In December, Russian athlete Victor Doronin stunned Dubai’s sports community by completing an ultra-triathlon challenge in 58 sleepless hours — stopping only for quick meals and massages during the cycling leg.

At 45, Victor proves that extraordinary achievements are possible with discipline, belief, and sheer determination. We spoke with him about his journey from nightlife to endurance sports, the mental and physical battles of the challenge, and learning to accept the unexpected — on the racecourse and in life.

— You have completed the challenge on December 26. How is everything going now? It has been a few weeks — how are you feeling overall?

— Recovery and rehabilitation, let us start with that. This was not my first challenge, so, over the years, I have gained some experience and knowledge about what happens after such intense tests of endurance. Throughout the year, I have been investing in my mental and physical health. I kept an eye on my body and my tests because everything like this has a cost, and you always pay that cost to your body. I tried to minimise the "credit" I was taking out from my health to avoid paying an even higher price later.

I knew something was going to happen post-race. I didn’t know exactly what, but I assumed there would be consequences. After all, even when I have given talks at corporate events, sports festivals, or lectures about endurance and preparation, just describing the scale of challenges like this gave me chills. That is the reality — it is daunting. And knowing this, I kept at it, doing consistent work on my health, because I was afraid of what could happen.

For example, take emotional burnout — it is a trendy topic now. I have experienced it before, back in 2020 or 2021, after a dual-ranking event. At that time, my social media engagement spiked, people started recognising me, and there was constant pressure to keep going, to post, to interact. But for six months, I barely opened Instagram. I did not want to talk to anyone. My best friends were my pillow and TV series. I completely shut down.

So after the latest challenge, I was determined not to go through that kind of emotional fallout again. That is why I prepared so rigorously and invested in my mental and physical well-being.

The challenge this time was enormous, and it brought together so many different kinds of people — athletes, non-athletes, those curious about human capabilities. It inspired them. Many reached out, saying it motivated them to take on goals they once thought impossible.

When I returned from Dubai to Moscow, I shared in my Instagram Stories how my leg had become inflamed during the race. I injured it early on — around the 7th kilometre — and by the 21st kilometre, I had developed another injury. From then on, it was constant pain, which only shifted between "bearable" and "unbearable." You are not free from pain — it is either tolerable or overwhelming.

This challenge resonated internationally. People flew in from different countries, and the atmosphere was incredible. You would hear strangers cheering you on in different languages. It was humbling to see so many people moved by this event. But it also brought me to the attention of a surgeon who reached out after seeing my Stories, saying, "This is not good."

When I got back to Moscow, I realised I could not even wear regular shoes — only Crocs. Luckily, there was a surgeon, who is a friend of a friend. She saw me completing the challenge, and she didn’t leave me much choice. The next day, I was in her office, and that same evening, I was on the operating table. The diagnosis was severe: phlegmon, abscess, and erysipelas. I am grateful for my surgeon's persistence because, despite my high pain tolerance and unusual symptoms (no fever, for example), she trusted her instincts and pushed for immediate action.

The surgery went well, but my recovery plans changed drastically. I had planned to move somewhere warm for rehabilitation and training. Instead, I stayed in Moscow, going for daily wound dressings and adjusting to a new routine. Right now, the wound is still open, and I am working on rebuilding my strength.

— How do you feel about such a drastic change in plans?

— Acceptance.

— That is it?

— Yes. Acceptance. Every challenge, every accomplishment — everything has its price. Right now, I am focused on fixing the damage and moving forward.

This is not my first injury or operation. Back in 2002, I tore my meniscus, and doctors told me I would never run again. At the time, I did not even care — I was not a runner then. But look at how life changes. People will always doubt you or underestimate your capabilities. But I have learned to take responsibility for my health and keep pushing forward.

Even after this operation, the tests showed I was in peak condition — almost like an astronaut. The only abnormality was an elevated protein level due to inflammation. Everything else — hemoglobin, reticulocytes — was perfect. That is a testament to the preparation I did. I entered the challenge at my peak, and despite sleeping only 3.5 hours before the race, my body handled it as well as it could.

Of course, challenges like this are grueling. You face emotional lows, physical exhaustion, and unforeseen problems. But it is all about how you approach those moments — what mindset you choose. That is the key to overcoming anything.

— Can you tell the whole story of how you got into triathlon? I have read some of your interviews and seen bits and pieces, but I would like to put the full picture together.

— I first heard about triathlon from a friend who told me about a remarkable cyclist — someone incredible in their time. Even after retiring, this person had taken up triathlon. At the time, triathlon was not really on my radar as a sport. Sure, I knew about its debut in the Olympics in 2000, but it did not really interest me. Back then, I only associated it with things like Ironman events, which I had just vaguely heard of. My friend said to me, "You are strong, but this is unrealistic."

