Sometimes I have these urges to prove something, to accomplish great things, and to go beyond what seems insurmountable to many. At first glance, it might look like megalomania, but I believe something else actually lies behind this need: facing the unknown and a desire for adventure. It is a feeling I have carried with me since childhood, from the days when I explored new places, lived intense moments, and learned from every experience.
Perhaps this is the real reason why, every now and then, I sign up for races like Lion Heart Ultra. I constantly challenge my ability to discover the Unknown and, above all, to come out of it safe and sound.
The challenge
Lion Heart Ultra is a long-distance off-road triathlon competition organized in Bulgaria, in the Primorsko region. The main challenge consists of tackling a total route of approximately 120 km crossing protected natural areas and reserves in the Strandzha Mountains and the Ropotamo Reserve, during a prolonged physical effort on rough terrain and under high temperatures.
The race legs
- 3 km Swim in the Black Sea, at Perla Bay in Primorsko. You have to complete two laps of 1,500 meters each.
- ~95 km Off-road Cycling. A leg of maximum wear and tear, taking place on mixed terrain (unpaved roads, dirt, forest trails, and asphalt sections). The route includes several steep climbs—most of them rideable—accumulating around 1,500 m of elevation gain.
- 19 km Trail Run. It is not a full half-marathon, but it feels like a full marathon. You run through the Ropotamo Reserve and the Maslen Nos area, accumulating another 500 m of elevation gain on steep inclines, forest tracks, and rocky paths.
The unknown
What was the Unknown in this competition, really?
It wasn’t just the length of the course or the 40°C temperature. The Unknown was this very atypical combination of legs: long enough to grind you down physically and mentally, yet without being outright extreme—an equation where the main unknown variable is you: how you cope overall, how you manage your resources, and in what state you reach the finish line.
The challenge and the unknown were not whether I would cross the finish line, but how I would do it: completely broken and drained of energy, but with memorable moments in the bag worth telling stories about? Yes, it was an experience that pushed my boundaries far, but it didn’t break me—it fulfilled me. It’s an adventure you don’t regret, but one I can’t wait to repeat to put everything I learned into practice.
The toughest triathlon race
Lion Heart Ultra 2026 was, without a doubt, the hardest triathlon I have ever started. It is a race that drains far more energy out of you than Transfier—rightfully considered the toughest and most spectacular triathlon in Romania. The only common denominator between them is the immense effort required on the course, but if Transfier sits around a 7 on an energy consumption scale, Lion Heart Ultra goes straight to a 9 or even a 10.
I was out on the course for 8 hours and 45 minutes—an effort pushed to the very last drop of energy, but one that ultimately placed me 30th out of 179 finishers (from a starting field that saw 30 DNFs), while securing 8th place out of 27 in my age category.
Here is how those 8+ hours looked from the inside.
Super calm water, perfect sight navigation, and giant jellyfish
The swim leg went surprisingly well. I swam slightly over the official distance, but I’m not complaining—I am very pleased overall. It was 3,185 meters in 57:18 (an average pace of 1:47 min/100m), likely helped by the wetsuit and an amazingly calm sea.
According to the detailed results, I logged the third-best swim time in the 45–49 age category, which is why I want to thank the coach Alex Ion and the Unstoppable Sport Club for the swim workouts that got me to this level.
Sight navigation deserves a special mention: the swim course was impeccably organized by the Bulgarians—10 out of 10! Huge buoys clearly marked the perimeter we had to round, with plenty of sighting buoys placed in between. At no point could you go off track or drift away from the correct route.
Still, it wasn’t completely free of mishaps:
- The Jellyfish: I bumped into some massive specimens. One of them “caressed” me right across the face, leaving a sting that kept me company throughout the entire 8.5 hours.
- Underarm Chafing: Although I applied plenty of Vaseline on my neck and had zero issues there, I omitted my armpits. Since the wetsuit was sleeveless, its edges and my trisuit rubbed relentlessly with every stroke, leaving me with pretty visible and stinging sores.
Cycling — 95 km of Grind, 40°C, and a personal fueling record
On the bike, I clocked 94.84 km with 1,501 m of elevation gain.
The bike segment was hard—extremely hard. The route isn’t overly technical, but the combination of distance, mixed surface, seemingly endless climbs, and infernal heat turned everything into an immense battle of attrition. In style and feel, it reminded me of Vidraru Bike Challenge—a mountain bike race that tested me heavily every time I took part (in 2023, when I needed four stitches near my elbow, or in 2021, when I was out on the course for 5h 22m).
Just like at Vidraru Bike Challenge, in Bulgaria you have to pedal until smoke comes out of your ears. It is a long, grinding effort that slowly wears you down and drains your energy. In fact, my bike computer showed a burn of over 4,500 calories on the bike segment alone.
