Hayden Wilde, the charismatic triathlete from New Zealand affectionately known as ‘The Falcon’—a nod to his graceful imitation of a giant bird’s majestic wings flapping when he crosses the finish line victorious—leaves no stone unturned in his quest for Olympic glory. This time, the Tokyo bronze medallist is aiming higher, preferably for something with a golden sheen.
To achieve this, Hayden and his crafty coach, Craig Kirkwood—an ex-New Zealand track, marathon and cross-country representative—meticulously plan their strategy months in advance. Eschewing a potentially lucrative racing schedule, they opt instead for an altitude training camp in Andorra and enlist the renowned French swim coach, Fred Vergnoux, to enhance Hayden’s swimming prowess.
In Andorra, Hayden is joined by his dedicated support team: a physiotherapist, doctor, chef, coach, and his life partner, well-known Belgian triathlete Hanne de Vet. He also has a bunch of training partners, including Sam Tanner, who is preparing for the 1500-meter run on the Paris track and who is also coached by Craig.
Everything is on track, as evidenced by Hayden's blistering performance at a French Grand Prix race four weeks before the Olympics. A minor COVID-related setback shortly after that does little to faze him, though it does necessitate a few, likely much-needed, easy training days.
Opting out of the Olympic Village due to limited training facilities, the New Zealand triathlon team sets up base in Poissy, a 40-minute drive west of Paris. Four days before his race, Hayden arrives and declares that he’s ready for the fun to begin. His teammate is 23-year-old rookie Dylan McCullough, who I coach. Dylan’s selection over the more seasoned Tayler Reid was considered controversial by some—a story in its own right documented elsewhere before (….).
Dylan is a proven swimmer and cyclist who has honed his running to Olympic standards. Meanwhile, Hayden’s Achilles' heel is the swim leg. At times, this prevents him from joining the front bike group. To maximise Hayden’s chances, the four of us—Hayden, Dylan, Craig, and myself—get together and brainstorm strategies. We seek counsel from Greg Fraine, a respected coach and former Olympic cyclist who masterminded the strategy at the Beijing Olympics, where Shane "Snuffy" Reed assisted Bevan Docherty in securing a bronze medal by shielding him during the swim and bike segments.
While Craig and Hayden are optimistic that Hayden won’t lag far behind after the swim, we prepare a plan B should he find himself in the second bike pack struggling to bridge the gap. Missing that front group will almost certainly spell the end of his medal hopes. The plan is straightforward: if Wilde finds himself in the second bike pack, McCullough will drop back from the lead to help bridge the gap. But only if that gap is 20 seconds or less because, well, no one’s looking to spend the next few years apologising for a failed gamble. Rarely does Dylan miss the first bike group after the swim, and he’s well-known for his penchant for keeping any chase group at arm’s length by doing the lion’s share of the work at the front. However, this usual strategy would, of course, be rather unhelpful for Hayden’s attempts to bridge up to the leaders. So, Dylan agrees to sit quietly at the back of the bunch, waiting for his mate to close the gap or for instructions from the sideline to drop back. And that is exactly how the race unfolds.
After the swim, Hayden finds himself a daunting 50 seconds behind a somewhat disorganised front group—a gap wide enough to make even the most optimistic Kiwi raise an eyebrow. Within one of the seven laps, he slashes the deficit to 25 seconds, aided by the Norwegian tank Kristian Blummenfelt. But, sensing Hayden’s approach, the front group—particularly the French and Germans—start working together, eager to stay ahead.
As the gap hovers stubbornly between 20 and 25 seconds in the second and third lap, Craig raises a whiteboard with the message: DYLAN DROP BACK. At this point, Craig and I hold our collective breath—it’s one thing to have a plan but quite another to see it executed successfully. But we needn’t have worried; Dylan does not hesitate, disengages himself from the front group and positions himself at the head of the chase pack, with Hayden snugly tucked into his slipstream. For the next 5 kilometres, Dylan red-lines it, cranking out an impressive 450 watts to reel in the leaders, closing the gap within a lap.
As soon as they bridge up, Hayden surges to the front, sending a clear message to his rivals: ‘Look who’s here.’ Meanwhile, Dylan, understandably in need of a breather, recovers at the back of the pack. The remainder of the bike leg unfolds uneventfully, with Alex Yee’s domestique, Sam Dickinson, ensuring the pace remains high enough to prevent any breakaway attempts. And so, a sizable group of athletes arrives at T2, poised for a showdown on the run.
As expected, Alex and Hayden quickly separate themselves from the pack, running shoulder to shoulder for the first of four 2.5 km laps at a brisk sub-2:50-per-kilometre pace. Hayden’s strategy is to try and drop Alex early, knowing full well that the Brit has a killer sprint finish. It’s a bold, if somewhat precarious, plan, especially given the rising temperatures and high humidity. Ten kilometres is a long way to maintain such a blistering pace in the heat, even for a Falcon. Hayden accelerates around the 3-kilometre mark and quickly establishes a sizeable gap, which grows to 15 seconds at the halfway mark. But there it stays, tenuously still within sight of a labouring Yee.
Then, less than one kilometre before the finish, Hayden starts to slow down visibly. It is painfully clear that he is in serious trouble. With only a few hundred metres remaining, Alex, finding a second wind, swoops past the faltering Falcon without a backward glance, claiming victory.
In his post-race interview, Hayden candidly admits that the heat caught him out. Originally scheduled to start at 8 a.m., when cooler temperatures prevail, the men’s event was delayed a day due to water quality issues and didn’t kick off until 10:45, after the women’s race. By then, the temperature was well into the high twenties. While Hayden had done extensive altitude training, heat acclimatisation had been left off the itinerary.
Meanwhile, Dylan, with the pressure off, paces himself admirably on the run. Though his primary job was done—delivering his mate to the front—this is still the Olympics, and he’s not about to squander the opportunity. He exits T2 in 26th position and, despite legs fatigued from his heroics on the bike, runs his way up to 19th—a job well done. And for Hayden…well, he’ll obviously have to give it another crack in four years.
As for me, this was nearly the perfect race—or perhaps it was perfect- given that it is the dramatic moments which make competitive sport so captivating, like the crucial moment when Dylan didn’t hesitate to drop back and assist his teammate or the heart-wrenching realisation that the gold, seemingly within our grasp, had slipped away, only moments before the finish. But Hayden gave it everything and walked away with a silver medal, while Dylan earned a top-20 finish and a fair bit of kudos. For a brief, shining moment, an individual sport became a team sport, and together, we salvaged a medal. It was sport at its purest and its best.
Over the years, I’ve been a staunch advocate for coaches working together. It’s not always easy, especially when our athletes are pitted against one another. However, as this story shows, it can be a powerful collaboration under the right conditions. Moments like this make coaching all the more worthwhile.
John Hellemans