“It’s just all a bit absurd, really?”
We were discussing how we find time outside of work for hobbies and family, and the topic of triathlon came up (“How do you know your colleague is a triathlete? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you”). Although many intensivists compete in endurance sports, the overwhelming feeling among my junior team was that triathlon specifically was “absurd”.
Now let’s be honest - it’s not an unfair critsicm to say “triathlon is a stupid sport”. The clothes, the aero helmets, widdling on ridiculously expensive bikes, the cost (of the races and gear, but also the time and relationships consumed by training), the tattoos? Or is just “an objectively bizarre thing to do”?
But that got me thinking - is it really absurdist?
Almost everyone who competes in a triathlon isn’t going to win any prize money, or be sponsored to do so. They’re investing their own money, time, and potentially their physical and mental well-being, into a single race where their only reward is a mass-produced medal, a t-shirt, and an alcohol-free beer at the finish line.
Although Ironman’s official tagline is “Anything is Possible”, they also heavily lean into the concept of “the journey” to becoming an Ironman, suggesting that for most the true reward lies not in the finish line, but in the grueling training, the self-discovery, and the relentless pursuit of a seemingly impossible goal. But is this quest, devoid of external accolades, a Sisyphean task?
In case you aren’t familiar with your Greek mythology, Sisyphus was condemned to eternally roll a boulder up a hill by Zeus as punishment for cheating death, only for it to tumble back down each time he neared the summit. His punishment embodies futility, endlessness, and a lack of ultimate purpose or achievement. If a task is described as Sisyphean, it’s perceived as pointless, repetitive, and without a lasting, meaningful outcome.
Superficially, it seems the age-grouper Ironman journey is anything but Sisyphean. For most, the motivation is deeply personal:
- The sheer audacity of completing such a demanding event
- A commitment to a disciplined, active lifestyle
- The camaraderie with fellow athletes
- Constant striving for new personal bests and self-improvement
- There’s often a genuinely love the discipline and the feeling of pushing ones limits
In this light, the achievements are internal: improved fitness, mental fortitude, resilience, and the immense satisfaction of doing something extraordinary. The absence of external validation like sponsorship or financial reward doesn’t negate these profound personal victories.
However, it’s easy to see how this “journey” can tip into Sisyphean territory. This includes some stark realities of endurance sports, including:
No lasting outcome: After the race, the cheering abruptly stops. You still have to go to work, pay bills, and shift immediately back into daily routines despite your entire body aching. The intense euphoria of finishing is fleeting, and even the Strava kudos rapidly falls away. If you expected a permanent shift in your life or status, the return to “normal” can feel like the boulder rolling back down. Nobody truly cares what you’ve achieved in the long run, and your daily life remains largely unchanged.
External imposition: While you initially chose the race, once you’ve committed by paying your money, staring a training, and sacrificed your social and family life, the training can transform from a voluntary pursuit into a burdensome obligation. It feels enforced by your past decision, driven by a desire not to “waste” the investment or let yourself down. This mirrors Sisyphus’s forced labor, where the effort feels compelled rather than freely chosen.
Sacrifice vs. benefit: Does the medal truly help your family, who saw less of you during training? Is the extreme physical demand genuinely healthy in the long term, or does it lead to injury and burnout? Does it significantly advance your career, or impact in due to missed opportunities and diverted effort? Often, the answer is no. The constant cycle of training, racing, recovering, and then signing up for the next one can feel like a pointless loop, generating little beyond fleeting personal satisfaction and an empty bank account.
This is where Albert Camus offers a helpful perspective. In his writing, the most famous of which is “The Myth of Sisyphus”, he argues that life itself is absurd, an endless, constant, repetitive struggle with no ultimate “meaning”, goal or purpose, only death lying in wait at the end. But because we’re aware of this, we can laugh about it. Being fully aware of it, we’re fully alive. As he concludes:
“One must imagine Sisyphus happy”
Camus suggests that meaning isn’t found outside the repetitive task, but within it. Sisyphus’s awareness of his futile fate, coupled with his defiant acceptance and a focus on the effort itself, transforms his punishment into an act of rebellion and self-mastery, and this applies to the middle-of-the-pack age grouper too:
- It’s a conscious choice. The triathlete chooses this path, knowing its demands and its lack of external reward.
- We embracing the struggle, finding purpose and satisfaction in the daily grind, the discipline, and the physical exertion.
- The meaning then comes from the act of living the journey, not just the fleeting moment of crossing the finish line or gaining external validation.
Ultimately then, triathlon (and indeed many human endeavors, especially those pursued without obvious external necessity or reward) can be seen as absurdist. At the core of absurdism is the fundamental mismatch between humanity’s innate desire for meaning, purpose, and clarity, and the universe’s ultimate indifference and silence on these matters. We strive, we suffer, we build, and yet, there’s no inherent, pre-ordained grand purpose to it all.
As triathletes we train for months, making immense sacrifices, all driven by a powerful internal urge to achieve, to prove something to ourselves, to feel alive, to conquer a challenge. We invest time, money, and emotional energy. Yes the universe remains indifferent. The race itself doesn’t care about your effort or your internal struggles. You’re just one of many. The finish line is temporary. Although the physical pain is real, the external outcomes don’t align with the immense internal effort. The medal is just a piece of metal, and the personal best is just a number that only you really care about. The “point” isn’t objectively there.
And much like Sisyphus rolling his boulder, the cycle repeats itself over and over again. A prolonged period of intense training complete with injuries, illness, and burnout before a brief moment of elation before the post-Ironman-blues kick in, then a focus on recovery and the inevitable “what’s next?” leading to signing up for another race and starting the cycle anew. This repetition, without a definitive, lasting external “win,” mirrors the Sisyphean condition.
However, absurdism isn’t about despair or giving up. It’s about conscious rebellion against this lack of inherent meaning.
So, while triathlon’s underlying nature might be absurdist, the experience of participating in it doesn’t have to be despairing or futile. By embracing the absurdity, by finding meaning within the struggle itself, by choosing to live fully and defiantly in the face of meaninglessness, the triathlete can find profound joy and purpose.
I saw my favourite sign at Outlaw Half this year, and I regret not going to take a photo after the race. It simply said “NOBODY MADE YOU DO THIS”. And that’s the key to remember.
If you race solely for external validation, lasting change, or tangible benefits that never materialise, then yes, it will likely feel like an endless, pointless grind. The boulder will always roll back down.
However, if you can find meaning, growth, and satisfaction within the process itself - embracing the discipline, the challenge, and the inherent human act of striving - then it transforms from a futile punishment into a deeply personal, self-defined triumph over the absurd. It is precisely because of this inherent absurdity that endurance sports offer a powerful canvas for individuals to create their own meaning, embrace the struggle, and live a life of conscious, defiant engagement. You become the master of your boulder, finding freedom and purpose in the climb, regardless of the summit.