Paul Completes Ironman Challenge for 'May Contain Iron'

Earlier in the year, we introduced longtime friend of Profeet, Paul Maung-Maung, who had made the bold decision to complete an Ironman challenge in aid of the Natasha Allergy Research Foundation.

Living with threatening allergies has been a critical part of Paul’s life as the parent of a child with this condition. His project was driven by the desire to raise awareness and aptly titled ‘May Contain… Iron’. After a year of intense training, here’s courageous Paul’s compelling race report:

“Remember Your Why”

The phrase that echoes at the start of every IronMan. A reminder of the reason you are about to take on 140.6 miles of swim, bike, and run.

At the start line of IronMan Copenhagen 2025, everyone had their own Why. For some of the elites, it was to race. For many others, it was the dream of hearing the bell at the finish and calling themselves an IronMan for the very first time.

My Why was clear: to raise awareness and money for food allergy — a condition that continues to challenge my family and millions of others. This was not just a test of endurance, but a way to shine a light on something close to my heart.

The Year of Preparation

The journey began 12 months earlier: 365 days of training, discipline, and preparation for the 1-day event.

Being 62, carrying a bit of extra weight, and comfortable only up to half-marathon distance, I knew I’d need every single day of it.

Most athletes hire a coach. I didn’t. Instead, I studied Joel Friel’s The Triathlete’s Training Bible and Going Long, compared them with online programmes, and pieced together my plan. My accountability came not from a coach, but from those supporting me: my family, the Natasha Allergy Research Foundation, and all the people who had backed my cause.

Training was steady — with one unwanted interruption thanks to a bout of Covid in February. I mixed sessions with organised events: cycling the Isle of Wight, riding London to Brighton (and back), trail half-marathons, and an Olympic triathlon at Dorney. The last two months focused on the dreaded but essential brick sessions (2-3 sessions back to back).

Still, the great unknown loomed: had I really done enough? Should I have had a coach after all?

Copenhagen Beckons

Even travelling to another country for an IronMan carries its own drama. Our EasyJet flight couldn’t fit all the bike boxes, so planes had to be switched. On Facebook, fellow competitors posted about forgotten kit, lost gear, broken bikes. Stress levels were high.

We arrived Thursday to settle in, register, and — inevitably — spend money on IronMan-branded kit. Not being particularly handy, the thought of reassembling the bike I’d have to ride for 112 miles made me nervous.
Saturday meant racking bikes, bags, and kit, and walking through transition.

The golden rule: nothing new in race week. No different food, no different drink. Stick with what your body knows. And always remember the cut-off times:

• Swim – 2h 20m
• Swim + bike – 9h 30m
• Total – 15h 45m

A ticking clock that focuses the mind.

Race Day

• 4 am – wake up
• 5 am – leave the accommodation
• 6 am – final bike checks
• 6.30 am – a quick warm-up swim
• 7.30 am – 3,200 athletes perform the Viking Thunder Clap, arms raised in unison. A spine-tingling moment.

Strangely, I was calm.

The Swim – 3.8 km

The mass start of a triathlon is chaos: the dreaded “washing machine” of arms and legs thrashing in all directions, IronMan is no time for bravado. Having learnt from past mistakes, I positioned myself further back, joining the penultimate group of swimmers expecting 120–125 minutes. My forecast was 140 minutes. A little bravado.

The lagoon course was shallow and salty. My training had totalled 105 km of swimming over the year, but nothing could truly prepare me. The outbound leg was fine — until the turn point, where weeds tangled around goggles and arms. The return leg was a battle to dodge meandering swimmers.

At last, 125 minutes later, I exited the water. Ahead of plan. Feeling strong.

Transition 1
The fog of the swim made transition a blur. Somehow, I stripped off the wetsuit, pulled on helmet, gloves, and shoes, downed a gel, and mounted the bike. No memory of it — but everything was in place.

The Bike – 180 km

This was my favourite discipline — if only because you get to sit down.

I’d fitted my road bike with TT bars earlier in the year, adjusting to the new aero position over countless laps of Richmond Park. Nutrition was critical: every hour, one breakfast bar, one rice crispy bar, 500ml electrolytes, 500ml water. Bananas at aid stations. Even a Twix as a reward.

The Copenhagen course: two loops through stunning countryside, rolling hills, and cheering hamlets. Crowds lined the top of a hill near the train station, deafening in their support. Fiona even managed to spot me, while simultaneously keeping 70 people updated on WhatsApp.

I averaged 28–34 kmph, pushing but not overreaching. By the second loop, the elites were long gone, the crowds of cyclists had thinned, and I cruised home with a tailwind at 35 kmph.

Time: 5h 55m. Ahead of expectations.

The return into the city was overwhelming: a wall of noise, thousands of spectators, and suddenly the bike leg was done.

Transition 2

Unlike T1, there was no sense of position. Everyone’s bags re-hung, no clue who was ahead or behind.

My plan? Sit down, eat a ham and cheese croissant, and drink a Coke. I wasn’t racing for a podium. Unfortunately, a wasp had other ideas, so half the croissant went uneaten.

Still, with the swim and bike behind me, I had time in the bank for the marathon.

The Run – 42.2 km

The noise through Copenhagen was incredible — crowds 3–4 deep, music blasting, energy everywhere. The four-loop course took us north and south through the city, past the Little Mermaid, collecting a wristband each lap. Four bands meant one thing: you were an IronMan.

My plan was to run steady 7-minute kilometres. Reality: 31 minutes for the first 5 km, carried away by adrenaline. By the second lap, fatigue and cramps set in. Nine hours into the race, the body starts to argue.

Support kept me going. Fiona popped up at every corner with her banner. On lap two, I found a running partner, Stuart from Tri Surrey. We shared family stories, football talk, pain and counted wrist bands on runners.

The organisers’ cruelty was evident — each lap passed the finishline chute but forced us away until the last. Finally resplendent with 4 wrist bands, we headed to the finish.

The last turn. The floodlights, the music, the roar of the crowd.

I walked the carpet. I rang the bell for first-time finishers.

And then I stepped over the line.

Time: 13 hours. One hour ahead of target.

A heartfelt thank you also goes to my amazing sponsor @profeetcustom
It is still sinking in. But one thing is certain:

I remembered my Why.

Our verdict:

Huge congratulations to Paul, (who was wearing Profeet Custom Fitted Footwear by the way). At age 62, to go from half-marathoner to Ironman in a year is nothing short of awesome. It is a tremendous result and for an important cause too. There’s still time to sponsor Paul and support the Natasha Foundation…

> SPONSOR PAUL