Race Report: 2026 Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon

2026-06-11T12:00:00-06:00

Escape from Alcatraz is one of the oldest triathlons in the country—it’s celebrating its forty-fifth anniversary this year—and one of the most iconic. It involves jumping from a ship near Alcatraz Island into the cold waters of San Francisco Bay for a 2.4 km swim, a 29 km hilly bike ride through the Presidio of San Francisco and Golden Gate Park, and a scenic 12.9 km run through national park land. It’s a bucket-list race—between 10,000 and 12,000 people entered the lottery for this year’s race, with 2,300 accepted.

After signing up for the lottery late last year on a whim, I was surprised to find out I was one of them.

I wasn’t quite sure what I had gotten myself into, but I was equal parts excited and terrified. I wasn’t worried about the bike or the run; I knew I could handle those distances easily, and with Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene two weeks later, I wasn’t planning on racing hard. Instead I would simply treat this as a “racecation” and a hard training day.

But the swim, man. The swim scared me.

I’ve always had a pretty healthy fear of the open water and I sometimes get anxious simply thinking about it, so I had been particularly nervous about this swim since I signed up. Between the cold water and the strong current, it’d likely be the most challenging one I’ve done so far—after all, Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary is where it is for a reason.

I did a fair amount of prep for this race: I had probably the best swim training block I’ve ever had leading up to it, did acclimatization swims in the 14°C waters of Jackson Lake to test my cold water swim gear, read numerous race reports, and watched The Rock several times. I even built a swim conditions dashboard for the area around Alcatraz Island using publicly available forecast models from NOAA, just to get an idea of what to expect on race morning.

I was about as ready as I was going to be. It was time to Escape from Alcatraz.

Arrival & Preparations

Kate and I arrived in San Francisco on Thursday before the race, staying in Fisherman’s Wharf, just a few blocks away from the race venue at the Marina Green. I immediately headed over to Sports Basement to pick up the bike I had rented for this race, since I don’t have a bike case and didn’t want to fly with my bike anyway. They hooked me up with a sweet BMC Teammachine SLR 01, which they fitted with my own Favero Assioma power meter pedals. I took it out for a quick spin on the way back to the hotel to make sure it worked correctly and the fit was good; it felt great on the short climb through Fort Mason, only requiring minor adjustments to the seatpost height to make it comfortable. I considered going for a recon ride of at least part of the bike course, but since I’m not used to riding on city streets with car traffic, I decided to play it safe and instead did a shakeout run on Friday and spent the rest of the day exploring the city.

I showed up for packet pickup as soon as it opened on Saturday; I’ve read that it’s been crowded and slow in previous years, so I didn’t want to wait until the last minute. Although I had to stand in line for a bit before it opened, the process was quick, efficient, and organized: I got my race bracelet, race bib, timing chip, race tattoos and body marking, along with the best swag I’ve ever gotten in a race: a nice tech running shirt, an awesome backpack, a beanie, and some other odds and ends. Even the swim cap is nicer than the one I use for training. Someone joked that the backpack accounted for $975 of the nearly $1,000 entry fee, but I definitely felt like I got my money’s worth.

I also received two transition gear bags: a white bag to put my morning clothes in before getting on the ship for the swim start, and a red transition bag that gets placed near the swim exit. The latter is optional, but since the “warm-up run” from the swim exit to transition is about half a mile long, you can place a towel and an extra pair of shoes in there if you don’t want to do it barefoot, and you can leave your swim gear in it rather than carry it all the way back to transition. I don’t like running barefoot, so I brought an old pair of Hoka Carbon X 3 shoes that are nearing retirement and a hand towel I borrowed from the hotel, put them in the bag, and dropped it off at the bag corral.

I stuck around for the mandatory race briefing after getting my packet and bags sorted out. I was encouraged when the race director said they were expecting “perfect conditions” for the swim, with a slightly warmer than usual water temperature of about 14°C and calm winds. He explained that there are three possible starting positions: “A” is closer to Alcatraz, “C” is closer to San Francisco, and “B” is somewhere in between. “A” requires “crossing the river,” swimming across the strong outgoing current of San Francisco Bay to avoid getting carried past the swim exit, while “B” and “C” are more direct routes since they start closer to shore. All three routes are the same distance, 2.4 km, and they select one based on the current on race morning and position the ship accordingly. There’d be over 150 safety personnel in the water on kayaks, paddleboards, and Jet Skis, two Coast Guard ships, and a guide boat with a white buoy on top to guide swimmers in the right direction.

