. At that point I was furious. I stopped again, asked a referee if I could leave it behind to avoid another incident or a penalty, and thankfully got permission. By then, about seven athletes had already passed me

.  

That frustration turned into fuel. Once I settled back onto the bike, I pushed hard. The rain and the wet roads barely registered at first because I was so locked in. On the climb, I rode well, overtook two athletes, and only got passed by one rider during that section. For most of the bike leg, I was alone—no group dynamics, no easy targets ahead, just steady work.  

Then came the descent. At one point, I nearly lost control while taking a corner at around 40 km/h. I still do not really know how I saved it, but in that instant the race changed. The confidence from earlier was replaced by the very real fear of crashing. From there on, I braked much more often and gave up a lot of speed on the downhill. My mindset became simple: better to lose time than to lose the race entirely. Two athletes with much better descending skills passed me and disappeared almost immediately. That made the contrast obvious—I had become very cautious, and understandably so.  

The second transition was quick, and when I saw that there were hardly any bikes left, I knew I was still in a decent position overall. As I ran out, I passed the toilets and briefly debated stopping, but decided against it. I took in a gel, ran next to another athlete, and then glanced at my watch: 200 bpm. That number was a shock. I wondered immediately whether the antibiotics or the difficult week had finally caught up with me. The pace was not especially hard, so it made no sense. While still running, I took off the watch, cleaned the sensor, put it back on, and slowly watched the reading settle down to around 150 bpm. That was a huge relief, even though I had lost a bit of ground while dealing with it.  

The run felt endless. I kept hoping to find a toilet somewhere on course, but never did. What kept me going was the support around the lake. The spectators were fantastic, and their encouragement carried a lot of weight when the body started to fade. Near the finish, I made one final mistake. I thought there were only 200 meters left and launched into a full sprint to overtake two athletes. But after a small rise, it became painfully clear that the finish line we could see was not directly connected to our path. There were still about 500 meters to go. Mentally, that hit hard. The two athletes I had just passed recovered and finished ahead of me after all.  

I finished in 3:39:39, placing 46th overall and 15th in my age group. It was not the result I had imagined before the race weekend turned chaotic, but given the illness, the weather, the shortened course, the dropped bottle, the scare on the descent, and the rough run, I was genuinely happy with the outcome. It was not a perfect race. But it was a hard-earned one.