As a professional triathlete nearing the end of her sporting career and a mother of two, I’m sharing my story here to show the human and vulnerable voice of an athlete who found herself accused of doping and my subsequently altered life and perspectives. I’m sharing in hope that the few people who may find themselves in my same position can find solace in shared trauma and to shed light on the experience for those who will never find themselves in this circumstance. 

My background

Far from a lifetime athlete, I discovered triathlon in my late twenties after over a decade of relative inactivity. Though swimming and cycling were foreign to me, I was a natural runner and had a good deal of early success as an amateur triathlete, mostly just from making it through the swimming and cycling portions decently enough to run my way up the field in the final leg. Building on this basic approach from 2009 to 2012, I worked my way up the amateur long-course triathlon ranks fueled mostly on the passion I discovered for endurance racing and the revelation that I could train hard and get more out of my body that I ever imagined. Even in writing this, the self-doubt that now sits with me emerges in my thoughts, ‘If I write that I was a subpar swimmer and cyclist, will everyone think I really was doping? If I talk about my innate talent for running, will they infer that I’m doing that just to insist that I’ve always been ‘amazing’ and didn’t need any pharmaceutical assistance?’ To avoid going down this spiral, I remind myself that in life, we see the data that we want to see, and tune out information that doesn’t serve the narrative we want to believe. I know I will never change the minds of those who don’t want to believe me. 

In mid-2013, I took a leave of absence from my job as a full-time school psychologist to pursue triathlon professionally. I planned on returning to school psychology after a year, but after making gains by training properly as a professional, it made continuing triathlon professionally financially feasible for me. Late in 2013, I became pregnant and had my first daughter in May 2014. I stayed fit during pregnancy and returned to Ironman racing in very good form by the end of 2014. My partner, nine-time Ironman champion Luke McKenzie, was a huge part of my return to racing. 

I won my first professional Ironman (Ironman Switzerland) in 2015 and placed 15th at the Ironman World Championship. Sprinkled in there were several podium placements at half Ironmans & Ironmans around the world. Looking back, we were a bit of a ‘golden family’; we traveled the world with our infant daughter, winning Ironmans, were paid very well for speaking engagements, frequently featured on triathlon magazine covers, etc. Life was great -- 2013 to mid-2016 were the best years of my life. I was living. 

The positive test

On May 1, 2016, I raced and won my 2nd Ironman, Ironman Australia. It was the perfect performance for me: An average, but solid, swim and bike, followed by a 2:56 marathon, setting a new run-course record. I passed the race leader, Michelle Bremer, about 3km before the finish. Embracing my husband and daughter at the finish line was the happiest moment of my career. Six weeks later, the day before Luke was set to race Ironman Cairns, I received an email from the WTC (World Triathlon Corp) saying I had tested positive in my post-race drug test for a banned substance called ostarine. The weeks and months that followed are a blur of depression and disbelief. I woke up every single day wondering how this became my reality, something beyond my wildest nightmares.

Although I had at least nine in- and out-of-competition drug tests between 2013 and 2016, I never actually considered a scenario where a test would be positive so I was very unprepared for what followed. I, naively, looked at every blood or urine test not as an inquisition, but an indication that I was "good enough" to be tested and I was always proud of myself for being selected because it meant ‘I had arrived’. I treated drug testing similarly to airport security- a serious, but non-threatening system designed to keep me safe and catch those trying to do wrong.

Because I so believed in the system, I was certain that there had been a mistake with my ‘A’ sample and that buoyed me through the initial shock of the first few days. I was sure my ‘B’ would not confirm the ‘A’. 

The investigation

I contacted an attorney, and, although he said he could help, he didn't sound optimistic that the ‘B’ sample would show a different result. He encouraged me to prepare for the worst. He mentioned several recent cases of ostarine contamination and that it was a serious issue facing supposedly ‘clean’ supplements. In other words, this was probably not a false positive.

The first step was to send anything I had come in contact with to a lab for testing. Although I didn’t take a myriad of dietary supplements, I used to supplement during my long-distance races with electrolytes, salt, and caffeine in the form of gels, drinks, and capsules. In my daily life, my only supplements were 100% Whey Protein from a trusted source and melatonin to sleep. Each supplement I took was from a reputable company that sponsors high profile athletes, ensures GMP (good manufacturing practices), and has 3rd party testing. They all claimed to be ‘banned-substance free’.

I was on my way to the United States when I was notified of the adverse analytical finding by the WTC. Six weeks felt like a long time to wait to notify someone who will need to recall and produce exactly what was put in their mouth before and during a 9+ hour race. I had to contact family to retrieve items from our home in Australia and send them in to the lab. I also purchased unopened bottles/canisters of many things I had used and sent them in as well. 

In early August, I was notified that my ‘B’ sample was returned positive for ostarine with a similar trace amount. According to the lab packets, ‘A’ & ‘B’ ranged from 7 to 11 nanograms/ml; a nanogram is one-one-millionth of a milligram. From July to November, supplements were each tested. It is an incredibly lengthy and expensive process- each test took 4-8 weeks depending on the product. I tested not one, but multiple (in most cases) bottles or packages of things that could have possibly passed my lips in the weeks before and during the race. In the end, after spending several thousand dollars on testing, no ostarine was definitively found. During our extensive travel in the months prior to my positive test, I traveled with salt pills, for example, in Ziploc baggies, so I no longer had the actual bottles to identify them. 

Hindsight is 20/20, but at the time, traveling with two bikes and a toddler, my primary concern was saving space and traveling light, not saving and traveling with every bottle of supplements. This turned out to be my downfall, as I was unable to provide the exact products that I had consumed on race day. 

