The First Time or Never: Nice Edition

Finally it's back to regular programming, hoping this finds you on your way into what will be a great sporting weekend. After having been in the South of France recently for the triathlon super weekend, I´m back for more.

The French Riviera doesn't typically host conversations about sporting mortality, but this Sunday in Nice, that's exactly what we're getting. The 2025 Ironman Men's World Championship takes place on September 14. On a personal note, thank goodness next year we can all go back to just calling it a World Championship. Beneath the glamour of the Côte d'Azur lies one of the most fascinating questions in endurance sport: Does the window for greatness ever truly close, or does it just feel that way when you're standing outside, watching younger versions of yourself walk through it?

Magnus Ditlev will toe the line in Nice carrying the weight of being perpetually "the next one." He holds the Ironman distance world record of 7 hours, 23 minutes and 24 seconds and finished second at the 2024 in Kona after placing third in Nice the year before. By most metrics that matter, he's arrived. Yet somehow, he hasn't.

There's something beautifully cruel about being the best at everything except the one thing that matters most. It took me a full 7 years after the Olympics to win my first world title. Ditlev has rewritten record books, dominated some of the sport's most prestigious races, and consistently found himself on podiums across the globe. But world championship gold remains the missing piece—the one achievement that transforms "incredibly talented athlete" into "world champion."

This is where sport gets existential. We tell ourselves that titles are just arbitrary distinctions, that the process is what matters, that records speak louder than trophies. But watch any athlete's face when they cross the line second at a world championship, and you'll see the difference between rational thinking and emotional truth. The gap between "almost" and "arrived" might be measured in seconds, but it feels like forever.

The bookies' favorites for Nice include Blummenfelt, Laidlow, Lange and Ditlev. Maybe Iden for those deep in the sport. It reads like a collision between generations—established champions defending their territory against the rising force that threatens to make their era feel like history.

If Lange thinks remotely like me, he represents the guard that refuses to change. At 38, he's racing against more than just younger legs—he's racing against time itself, against the quiet voice that asks whether this might be his last real shot at adding to his legacy. Also racing against the realization that most people his age start complaining about their backs while he's swimming 5 kilometers before breakfast.

Then there's Blummenfelt, the Norwegian perfectionist who's been collecting titles across every distance like they might stop making them. His presence in Nice isn't just about another potential win- it’s about proving himself as one of the all time greats.

And Laidlow, defending his Nice title from 2023, occupies that dangerous middle ground between hungry and established. He knows what it takes to win here, but he also knows that knowing isn't the same as doing it again when everyone else has spent two (for him at times difficult) years figuring out how to beat him.

But it's Ditlev who makes this race compelling beyond the usual "who's fastest on the day" narrative. There's something about watching someone chase their first major title that strips away all the sport psychology and reveals something more human. The question isn't whether he's good enough—that was answered long ago. The question is whether the universe has room for his version of greatness, or if he's destined to be the eternal bridesmaid when in sport only the names on top of the podium are remembered.

The beautiful terror of Nice is that it will answer questions that have been building for years. Will this be the race where Ditlev transforms potential into reality? Will it be another chapter in the "what if" story that follows every great athlete who never quite captured their ultimate prize? Or will one of the established champions remind us why experience and proven championship mettle often trumps raw talent and perfect preparation?

There's no middle ground at a world championship. You either leave as someone who conquered the biggest stage in the sport, or you leave with another story about how close you came. The margin between these outcomes is often brutally small.

Professional sport is merciless this way. It doesn't care about your training data, your sacrifices, or your worthiness. It only cares about who crosses the line first when the stakes are highest. And sometimes, the most deserving athlete on paper becomes a cautionary tale about the difference between being ready and being ready when it matters most.

Nice will host more than a race this Sunday. It will host a reckoning between talent and timing, between the promise of what could be and the reality of what is. For me, Ditlev stands at the center of this drama, carrying the hopes of everyone who's ever wondered if their moment will come, surrounded by men who've already seized theirs and have no intention of giving them up.

I'm on my way to see it live. Because in the end, that's what makes sport irresistible: the knowledge that somewhere between the start and finish line, someone's story will change forever.

Stay hungry and in my best accent it’s au revoir until next week,

Jan