Inspiration
2025 Marbella 70.3 World Championships Reflection
by Julie Zdziarski Jones
Breast cancer forced me to live in the grey. I don’t like being here. It’s a place of no control for me. A place I cannot fix. A place I can’t absolutely understand. It’s unstable, unpredictable. It’s the in-between place where the world sees you're fine but your heart still feels like its learning to exist again. I am in that tender space most don’t see – between gratitude and fear, between scans and normalcy.
I found triathlon after college. I immediately loved it. A place where I could be in touch with myself in a way I had never experienced before. I found my true, small, little girl, self. Each race experience brought me there. I did an Ironman at 45 and to date have done over 12 half-Ironman’s and even more shorter distance races.
Breast cancer came in January of 2021. Now remember, I am one who sees the world in black and white terms, one who wants to control and quickly solve problems. Act quicky and remove the problem. So, I did…bi-lateral mastectomy. Upon reflection, my race experiences had quietly prepared me for what was to come. I was physically strong given all my training. I had done an Ironman so I could do this, right? Perhaps I had been training for this all along?
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Coming back to training and racing after multiple surgeries and the deep emotional toll everything placed on me was so much harder than I had anticipated. Honestly, I had to try and learn to move in a new body I didn’t recognize. I had to trust that body again. Trust that it had my back – that it was there to protect me always. That was surprisingly difficult. I did a few local shorter races, then Oceanside 70.3. I secured a 70.3 St. George Worlds slot for 2022.
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Trained hard. Ended up 82nd in my AG. Not the day I had hoped for at all. But I finished as best I could. One thing I do remember is feeling 100% disconnected to my body during that race. I was fully in the in-between and so incredibly uncomfortable in my own skin.
This was the last race I would do with my original breast implants. I still had all of my own skin over those huge implants needed to fill the space which once surrounded my natural breasts. I had made the bold decision to remove them to feel more like myself, whatever that meant. I would insert much smaller implants to avoid feeling concave and hopefully find myself again. I was still searching. Trying to fix it.
If you are wondering, I did feel better. I felt stronger, smaller, more agile. More like how I wanted to feel. My reflection however still haunted me. Scars, asymmetry, all skin (no nipples) can be haunting to look at. Sadness lives here.
But with each day looking in the mirror I began to see more strength than sadness, more gain than loss. Amazing and beautiful points of perspective that I didn’t have before.
Triathlon continued. 2024 was a very successful season. I felt like peace was returning. My soul could be calm. Fear was no longer dominating. This showed in my training and racing. I qualified for Marbella at Wisconsin 70.3. Another opportunity at Worlds. Another chance to test myself to see how far I had come.
Let me explain – I think when you live in the grey of cancer survivorship you are always searching for someone or something to let you know you are ok. That it’s all going to be ok. In reality this does not exist but that doesn’t mean we don’t keep searching. The process of training and racing became my therapy. It became that place where I could step out of my situation and actually feel ok.
Racing in Marbella didn’t quite suit me. 5800ft of climbing for a weaker cyclist would not be ideal. I knew that. But it was a test. A solid goal I could set. Let’s see where we are now, shall we?
Marbella was a powerful reminder of how far I’ve come—physically and emotionally—since my diagnosis. A day of curiosity – to compare against my 82nd place 3 years ago. The race brought 26th on the day. 56 spots in the positive direction. I will leave my race analysis out of this – no need for that detail here. This is a story of personal celebration. On the run, I wore my white hat with the pink breast cancer ribbon on the front (Be Brave on the back). I wanted to remind myself with each step just how far I had come and how my relationship with this sport affords that black and white barometer I so desperately seek for myself. Inside of the swim-bike-run progression that day, I found peace. I found my little girl self -- telling me that it is going to be ok. Just keep moving forward, she said. Smile she said.
For those curious, I chose a bi-lateral mastectomy for early-stage breast cancer. No further treatment. Lucky? Yes. But my fear threshold remains very high. I always worry that the worst is yet to come. It’s coming, my mind repeats. Enjoy this now – it’s coming.
Simply stated, triathlon is what helps me navigate my deep fear of recurrence. I often wonder whether I can train my nervous system to withstand every shade of anxiety, fear, and unease. My strategy: the more I lean into fear and discomfort, the more resilient I become each time those feelings show up again. My belief is that each race or hard training session prepares me to handle a recurrence, should it ever come.
The Marbella finish was different. I felt a quiet pride. I crossed the line – a day well spent – a goal achieved. The end of a 6 hour long quiet conversation with my deepest self. We always want more – a better this, a better that – a faster swim, bike or run – but honestly, I am content with this one.
What I know for sure is that I cherish expressing myself through this remarkable sport we call triathlon, and I’m forever grateful for the way it now frames the chapters of my cancer journey.
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A very special thank you to my coach, Lauren Goss (Blacksheep Endurance) for being with me before, during and after
my cancer diagnosis. Thank you for your friendship and guidance. May we continue this journey together.