I’ve finished a lot of races. Some have gone to plan, others I’ve had to grind through, but until the other weekend, I’d never had a DNF. Cairns 70.3 handed me that humbling milestone—and although it’s not one I wanted, it’s one I’ve learned a lot from.
The race started well. I exited the water in 7th place, calm and composed. I knew the bike would be tough—the course is hilly and exposed, and the forecast called for a 60km headwind on the return leg. But I was ready for it – Cairns is known for it so I rode within myself, controlled and smart, determined not to repeat mistakes I’ve made in recent races.
And I felt like I was on track. Until I wasn’t.
At around the 25km mark on the bike, I stood up out of the saddle to climb one of the rolling hills. That’s when I heard a noise behind me and a fellow competitor let out a sympathetic “oh f**k”. It was my saddle. It had come clean off. A sheared bolt. Just like that, my race changed.
I tried to problem-solve on the spot. I intially thought thew bolt had just some out and all I had to do was screw it back in. But it seemed to short and further investigation showed half the bolt still in my seat post. Riding out of the saddle for another 65km wasn’t just inefficient—it was a recipe for injury. And without a seat, my day was done.
Calling it wasn’t easy. You don’t train for months, travel, prep, and plan to end your day on the side of the road. But there are moments in sport where ego has to take a backseat to reality, and this was one of them. There was no heroic finish line moment waiting for me. Just a quiet ride back in the support vehicle and a lot of time to think.
Here’s what I took from it: Sometimes, no matter how well you prepare or how smartly you race, things go wrong. And sometimes, you can’t fix it on the fly. That doesn’t mean the work was wasted. I came into Cairns fitter, smarter, and more prepared than I’ve ever been. A sheared bolt doesn’t erase that.
It’s also a reminder that gear matters. The small things—the bolts, the checks, the pre-race prep—aren’t small. They’re everything. I am fastidious when it comes to looking after my bike, but this was something that I missed.
I didn’t get the result I wanted, but I got something I probably needed: a reminder that resilience isn’t just about pushing through. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to stop, own it, and come back hungrier. I’ll be back in 2026, I’ve already signed up.
And next time, I’ll bring a spare bolt.