Diagram of the swim course in the athlete guide. Credit: Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon

The swim has two cutoffs: The first is a soft cutoff at 8:00 AM; if you haven’t finished by then, you get picked up and repositioned closer to shore to finish the swim. The second one is at 8:30 AM and it’s a hard cutoff; if you’re still in the water by then, your race is over. If I had any goals for the swim, it’s that under no circumstances would I get repositioned. I would finish under my own power come hell or high water.

I was most interested in hearing about the new starting procedure. I watched some videos of the previous swim start and it seemed chaotic, with athletes jumping from the ship en masse and the entire ship being emptied in a matter of minutes. Last year an athlete was instantly paralyzed in the water right at the start, when the person behind him landed directly on his head. Needless to say, this was at the top of my list of things I was anxious about, so I was relieved when the organizers announced changes to the start for this year: The swim start would now be a time trial start, so rather than dumping people off the ship, only a certain number of athletes would jump at the same time, at the race staff’s direction. The briefing didn’t go into great detail of how exactly the process would be beyond what’s in the athlete guide, but I hoped it would make things safer.

With the race briefing out of the way, I took care of the last thing on my to-do list: checking in my bike. At this race you have the option to check in the bike the day before the race or bring it in on race morning, and since I had ridden mine there, I checked it in so I had one fewer thing to worry about the next morning. After racking my bike, I scoped out the transition area, memorizing the location of my bike to help me find it on race day. The rows themselves aren’t labeled, so you have to pay attention to the numbers on the racks to find your spot, or use nearby landmarks to orient yourself (I used one of the houses across the street). Lastly, I walked to the swim finish to check it out; it’s a small beach next to St. Francis Yacht Club, barely 100 m long. If I didn’t aim right and the current swept me past the beach, I might end up on the riprap next to it, which would probably be bad. (I read one race report in which the author missed the beach and had to swim back against the current to reach the exit—it didn’t sound fun.)

I had nothing else to do, so I went back to the hotel to organize the rest of my gear, have dinner, and settle in for a good, albeit short, night of sleep.

Race Day

Given that this is a very early race and after the many warnings to be there on time or get left behind, I woke up earlier than usual on race day, at 2:30 AM. I checked my swim dashboard one last time before leaving, and the forecast looked promising: 14.3°C water and light 3.9 km/h wind. Based on the forecasted direction and speed of the current, I guessed they would opt for one of the starting positions closer to shore, but in any case it looked like just about as perfect conditions as you could hope for this race.

NOAA forecast of the current direction at the start of the race.

I had a light breakfast of a bagel and shitty hotel room coffee, checked all my gear one last time, and headed out the door, arriving at transition shortly after it opened at 4:00 AM. I had plenty of space next to my bike to set up the rest of my gear before getting on the shuttle to Pier 3.

There’s no overhead lighting in transition, so my headlamp came in handy on race morning.

As we approached Pier 3, I could see the San Francisco Belle, a cool sternwheeler dining ship and our launch point, lit up at dock in the pre-dawn darkness. It looked awesome. I couldn’t believe I was about to get on this ship and then promptly jump off of it.

You can’t bring anything on board the ship except what you’re taking with you on the swim, so I got my wetsuit and booties on, placed my morning clothes in the white bag, handed it to the volunteer at the bag drop, and boarded the ship. The first deck was reserved for athletes under forty, VIPs, relay teams, and paratriathletes, and the second deck was for everyone else, so I went up to wait for the start. Both decks had been completely emptied of furniture, but the ship is spacious and fully carpeted, and most people sat or lay down on the floor. I was too restless to sit still, so I mostly paced, stretched, and adjusted my wetsuit while I waited. I was amused when the standard safety announcement came through the speakers before departure, letting two thousand wetsuit-clad people who were about to jump off the ship know that life jackets were available in case of emergency.

The Belle got underway at about 6:15 AM and took us on a brief tour of Alcatraz Island. I went outside to get a better view from the railing, and any anxiety I had immediately gave way to excitement. The weather was perfect, with a clear blue sky, calm winds, and barely a ripple in the water. Seeing Alcatraz up close, the San Francisco skyline bathed in golden sunrise light, and the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance, all I could think was, “this is so fucking cool.” I couldn’t wait to get started.

The ship passed Alcatraz Island, came around, and headed back toward San Francisco, presumably for the “B” or “C” starting positions, where all the support personnel and the guide boat were staging. Shortly before the start, I heard the national anthem coming from inside the ship, and that’s when I realized the ship didn’t have any speakers outside, so I had missed whatever announcements or instructions they had given while I was there. Oops.

