3 Triathletes Share the Emotional Cost of a DNF

A DNF, or “Did Not Finish,” is one of the hardest experiences in endurance sports. There’s no medal waiting at the finish line, no triumphant race photo, and no neat box to check off after months of training.

But sometimes, after a lot of reflection, you may be able to take home something more valuable than a race result, like lessons in resilience, perspective, and identity beyond performance. We sat down with three athletes to hear their DNF stories, what happens after the race falls apart, and how they learned to move forward.

A roundtable discussion on DNF (“Did Not Finish”) in triathlon

Our triathletes:

• Danielle Hirt, Arlington, VA, an age-group athlete, endurance coach, and personal trainer
• Elliot Bach, Boulder, CO, a professional triathlete, coach, and owner of Next Gen Racing
• Frederic “Freddy” Funk, a German professional triathlete living in Austria

Triathlete: Let’s start with your recent DNF stories. What happened?

Danielle Hirt (DH): I did Ironman Musselman 70.3 last year, and the swim conditions completely humbled me. Race morning, the wind came in, it wasn’t wetsuit-legal, and suddenly the lake had huge waves. I’m not a swimmer-first athlete; I’m a runner who took up triathlon, and I just wasn’t prepared for the conditions. About 400 yards in, I started throwing up in the lake. I was swimming kayak to kayak, but every time it was the same story: nauseous, disoriented, struggling to stay composed. Finally, I looked at my watch for the first time. I’d been in the water 20 or 30 minutes and had barely made any progress. I was completely depleted. At some point, I stopped asking whether I could keep going and started asking, “Why am I doing this?” I knew I had to call it.

Elliot Bach (EB): Mine’s a little different because my DNFs really started after getting hit by a truck in 2023. I got life-flighted—shattered collarbone, punctured lung, broken ribs, torn MCL, fractured vertebrae. Doctors basically told me, “You’ll probably walk again, but triathlon is unlikely.” Obviously, I ignored that. But I came back too fast. I rushed the process. I broke my foot before one comeback race, shattered my other collarbone in another crash, and then had multiple DNFs trying to get back to racing professionally.

The most recent one was Ironman Texas last month. I started feeling weird on the bike, but I kept pushing. Then, on the run, my body just shut down: heart rate through the roof, dizzy, blacking out. I ended up on the ground, and medical pulled me. That was tough because mentally, I still wanted to go.

Freddy Funk (FF): My DNF was at Ironman New Zealand in March. It was more of a strategic decision, which makes it complicated in a different way. I was trying to qualify for the Ironman World Championships after coming back from a broken elbow. The race started much better than expected. I had a good swim and a strong bike, but on the run, I realized I simply wasn’t going to get the Kona qualification slot. I probably still could have finished top 10, but I needed a higher finish. I was asking myself, Is finishing worth the recovery cost if this isn’t achieving the goal? As professionals, sometimes you have to think long-term. After debating with myself for several kilometers, I stopped when I saw my wife on the course. And even though I believed it was the right decision, it was still emotionally difficult.

Triathlete: Let’s talk about that. Describe the emotional aftermath of a DNF.

DH: For me, everything was fine until they put me in the rescue boat. Then I completely lost it. I was crying, dry heaving, thinking, Oh my God, I can’t believe I did this. I feel like a failure. There was another woman sitting next to me, probably 10 years older. We were both cold, miserable, and crying. She looked at me and asked, “Is this your first DNF?” I said yes, and she said, “Mine too, and I’ve done this race 10 times. This is the worst water we’ve ever had.”

That validated everything for me. I realized, OK, I don’t just suck, this was genuinely hard. Then we got out of the water, and honestly, exiting a race after a DNF is one of the hardest parts. Everyone’s cheering because they don’t realize you came in on a rescue boat. You still have to cross the timing mat so they can account for everyone coming out of the water. There are also all the logistics, like they won’t let you into certain areas, and you can’t leave right away. At one point, my now-husband and I couldn’t even find each other, and I was just standing there sobbing while volunteers kept redirecting me.

EB: Yeah, and sometimes you feel a lot of anger at first. I was pissed after Texas—really pissed. Especially because I wanted to keep going, and that decision was made for me by my own body. So I was not fun to be around. I just wanted to get out of there and leave the town. We put a lot of time and energy into these races, so I was very gutted.

FF: I think there are different kinds of bad races. Sometimes you train really well, you’re in great shape, and then it just doesn’t come together on race day. Those are often the hardest because you can’t fully explain what went wrong. But there are also races that are more out of your control: mechanicals, illness, or, in my case, in New Zealand, making the decision to pull out because it felt like the smarter choice for me. Of course, it was still disappointing, but I wasn’t completely devastated because deep down I believed I made the right decision.

