The Benefits of Pushing Your Physical Limits as an Endurance Athlete

By Bryan Child, DPT, ECS — Co-Founder of Bakcou

Growing Up a Multi-Sport Athlete

I grew up in the 80s and was pretty much your standard jock. Sports weren’t just something I did after school; they were my whole life. I played the big three: football, basketball, and baseball. I wrestled for a couple of years and was pretty good at soccer, but when I broke my fibula playing intramural soccer in junior high, missing my 8th-grade year of basketball, I was so ticked off that I vowed never to play soccer again, and I never did. For me, it was definitely all about the big three. 

Unlike today’s kids, we didn’t specialize in just one sport and play it year-round. Football in the fall, basketball in the winter, and baseball in the spring. When one season ended, I picked up the next ball, and that sport became my obsession.

Looking back, playing different sports year-round built everything: speed, coordination, toughness, and endurance. Football made me tough; basketball made me quick, and baseball taught patience and focus. Wrestling taught me how to suffer without complaining. We didn’t call it “cross-training.” It was just life. But it built a base that has stuck with me to this day. 

When practice was over, we still played. Summer nights were hot-box baseball in the backyard until it was too dark to see. Winter meant shoveling snow off the driveway so we could shoot hoops. Fall was backyard football, no pads, no refs, just neighborhood kids and lots of bloody noses, bumps, and bruises.

Discovering Strength Training

In high school, I got hooked on weightlifting. Besides hoping to get jacked, pushing more weight meant bigger hits in football, longer bombs in baseball, and bigger hops in basketball.

What I didn’t realize at the time was how much lifting helped everything else. It built confidence. It taught discipline. It showed me that steady work pays off. You add five pounds to the bar this week, and eventually you’re lifting things you couldn’t budge a year ago. That mindset carries over into life. It also gave me durability. When other guys were breaking down, I felt strong and capable.

Training Without a Nutrition Plan

As far as diet? I didn’t really give it much thought.  I ate whatever was around. Meat, potatoes, cereal, sandwiches, Pop-Tarts, chips, whatever Mom made or whatever I found in the fridge. I wasn’t counting protein, fat, fiber, or carbs. I didn’t even know what a macronutrient was, and supplements, well, that was basically whatever protein powder my buddy’s older brother had sitting in the garage.

Finding a New Challenge: Triathlon

However, that all changed in my early 30s. I was still playing rec league basketball and some city league softball, and lifting weights, but the thrill of competition and the excitement of pushing myself to conquer more were gone.  I needed a new challenge.

That’s when I learned about triathlons. 

At the time, I had no business signing up for one. I could swim enough not to drown, but I’d never swum laps seriously. I didn’t run unless someone was chasing me. I didn’t own a bike. But for some reason, signing up for an Olympic-distance triathlon at Pineview Reservoir in Ogden, Utah, sounded like a good idea.

The first few workouts were humbling. Swimming was brutal. I’d get out of the pool completely smoked after just a short distance.  Running hurt in a steady, grinding way that was different from basketball. Cycling, though, I loved that. There was something about climbing hills, the burning in my lungs, and the relentless pain in my quads that just clicked.

Triathlons did something sports in my 20s didn’t. They forced patience, challenged mental toughness, and demanded more balance in every aspect of my life.  You can’t sprint your way through endurance racing, and you can’t cheat your way to the finish line when sleep, diet, and consistent training aren’t a priority. You have to pace yourself. You have to stay calm when things get uncomfortable. You have to keep going when nobody’s cheering, and it’s just you and your own thoughts. That mental toughness spills over into everything: work, family, and stress. You learn you’re capable of more than you think.

They also made me healthier in a different way. My resting heart rate dropped. My endurance went through the roof. I had more energy during the day. Training gave structure to my weeks and purpose to my mornings. There’s something about knowing you already did a two-hour ride before most people woke up that just changes how you walk into the rest of your day.

Fueling for Endurance

I did a few Olympic-distance races and then decided I was ready for a bigger challenge, so I signed up for a half Ironman. That’s when nutrition stopped being optional.

You can fake your way through shorter stuff. You can’t fake 1.2 miles of swimming, 56 miles on the bike, and then a half-marathon. If you don’t fuel right, you’re done.