The race started at 7:00 AM on the dot, and I spent a few minutes watching people make the jump and start swimming, to get a sense of where they and the guide boat were headed. They seemed to be going directly toward the Palace of Fine Arts, which was roughly lined up with a few buoys I could barely make out in the distance, close to the swim finish. I made a mental note of that, went down below, and got in line to start my swim.

The starting process was largely as described: A race staff member (the “starter”) is placed at each of the starting points on the first deck, holding two orange flags at their sides. When instructed, four people step up to the edge, two on each side of the starter, with their swim caps and goggles in place, ready to go. When the starter and the safety personnel in the water have visually confirmed the landing zone is clear, the starter points the flags to the water and all four people jump at the same time; if any of them hesitates, they are held back to stop them from accidentally jumping on top of someone. It’s slower and the ship wasn’t emptied as quickly as in previous years, but it’s definitely safer—a worthwhile trade-off, in my opinion.

It took me a few minutes to get to the front of the line, but it was finally my turn to step up to the edge and take the plunge into San Francisco Bay. I started my race at 7:19 AM.

The Swim

I honestly thought I’d be more nervous or that I’d hesitate or freeze entirely, but when the starter gave me the signal, I jumped without a second thought, and started swimming as soon as I surfaced. I’ve read that salt water feels warmer than fresh water at the same temperature but I was still surprised that I didn’t feel any cold shock whatsoever. The race adrenaline might also have had something to do with it, but in any case the water felt great. I wore a neoprene hat and booties and a brand-new Roka Maverick Comp.3 sleeved wetsuit that I bought specifically for this race because I thought I’d be too cold in my usual sleeveless one, but in hindsight I don’t think I needed any of that. On the upside, the new wetsuit fits well enough I might switch to it for my upcoming races—I had no issues at all with shoulder mobility.

With the sun behind me and perfect visibility, I had no trouble sighting; I could clearly see the dome of the Palace of Fine Arts in front of me, so I pointed myself to it and got to work. For the most part it was a pleasant, uneventful swim. There were plenty of people around me to follow and draft, but I barely made contact with anyone else. There was no chop at all, which was a blessing; some of the race reports I read from previous years mentioned the difficulty of breathing with the crashing waves. One of last year’s top finishers in my age group described it in one word: traumatisant.

It was lovely and I was enjoying myself, but I was still worried about going off course and getting carried by the current past the exit, especially since I have a tendency to veer to the right when I swim, so I sighted more often than I normally would have. It probably made my swim terribly inefficient, but at least kept me going in the right direction.

As I got closer to the finish, I could see the buoys I had previously seen from the ship. The organizers had placed two of them side by side just off the jetty of the marina and the rest were lined up to guide people toward the swim finish, so I reoriented myself to swim toward them. After I passed the first two buoys, though, I felt like I hit a wall. I could see St. Francis Yacht Club in front of me, but I was barely making any progress—I didn’t seem to be getting any closer no matter how hard I swam. I’m not sure if I was caught in some sort of eddy or if the current had started to shift, but while it had taken me just 28 minutes to swim the first 2.1 km of the swim, it took me almost 15 minutes to swim the remaining 600 m to the swim finish. This part was a true washing machine—everyone around me seemed to be frantically trying to get to the finish. Whatever was holding me back eased off after a while, and I eventually made it to the beach with an official time of 43:41. My swim was slightly longer than I expected, at 2.7 km.

“Escape from Pier 45” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

Despite all my anxiety about the swim, it was nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be, and I had a great time. I’m under no delusions, though—I got lucky with the conditions. I don’t know how I would have fared in worse weather; with fog and swells and chop and colder water, I could see this going very differently. Perhaps even traumatisant.

T1

I felt very dizzy coming out of the water, so I took some time to recover while I dried my feet, put on my shoes, and shoved all my swim gear in the red bag before heading out on the warm-up run. The total distance from the swim exit to the bike and out to the mount line was approximately 1.3 km, by far the longest transition I’ve ever done. It took me 17:23 to get on my bike.

I read so many differing opinions on whether or not you should use the red bag before the race, but I’m glad I had it. If I had been racing for time, maybe I would have skipped it, but it would have been unpleasant to run that long barefoot or in booties. It was also nice to not have to carry all of my swim gear to transition; I saw so many goggles, gloves, booties, and swim caps people had dropped along the way. The only thing I’d do differently is put a bottle of water in it to rinse my mouth of the taste of salt water—yuck.