The course is packed with long climbs that, while not overly steep, give you zero room to catch your breath. On the flip side, the descents match them—there are sections where you can push hard on the pedals and feel like you’re flying. Those were by far my favorite parts, especially toward the end when fatigue dulled my vigilance and made me stop squeezing the brake levers. I just let the bike flow. I believe it was on one of those descents that I hit my top speed of the race at 57 km/h.
An important piece of advice for anyone wanting to tackle this event: the bike course isn’t necessarily technical, but the length, the climbs, and the heat conspire against you. The route becomes genuinely dangerous right when fatigue accumulates and your concentration slips without you realizing it.
I almost learned that the hard way on a dirt descent that looked completely harmless. The organizers had cleared the area nicely, mowing down the grass and weeds, so the ground looked very predictable. Yet, in a second of inattention, my front wheel caught a deep rut left by vehicles that had likely driven there thousands of times. Luckily, I wasn’t going very fast: I quickly planted my left foot down, supported my weight on it, and hopped in a gorgeous sort of Bulgarian lunge, successfully saving the crash!
I finished the bike leg in 5:16:54, averaging 18.7 km/h. I don’t think that number would have been much different even if I hadn’t pushed my bike on the steep ramps where I decided the incline simply wasn’t worth the effort and it was wiser to hike. Likewise, the time wouldn’t have changed radically even if the last 2–3 kilometers leading into transition had been clear instead of that bumper-to-bumper car chaos I had to slalom through to move forward.
The bike course was extremely well marked; I didn’t have a single moment of doubt about which way to go. Either way, for peace of mind, I had loaded the track onto my bike computer as well, so there was no risk of getting lost. On public asphalt sections, road traffic wasn’t fully closed, but police officers were stationed at every intersection or key point, stopping cars to let us pass in complete safety.
The nutrition
This was probably the best-executed part tactically. I knew that in such heat, metabolic collapse and dehydration were only a step away, so I loaded up heavily on the bike.
- 8 scoops of Precision Fuel & Hydration in the main 900 ml bottle (120g carbs + water)
- 10 SiS Beta Fuel gels (400g carbs)
- 5 SiS Beta Fuel Chews bars (225g carbs)
In total, I had 745g of carbohydrates (nearly 2,980 kcal) across the 5 hours—an intake rate of ~147g CHO/hour, processed by my stomach without cramps or nausea.
As for hydration, besides the 900 ml bottle carrying the carb mix, I wore a dedicated cycling hydration backpack with a 2-liter bladder filled with water, lemon, and ice (it stayed surprisingly cold for most of the race!). Additionally, I kept a 500 ml bottle on the frame, which I refilled about 5 times over the 95 km. That allowed me to consume nearly 5 liters of fluid, matching my estimated sweat loss (5,059 ml) almost spot on. Without this strict discipline, I wouldn’t have made it to T2 in one piece.
The run: zombie mode and small steps
While nutrition went like clockwork on the bike, on the run I was completely wrecked. I was dazed from the heat and the sheer effort my body was making to process calories and cool itself down. For the first 5 km, I thought I was going to crawl; my body simply stopped obeying me.
On the climbs, my pace dropped dramatically. The hardest was kilometer 14 with its +103m elevation gain, which took me 10:58 min (walked 99.8% of the way, just like in a mountain marathon).
On the downhills, I managed to unlock my legs again. At km 16, I descended at 5:21 min/km, and around km 19, I reached 5:00 min/km—a genuine downhill sprint.
I finished the run in 2:19:53 (2:24:17 total time in transition/run), averaging a 7:13 min/km pace and burning 2,000 kcal.
How did I handle those critical moments when I was moving in slow motion? I applied the policy of small steps. I didn’t think about the finish line or the remaining kilometers—just the next tree, the next bend. I pushed forward like a zombie, backed by the mental toughness built over past years’ ultras.
Atmosphere, logistics, and bulgarian Athletes
During the race, I was approached about three times by Bulgarian athletes who, realizing I wasn’t local, smiled and told me in English: “This is a hard race for a heavy weight athlete!” (I ended up passing two of them later on the course!).
Overall organization struck me as excellent—above many races in Romania—even though the language barrier was noticeable (the briefing and instructions were exclusively in Bulgarian, and English was hard to come by in town). The transition area was set up impeccably, but with a much more relaxed vibe than back home—without the absurd strictness sometimes applied locally by the International Triathlon Federation.
Conclusion: would I return?
Absolutely! The Primorsko area has a wildness and beauty of its own, and Lion Heart Ultra is a complete off-road triathlon of rare toughness. I only regret that we don’t have a similar mountain event in Romania anymore (I still look back fondly at Fără Asfalt la Munte).
I returned home convinced that I want to go back next year, set a better time, and test myself against this race once again.