At first, I didn’t have a plan. I’d grab a gel, maybe a sports drink, and hope for the best. Sometimes it worked. Most of the time, it didn’t, and I’d bonk so hard I’d question whether or not I had what it takes.

Over time, I started paying attention. Electrolytes mattered. Carbs during long rides mattered. Eating before I was hungry mattered. Recovery mattered. I realized the longer the race, the more important the fuel was, not just before, but during. What you take in at mile 70 determines what happens at mile 90.

Pushing the Limits: LOTOJA and Ironman

My swimming and running improved dramatically, but cycling became my strength. After a few half-Ironman races, I joined a local cycling club and started doing longer events, 100 miles or more. There’s something about cycling that’s different. It’s steady. It’s strategic. You learn how to sit in a pack, when to conserve energy, and when to attack. It teaches awareness, discipline, and grit.

Physically, it builds an engine like nothing else. Strong heart, strong lungs, strong legs. Mentally, it teaches you to be comfortable being uncomfortable for hours. You learn how to manage pain, how to break a huge effort into smaller pieces, how to keep pedaling when every part of you wants to coast. Hours in the saddle build resilience in a way a one-hour gym session never will.

Then I found out about LOTOJA, a 206-mile race from Logan, Utah, to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Two hundred and six miles in one day. That sounded just like the challenge I needed.

In my first LOTOJA, I just wanted to survive. The second year, I finished fifth. That lit a fire. In 2012, I went all in, expecting to win.

That race was unreal. I had my liquid and food intake dialed. Gel packs lined the top tube of my bike, and two twenty-ounce water bottles were mounted on my downtube. Jersey pockets stuffed with simple carbs. I met my wife at seven aid stations, tossed empty bottles, grabbed new ones, and kept rolling without ever putting a foot on the ground.

After 200+ miles, it came down to a 40-yard sprint to the finish. A sprint, after riding all day. I lost by a fraction of a second, finishing second. It hurt, but second place in a one-day 206-mile, three-state, three-mountain-range race with over 10,000 feet of climbing wasn’t bad for a guy who had bought his first road bike just a few years earlier.

After LOTOJA, Ironman became my next challenge.

That Christmas, my wife surprised me by registering me for Ironman St. George. It would take place in early May. Ironman training takes over your life. Long trainer rides in the basement during Utah winters, mundane swim laps staring at a solid line in the bottom of the pool, and either boring treadmill miles or cold and icy early morning runs before work, none of which is very glamorous.

But what you learn from showing up every day, especially when you don’t want to, goes deeper than just fitness. You learn time management. You learn discipline. You learn how to show up because that’s what you’ve committed to.  You build a quiet confidence because you’ve done hard things.

Training for Ironman is where I really dialed in nutrition. You can’t “wing it” in a race that long. You need a plan, calories per hour, fluids per hour, and sodium per hour. What are you taking at mile 10 of the run? What if it’s 95 degrees? What if your stomach shuts down?

I started paying attention to daily nutrition, too. Protein for recovery. Carbs to support training. Hydration every day. Supplements weren’t random anymore. Creatine, iron, and electrolytes all had a purpose.

Race morning in St. George was everything I hoped it would be. When the cannon fired, it was a beautiful morning. Blue sky, about 60 degrees. A ton of anxiety as I tread water, but also a ton of hope for a strong race.

About 15 minutes later, everything changed. Massive winds rolled in and swept across the lake. The water turned rough fast. Huge waves. Athletes were getting pulled from the water left and right. For many athletes, their race was over before it ever really started.

I managed to finish the swim, but it took me nearly twice as long as I had anticipated. It wasn’t smooth or pretty. It was survival.

The winds didn’t let up on the bike either. Long stretches felt like pedaling into a wall. Gusts pushed you sideways. By the time we hit the marathon, the winds had finally settled down. But the damage had been done. You could see how much it had taken out of people. The run turned into a grind. Every step was earned.

It was one of the most amazing, mentally and physically challenging days of my life. And I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Finding Out What You're Capable Of

Running down that final stretch, hearing my name called, and then hearing the words, “You are an Ironman,” made every early morning, every long ride, every freezing trainer session worth it.

It wasn’t just about finishing a race. It was about finding out who I was when things didn’t go according to plan. And what I learned about myself that day was worth all of it.

Bryan F. Child, DPT, ECS

Board Certified Neurophysiologist

Bakcou Co-founder