The Bike

As I was riding out I noticed that the seatpost on my rental bike seemed to have slid down somehow; maybe I hadn’t tightened it enough when I adjusted it earlier. It was somewhat uncomfortable but I didn’t want to stop and I figured it’d be fine for the hour or so I expected to take me to finish the bike leg, so I kept going, using the first couple of kilometers to spin my legs and warm up before hitting the climbs.

The bike course for this race is absolutely gorgeous. After leaving the Marina Green, it goes through Crissy Field before the first of six categorized climbs, and then descends through the Presidio, with breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean, Baker Beach, and Lands End. This is followed by another climb to the Legion of Honor and a steep, windy descent from Point Lobos to the Great Highway alongside Ocean Beach, before entering Golden Gate Park, looping around, and going back the same way. With a total distance of about 29 km, it’s shorter than a typical Olympic-distance triathlon, but it’s hilly and challenging. None of the climbs are very long—the longest one is about 1.9 km—but they’re all punchy, with no less than a 5% average grade, and a lot of people were walking their bikes. There’s one I particularly loved during the climb from Ocean Beach: Just when it starts easing off and you think you’re done with it, there’s a sharp right turn directly into a steep 11.2% grade climb. Fun!

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The descents are steep and technical, though, with a few tight turns. I saw at least two people seriously injured, being tended to by bystanders or paramedics after crashing badly. The pavement is mostly good, except for the section around the Legion of Honor, and in particular the long descent after it on the way back to T2, which is teeth-rattling and ass-puckering. There are two cutoffs, one before entering Golden Gate Park at 9:20 AM, and the other one at 10:15 AM. These are soft cutoffs: If you miss the first one you simply get turned around, and if you miss the second one you get picked up and taken back to transition. In both cases you get to continue the race. There are no aid stations and gels are prohibited to prevent littering, so you have to bring your own hydration and nutrition in bottles or soft flasks.

Descending through Lincoln Boulevard. Credit: FinisherPix

I didn’t have any specific time goals for this course, so I didn’t do much in the way of planning and I wouldn’t have wanted to follow a strict pacing plan anyway, since I was on an unfamiliar course on an unfamiliar bike. Instead I paced by feel and simply enjoyed the course. I wore most of my regular tri kit, but used my regular road helmet and sunglasses (S-Works Evade 3 and Roka San Remo Air, respectively) to match my road bike. I expected this to take me roughly an hour, so my fueling consisted of a single bottle of Maurten Drink Mix 320, with 80 grams of carbs. I brought a bottle of water, but didn’t bring any electrolytes. I didn’t need them—the weather remained cool and pleasant, maxing out at 14°C. I barely broke a sweat.

Speaking of road bikes: The athlete guide claims, “there is no true advantage to riding a triathlon/time trial bike on this course.” I’m inclined to agree—unless you are at the pointy end, and are very familiar with the course, and are very proficient at descending on a triathlon bike, you’re better off using a road bike. As much as I love my tri bike, I would have had a bad time taking those descents on it.

I had a lot of fun on the climbs on this road bike, at any rate. Thanks to the altitude difference—Jackson Hole is 1,950 m above sea level—I felt strong the entire time, so I hammered the climbs and used the descents to recover and savor the views. Unfortunately, between the ragged pavement and the speed bumps, by the time I got to Golden Gate Park my seatpost had slid almost all the way to the bottom, and I had to stop to fix it. I regretted not doing that recon ride on Friday since I might have noticed the issue then, but oh, well. That’s the risk I took with a rental bike, and it’s a good reminder to tighten everything up before a race. As annoying as this was, though, I love that several people offered to stop and help; the support and camaraderie between triathletes is the best thing about triathlon culture.

Riding through Crissy Field toward the end of the bike leg. Credit: FinisherPix

With my seatpost fixed, the rest of the bike leg went smoothly, and I rolled into T2 with a final time of 1:11:03.

T2

I made a last-minute decision to wear the same shoes I had used for the swim exit; I figured they still had a few miles left in them and I didn’t want to get sand or seawater in the newer Hoka Cliftons I had originally planned to wear for the run. I spent 4:46 in T2, waved goodbye to Kate, and went out on the run course.