Triathlete: Each of you shared your recent DNFs on social media. Did you feel like you owed your followers an explanation?

DH: One of my catchphrases actually comes from when I worked in corporate before I became a coach. I once told a co-worker going through job turmoil, “Dude, you owe nothing to nobody.” I’ve carried that into my life. The people who care will understand why I’m not sharing something or will give me space, and the people who are just curious don’t really matter. With the DNF, it wasn’t about explaining it for the sake of it, but about sharing a story people could relate to or learn from. That’s the coach in me; I try to find something in every experience that someone else can take away.

FF: Yeah, I try to share everything on Instagram, YouTube, Strava; not just the good races, but the bad days and DNFs too. On Strava, I share all my data. I really have nothing to hide. For me, it’s about being honest with the people who follow my journey as a professional triathlete. It also makes everything more authentic. It helps followers and fans identify with you because you’re human too, and professional athletes have bad days.

EB: When something like a DNF happens, we often assume everyone is watching and judging it, but most people move on quickly. They’re focused on their own races and lives. But it’s still part of my story. I’ve had a lot of injuries and multiple DNFs, but the drive is still there. I’m trying to get back to the top of the sport, and I still have big goals in triathlon. Sharing those moments helps me look back and appreciate the process. My path hasn’t been linear, but that doesn’t mean I’m behind. I still show up every day. I still love what I do, and I still love getting on race courses. Even when things don’t go my way, there’s always something to learn. One race, good or bad, doesn’t define me as an athlete.

Triathlete: Danielle and Freddy, can you share more about how you untangle a DNF in your results from your identity as an athlete?

DH: While it sucked in the moment, I had to compartmentalize it and put it on another shelf because I still had bigger goals. I wasn’t going to stop working toward them. Later that day, after the race course emptied, I took my bike out and rode the course and did the run, too. That made things a little easier knowing I was ready to go that distance.

For me, it’s about respect: respect the distance, respect the race, but also realizing you’re stronger than one moment in one race. You’re going to have bad races, whether it’s a DNF or just a bad day. It’s part of it. If you’ve never had one, you’re probably not pushing your limits. You can’t stay in that moment forever. Sometimes it really is just not your day.

FF: It is quite an egoistic sport in a way, and I think you always have to think about yourself first. Even saying that sounds a bit egoistic, but you’re doing it for yourself, for enjoyment, performance, and fun. Sometimes it’s better to make the hard decision to pull out so you can try again in a few weeks or protect your health. I also tend to focus quickly on what went well instead of what didn’t. Sometimes it helps just to write it down, like in an Instagram post, to process it. And usually, you get a lot of positive messages back, which helps.

EB: After my accident, I had to completely separate self-worth from results. Before the crash, my trajectory was strong. Then, suddenly, I was relearning how to walk and stacking DNFs. One race doesn’t define you. I don’t want to see a DNF on my pro results – no one does – but if that did define you, many endurance athletes would quit.

Triathlete: There’s a lot of stigma around quitting in endurance sports. What do you think about that now?

DH: I’ve learned to push back on the stigma. At the end of the day, it’s my race. If I make a decision that’s right for me, that’s enough. I actually DNF’d again in a low-stakes race last week, and I was surprisingly OK. I treated it as a training swim, and it was no big deal. I tell my athletes the same thing: reboot the stigma around it. Who cares? It’s your race, your money.

EB: I will say, every time you DNF a race, it does make it easier to quit again. But it can also make it easier to accept the next one. If you can accept it and move on, it helps [destigmatize it]. I DNF’d Ironman Texas on a Saturday, and by Monday morning, I was already focused on my next race. The people who support me still have my back. At the end of the day, nobody is really judging it the way you think they are.

FF: And of course, it’s always a different story for amateur athletes. There, it’s really all about finishing the race, and I understand that. Some people disagreed with my decision to pull out of New Zealand. I got comments saying I could have finished or that I had no respect for the race. Those comments still made me think, Yeah, maybe I could have finished. But in the end, I believed I made the right decision for something bigger and longer-term, and trusting that made it easier to move on.

Triathlete: What would you tell an athlete devastated by their first DNF?

DH: Feel your feelings. Cry if you need to. Give yourself 24 hours to get over it. But don’t stay there forever. A DNF is not proof you “suck.” It’s sometimes proof that you tried something hard.

EB: Don’t let one race rewrite your identity. Nobody remembers your DNFs as much as you think they do. Your people still support you. Your fitness is still there. You still belong in the sport.

FF: We are all striving for that finish line, but it doesn’t have to be everything. Sometimes it’s better to make the hard decision to pull out so you can try again in a few weeks or whenever. In triathlon, it’s not only about the finish line. It’s also about being able to come back and race again.