The story behind Ryzon

I'm wearing my favorite cap as I write this. Red, five-panel, white H. Most people assume it's some sort of fashion statement. It's not – it's a reminder of what we're about to lose.

Yesterday's news hit different when you've actually walked those hallways. Trump's executive order blocking Harvard from enrolling foreign students isn't just policy – it's a blow to what makes American education exceptional. That red cap represents three days that changed how I think about business, surrounded by brilliant minds from six continents, all crammed into lecture halls that have produced more Fortune 500 CEOs than any other institution on earth.

Here's what Harvard actually is: organized intellectual chaos. Koreans debating Germans, Brazilians challenging Americans, ideas colliding at 200 mph with zero regard for nationality or background. The magic isn't the ivy-covered buildings or the brand name – it's the collision of perspectives that happens when you throw the world's smartest people into a room and ask them to solve hard problems.

Our athletes program would probably survive this political theater – it's mostly online, no special visas required for a three-day visit. But that's not the point. The point is that this really undermines the willingness to learn from everyone, everywhere.

That cap isn't just Harvard merch. It's a souvenir from a world that, for now (let's be honest, who knows about next week), is rapidly disappearing – where ideas mattered more than passports, and where the best education meant learning from the best minds, regardless of where they were born.

Never assume an opportunity will be there tomorrow. Sometimes the window closes faster than you think.

As promised in part one, I want to share how what was taught relates to my own journey, specifically to our sportswear brand Ryzon. I joined in 2016, a few months after the initial founders started. Let me tell you about the stupidest smart decision I ever made.

In 2016, I was sitting pretty. Reigning Ironman World Champion, Olympic gold medalist, and brands were throwing money at me like I was a slot machine that only paid out. Then three Germans showed up with a business plan written on what looked like a napkin and asked me to invest in their idea for "premium athletic wear."

I should have taken the check. Instead, I became a founder.

Here's the thing about athlete endorsement deals: they're designed to make you feel important while keeping you powerless. You get paid to wear the shirt, not to own the company that makes it. You're a walking billboard, not a builder.

When Mario and Markus Konrad pitched me on Ryzon, their first online store launch generated exactly zero orders. Zero. Their "big launch" was met with the digital equivalent of crickets. Any rational person would have seen this as a red flag the size of Germany.

But here's what I saw: three guys who gave enough of a shit to build something from scratch rather than license their way to mediocrity. They weren't trying to become the next Nike overnight (nor were they using child labor to do so, which makes sleeping at night a whole lot easier). They were trying to create a then-new aesthetic and sustainable sportswear for triathletes.

So I wrote a check. Not for a campaign. For equity.

While every other "disruptive" brand was burning through VC money like it was 1999, Ryzon did something radical: we made money. In 2024, we hit eight figures in revenue for the first time. That's not unicorn territory, but we also didn't dilute our equity into oblivion.

We turned down acquisition offers. We said no to easy money that came with strings attached. We became profitable after eight years and came dangerously close to losing our bet a few times. In a world where companies raise $100 million to lose $200 million, Mario, our CEO, sailed the ship carefully but, so far, successfully around the big storms.

Business school teaches you about risk-adjusted returns and portfolio diversification. What it doesn't teach you is that sometimes the best investment is the one that makes you uncomfortable.

When I put my name and money behind Ryzon, I wasn't just buying equity. I was buying education. I learned about supply chains, margin compression, and the difference between growth and profitable growth. I learned that building something meaningful takes longer than Instagram would have you believe.

I also learned that wearing your own product to win Kona in a graphene race suit we developed is worth more than any marketing campaign money can buy. You can't fake authenticity, but you can definitely sell it.

Here's the harsh truth about professional athletics: your body is a depreciating asset. Every race, every training session, every year that passes brings you closer to irrelevance. The traditional playbook says stack endorsement deals, make hay while the sun shines, and hope you've saved enough for when the music stops.

But what if there's another way? What if instead of renting your credibility to the highest bidder, you build something you actually own?

That's the bet I made with Ryzon. Not just financial capital, but human capital. I sold ice cream at our Kona pop-up in 2018 while injured because that's the spirit of the company. I sat through product meetings, tested prototypes, and yes, occasionally questioned my sanity.

The lesson isn't about Ryzon specifically. It's about the choice every athlete – maybe even every professional – faces: do you want to take a safe check, or bet on a team and yourself to create something bigger?

Do you wear someone else's vision, or build your own?

Podcast I´ve enjoyed:

I’ve written about Trevor Noah before and I just enjoy his original way of thinking. Amongst all the things I try fit in a day though, being a Dad is the most important, which is why I enjoyed the latest episode of What Now, where Jonathan Haidt gives his insights as to how to be anti fragile and raise kids that way…

Fast Food I didn’t know I needed:

The cool thing about being in a big city is the random stuff you come across. We ran around New York, crossed over into Brooklyn and a few hundred meters found a Bagel joint. Leons Bagels- Nothing Fancy was literally their motto and I´m still dreaming about this one- egg and cheese. Tried making it at home but going from a New York bagel to an Andorran one- not pretty.

See you next week…

Finally a week at home. Bikes will be ridden, the Bbq cover removed and. sleep caught up on… maybe.

Jan.

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