The Run

One detail about this race that escaped me is that this run course is actually a trail run, not the usual run on paved roads I’m used to from other races, and with 185 m of elevation gain, it’s a deceptively strenuous one. Most of it, except the beginning and end at the Marina, and a short descent on Lincoln Boulevard, is on gravel trails, steep, uneven dirt trails, up and down stairs, and on sand at the beach. My old shoes worked fine for this, but in general you’re better off bringing trail running shoes than fancy carbon-plated road running race shoes—I’d probably have rolled both of my ankles several times in both directions if I had brought my usual race shoes. I decided to pace this run by feel rather than chase any particular targets, but honestly I don’t know how else I would have paced it anyway, given the variety of surfaces. By now it had warmed up to 19°C, still pleasant, although in hindsight I wish I had sprayed on another layer of sunscreen in T2—that sun was fierce and I have the tan lines to prove it.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

Gels are also prohibited here to prevent littering, so you have to bring any fuel with you on a soft flask. I didn’t bring any, though, and just relied on the aid stations. There are four of them with water and regular Gatorade, spaced about a mile apart; three of them you hit twice, once in each direction, and the last one is at the turnaround point in Baker Beach.

Almost as soon as I left T2 and started on the run on the Bay Trail at Crissy Field, I started feeling the unpleasant ache of shin splints. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the older, worn-down shoes, or maybe I hadn’t done enough bricks in training, or maybe my run fitness wasn’t as dialed in as I thought, but I hoped it’d go away soon or it’d be a deeply unpleasant run. I tried to ignore the pain and kept pushing until I got to the first set of stairs of the course, just past the Warming Hut near Fort Point. They’re steep and narrow, with runners going in both directions, which makes it almost impossible to pass anyone, so I power-walked all the way up. By the time I got to the top of the stairs my quads and ass were on fire, but at least my shin splints were somehow gone, and thankfully didn’t recur for the remainder of the race. From there, the course continued on the California Coastal Trail, which goes through some of the earthworks in the Presidio and down to Baker Beach. It’s fairly steep at certain points, and somewhat uneven, so I ran at a careful pace to avoid a repeat of my ankle injury a couple of years ago.

Gonna fly now. Credit: FinisherPix

When I got to the top, I made a point to take in the view of the Pacific Ocean and enjoy the cool sea breeze before descending to Baker Beach for the running-on-sand portion of the race. Running on sand generally sucks, but this wasn’t as bad as I expected. Most of it was on the firm, wet sand close to the water, which made running a lot easier. I turned around at the aid station at the far end and was immediately rewarded by the view of the Golden Gate Bridge, and reinvigorated by running next to the ocean, which is truly magical. It felt exactly like this:

At the end of Baker Beach is, of course, one of the most iconic things about this race: the infamous Sand Ladder. If you don’t know what that is, it’s this fucker:

Not pictured: the guy sunning his dick and balls directly next to it on race day, in plain view of everyone racing (the Sand Ladder is in the nude part of Baker Beach).

What you can’t tell from this photo is that:

The average grade is about 26%
From that angle you can only see about a third of it

At the race briefing, the race director said to walk and use the cables to pull yourself up because “even the pros do it.” I don’t know how you would run on this thing even if you wanted to; the two hundred “steps” are mostly buried in fine sand, so you’re basically walking up a sand dune and sinking back down with every step you take. It’s exhausting, but the camaraderie that comes from the shared suffering also made it a lot of fun. This segment has its own special timing, with mats at both ends; it took me 4:03 to climb it, and cruelly, they stationed a FinisherPix photographer at the very top.

💀 Credit: FinisherPix

I was drenched in sweat when I got to the top, but there was still one last climb back up the California Coastal Trail for one last view of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the rest was all downhill and down the same flight of stairs back to the Warming Hut, followed by a couple of fast, flat miles to the finish line.

My legs were shaking after all that climbing, but I managed to empty the tank, pushing the pace to finish strong, with a final time of 1:16:50 for the run and a total time of 3:33:41. I finished in 73rd place in the M40–44 age group, out of 138, and 761st overall, out of 1,480 finishers.

I escaped! Credit: Kate Birmingham

I’ve done some tough races: St. George was tough because of Snow Canyon; Coeur d’Alene can be tough because of the unpredictable weather. I’d put this one up there in terms of difficulty; I didn’t pace particularly hard and I’ve been sore for days after finishing it, more than I remember being after any other race. But I loved every minute of it—it absolutely lived up to the hype.

Right after I finished the race, Kate asked me if I would do it again and my immediate response was “absolutely not.”

I’m already considering signing up for next year.

Given to Tri: Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon

Race Report: 2026 Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon

Arrival & Preparations

Race Day

The Swim

T1

The Bike

T2

The Run

Escape from Alcatraz changes starting procedures for this year’s race

T-2 weeks to Escape from Alcatraz

I’m Escaping from Alcatraz next June