VeloNews Editor Fred Dreier examines why traveling to New Zealand to race Ironman was worth the 12-hour flight.

There comes a time during every Ironman when that helpful inner voice urging us onward is utterly squashed by a much louder, meaner bark ordering us to stop and give up. Our inner cheerleader becomes an inner heckler. Once rosy, positive mantras (Just keep going!) give way to surly, negative insults (You are fat and slow and nobody f@#ing likes you). We start dreaming of the finish line, or crazily calculating the hours of pain that remain. Perhaps we even contemplate dropping out.

Part of the goal of our training and race-day pacing is to push this moment back as far in the race as possible. The 10K to go banner is a pretty good spot to aim for. The exit of T2 is not. That's because this moment - when our racing mentality turns - generally coincides with the exact point when our bodies start shrieking in pain with every step or pedal stroke.

This is the moment that we get totally over Ironman.

Folks I'm mentioning this not-so fun moment today because it is directly tied to my choice to fly halfway around the world last week to race Saturday's Bonita Ironman New Zealand. Currently, I'm sitting in LAX on my way back home to Colorado. I'm downloading photos from the last three days I spent having adventurous fun in New Zealand after my race. There's a shot of me clad in a wetsuit hurling myself off of a 40-foot waterfall. Another taken inside of a dark cave, showing yours truly completely covered in mud.

Check out Fred's full story and pictures here.