It’s a huge challenge to finish the full Ultra Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB). Actually, the challenge begins when trying to understand how to get the stones and qualify for a spot at the start line at the end of August in Chamonix, France.

UMTB is a 107-mile race circumnavigating the 15,777-foot high Mont Blanc massif, traversing through France, Italy and Switzerland before stopping the watch back in Chamonix.

Last year, after 27 hours, 39 minutes and 23 seconds, I crossed that notorious finish line, hands on my knees, tears in my eyes with a smile plastered on my face.

One week later, I was boarding a plane to fly to the US to balance the recovery of UTMB while preparing for the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii, which was coming in hot five weeks later.

We came, we saw and we didn’t quite conquer, but survived in 10:43:41.

That year, I became one of six people to do this double and the fastest overall. Two pinnacles of each sport, side-by-side.

That was 2023.

Now, I am back home in Australia after another summer in Europe.

Earlier in the year, I accepted my elite entry back into the UTMB. I had always thought I would run this race twice: once to see it and once to race it. This year, I wanted to give myself every chance to right the wrongs and learn the lessons that 2023 punched me in the face with.

Me being me, I did another mid-season Ironman to get the hours up, taking the foot off the running gas and a mental reset before heading into the big and burley mountain block. It made sense in my head. However, it took some convincing for my coach to wrap his head around it, but we have also recognized how strong I was getting from cross-training and how I can stay mentally fresh when I do triathlon because it holds no weight in my career and is genuinely a passion project that feels like an off-season activity.

After running the Ultra Trail Australia 100k, I raced the Cairns Ironman and ran my way into a World Championships-qualifying spot. This year, the women were racing in Nice, France, three weeks after UTMB. Half the recovery time, but at least in the same country – this was how I tried to sell the idea again to my support team. We took the entry but asterisked it as something that could, but may not happen: a cherry on the cake of a summer season, but still a bloody good cake without it.

With mountain mode engaged, bike racked, no pool membership, hiking poles in hand and snacks in the pack, we strung together an intense eight weeks in Europe before UTMB, ticking all of the boxes. I stood at the UTMB start again in Chamonix with 3,000 others, feeling like I had controlled my controllables and now it was time to roll the dice.

After 25 hours, 55 minutes and 31 seconds, I returned, feeling stoked about what I put forward. It wasn’t perfect, it never is, but the problem-solving came quickly; the miles slipped by, the energy stayed consistent, and while the race always throws punches, I felt like I was able to put up a guard for a few and woke up the next day feeling a whole lot less beat up than the previous year.

There were just three weeks until the Nice Ironman World Championships. I watched my mind and body rebuild and return to life from the post-race fuzzy state that comes with all the exertion on all levels around big races. I rode my bike on small loops mainly to be with friends, move my body softly and get to the best cafés. I swam in the lake on warm summer evenings without expecting or caring about numbers and data. I ate for a family of five, slept like a log and laughed so much that I called it my core training. We jumped in the car and drove to Nice; my team and I decided I was in an excellent place physically, but mainly mentally, to enjoy a day in the triathlon world.

With 2.1 miles of salty combat fighting – I mean swimming in the Mediterranean Sea – a 112-mile cycle in the mountains above Nice and a 26.2-mile run on the Promenade Des Anglais with some of the best cheering zones I have experienced, I made my final strides on the red carpet to cross the finish line in 10:53:51, becoming the first person to do the condensed double.

Sport is wild. You live life in a day constantly feeling defeated and then unstoppable; you question why you thought this was a good idea, then you cross the finish line, the goldfish memory and rose-colored glasses are deployed, and you look for what's next. As I type this, I do not have a “next,” and I feel very content in soaking up what “was” and taking the rest that these races demand.