As doping cases impose strict liability on the athlete, we needed proof of what I ingested to determine my 'degree of negligence'. I was willing to do anything to prove my innocence, so I also took & passed a polygraph and went ahead with requesting a formal arbitration hearing with WTC and an AAA arbitrator who would decide the case. 

I spent another several thousand dollars of my quickly dwindling savings preparing for arbitration in January 2017. Less than a week before my scheduled departure, my attorney called and said that after reading our case, WTC was willing to give me a reduced sanction based on lack of intent to cheat if we forewent the hearing. He suggested I accept the reduced sanction. But their “reduced sanction” proposition was two years, down from the initial four. This felt like a lose-lose situation. Despite being petrified of the arbitration process, I wanted the chance to argue my innocence in person. However, my lawyer warned that without the precise evidence of what caused the positive test, going to arbitration could still result in a four year sanction and that would further the perception that I was a doper. Basically, if the arbitrator found cause for a reduced sanction, without exact evidence, it would likely still be at least 12 months. But the arbitrator could refuse to reduce the sanction at all. I can still hear myself sobbing on the phone to my attorney, completely broken that after eight months of investigation, this was still the horrible outcome. 

On the recommendations of my lawyer and my family, I accepted the reduced sanction and waited for the announcement. I still don’t know if that was the right decision. Part of me was willing to risk the bigger fall and go to the arbitration. I still wonder what the arbitration outcome would have been. 

During the investigation, I received no support from the WTC or USA Triathlon. In fact, I encountered opposition. The only request I made of the WTC was for them to supply the batch numbers of the on-course electrolyte product provided at Ironman Australia to allow the lab to test the batch at my expense. My request was categorically rejected. I felt as though they really wanted me to be guilty. After all, their ‘anti-doping program’ only works and deserves funding if they catch dopers, right? 

The immediate aftermath

My sanction was announced on the Friday afternoon of Superbowl weekend. Strangely, the announcement from WTC came on the same day as a sanction for another professional triathlete, Lauren Barnett, also for ostarine. Lauren and I didn’t know each other personally, and this was a complete shock. Ours were the first-ever ostarine cases in the sport of triathlon. We both believed the fault was in (different brands of) salt pills and Lauren was able to unequivocally prove this through lab tests showing ostarine contamination of her bottle as well as sealed bottles of her product. Most people probably wouldn’t expect either of us to be doping and I think the coincidences were too strong for people to immediately write off. Many people actually noticed and did some research before calling us dopers. Lauren is well respected in the triathlon community. I know the evidence in her case led others to treat me with a bit of grace, as it looked like it could happen to anyone. Of course, there were some who did not believe me. In the current anti-doping landscape, it’s hard to believe every story of contamination and people feel they have ‘heard it all before’. 

I was tested at a 70.3 Ironman four weeks prior to my positive test. To put it blunty, I'm not stupid enough to begin taking a drug (ostarine) that takes 8-12 weeks to produce results, three weeks before my A race where I expected to be tested. 

In the weeks following my sanction announcement, I opened myself up to questions and was open about everything that happened. I think that my openness helped, despite how challenging it was, and I found that I had a lot of support in both the amateur and pro community. 

Of course, there are people who still believe I am a doper. I've never been invited to speak on women's panels again, never asked for interviews, virtually ignored in the media. Most of all, and I don’t say this lightly, I was traumatized. 

The depression and life-altering circumstances have truly changed me. Being accused of something horrible you did not intend to do, are ethically against, and having to wear that label forever is demoralizing and emotionally painful. I will never be the same woman or athlete. I have survived and am still successful, and I'm sure that pisses some people off. The only way out, they say, is through. 

Return to racing

I returned to racing in 2018 at the Ironman Asia Pacific Championship, where I placed third and set a run course record. I was sponsorless, of course, but wanted to prove to myself that the sanction hadn’t ruined me. In 2018, I also won two 70.3 races, and raced The Ironman World Championships, placing 22nd. But I could never get my whole heart back into it. I was scared to give 100% again to something that hurt me so badly. Even though I felt welcomed back by most of my peers, there was always background chatter about me on message boards and in real life. I also felt ostracized by Ironman. In races where I would have previously received an appearance fee or be invited to speak on panels, I was completely ignored. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. 

I tried to blend into the background, but I felt like an imposter and as though I wasn’t allowed to be my true self - outgoing, outspoken, and social. I would see people during race week and I would be totally consumed wondering what they really thought of me, and if they really believed me or were just being nice. It was a strange way to live and is something I’m still grappling with. 

Within 18 months of my sanction, two other upstanding triathletes also received sanctions for ostarine. Both were able to prove that the contamination came from the same brand of salt pills , a brand I had also used. It is a well-known company that ensures third party testing and safety. We’re now working together in a lawsuit that names the company for negligence. It’s a slow process, but I hope the outcome, whenever it is, does a bit to clear my name. 

When it all first happened, I thought my story was a complete anomaly. But the more I listen, the more I see the gaping holes in a system that should be doing good for sport. Instead, it ends up causing harm to honest athletes along the way, clouding what the anti-doping mission should truly be about. I was hesitant to write this piece, mostly because I want to stop reliving my nightmare, and why draw attention to it again when the dust seems to have settled? I think that I owe it to those unlucky few who find themselves where I was. To let them know that they are not alone. To let them know that there are people out there who will support them and will see the truth and help them navigate the monstrosity that is the system. I want them to know that I am one of those people, so please, if you’re reading this and you feel like you are reading about yourself, please get in touch and I will help in any way I can. 

  -Beth

Disclaimer: The texts and interviews do not represent the opinions of the INDR members or their employers. They belong solely to the author or interviewee.