That is how it began for me in the autumn of 2012. He signed me up for a half-distance event. Fast forward to 6 January 2013 — I was living in New York at the time — and he called me, asking, “Are you training?” And I was like, “Training for what?” By then, I had completely forgotten about triathlon. I didn't even have a road bike — just an old mountain bike I would ride around occasionally. He told me, “You need a proper bike for triathlon; this is a whole different thing.”

I knew nothing back then, so I started from scratch. I looked online and found a triathlon club near the park. On January 13, 2013, I joined Asphalt Green Tri Club. They asked me what my goal was, and I said, “I want to do the Ironman in Hawaii.” They stared at me like I was mad. “When?” they asked. “In May,” I replied. Their reaction? “Are you serious? Can you even swim?” “Not really,” I admitted. They were blunt: “You cannot just jump into this.” But they offered to help, and that is how I started immersing myself in the culture of triathlon.

What really drew me in was the philosophy and the people. These were not folks chasing medals or finisher shirts; they were adults — successful, self-aware, and goal-oriented — investing in their future selves. Our training sessions started at 5:30 am, and by 8, everyone was off to work. They were insanely productive, and I found that inspiring. Training with them gave me the same energy. By mid-morning, I had already accomplished so much and was fueled by a natural high.

At first, I was just copying what they were doing. I joined group runs in Central Park, spin classes, you name it. Everything was structured yet enjoyable. Even the workouts were not about suffering; they were about community and growth. Cycling sessions, for example, were booked in advance, and if you did not show up, you paid a $40–50 penalty. That accountability motivated me — what is the cost of an extra hour of sleep versus $50? I learned discipline and started improving steadily.

At the beginning, I was the typical amateur — a "rookie," as the pros call us. I invested in the most expensive gear, thinking that was what I needed to succeed. My first fall on a time-trial bike was legendary. I was decked out in a fancy suit, Russian team gear, on high-end wheels, drawing all the attention — and then, I fell at a red light, right in front of everyone. No experience, no balance. That was my introduction to triathlon.

My first half-distance race was in Hawaii, and it was a disaster. I was terrified riding downhill in the rain, on slippery roads, and even got a flat tyre. The Hawaiian winds were so strong, I felt like a leaf being tossed around. But I kept going, and each challenge taught me something new.

What kept me hooked was not just the sport but the people. They were not obsessed with medals or tattoos; they were mature, open-minded individuals who shared their expertise freely. Back home, everything came with a price tag — even basic advice. In the triathlon community, people helped out just for the sake of it. It was refreshing. Training, I realised, was not about motivation — it was about discipline. You do not need a coach to hype you up; you just need to get up and go.

— And how did triathlon change your life? Did it bring a big shift, or were you already living a disciplined lifestyle before?

— It completely transformed my life. Before triathlon, my sport was alcohol and clubbing. From my 20s to 30s, I was essentially a heavy drinker. Triathlon did not just change my routine; it turned my life upside down. It got me out of that repetitive, destructive cycle.

Through triathlon, I met some of the best people — happy accidents that led to profound connections. I replaced one addiction with another, but this one was productive. Instead of harming myself, I was improving my life and inspiring others. I learned to give back to the community. Whether it is answering DMs, sharing tips about gear, or offering advice, I try to be helpful, even if it is time-consuming.

I realised I thrived on long distances. The longer the event, the more I enjoyed it. Anything under four hours felt like a warm-up. I found my rhythm on ultra-distances — running after 180 kilometres on the bike or pushing through long stretches. It gave me confidence and a sense of accomplishment.

Over time, though, I started reevaluating. The constant chasing of results — the “rat race” of triathlon — can blind you to the joy of the journey. After an injury in 2019 and some life changes during the pandemic, I moved to Krasnaya Polyana (Sochi, Russia) and began to focus on cycling. For the first time, I approached it differently — not as a grind, but as a way to explore, enjoy nature, and even indulge in good food along the way.

Through these experiences, I started to rediscover Russia’s beauty — the landscapes, the gastronomy, the culture. I realised how much I had missed while being so narrowly focused on competition. There is so much richness here, from the trails of St. Petersburg to the culinary gems of Krasnoyarsk. It is a shame it took me so long to notice.

Now, I see things differently. I have transitioned from chasing medals to enjoying the journey — exploring, learning, and appreciating the world around me.

— By the way, why did you choose Dubai originally? Am I right in thinking that infrastructure was the main reason?

— Yes, indeed. The infrastructure was key. On the first track, there are no cars or motorised vehicles. The second track is a one-way loop, no oncoming lanes. The weather conditions were also critical because I understood my training goals, tasks, and schedule. It was convenient to prepare for a 1,000-kilometre ride in 2022 when I cycled that distance. I realised that, overall, there were no prohibitions — electricity, water, restrooms were all available. No special permissions were needed. There are supportive people willing to assist and give their time. Also, it is convenient to get to the UAE from Russia, and it is important because there were six people flying from Russia to support me, which was incredibly touching.

Speaking of research, we ran surveys on belief versus disbelief regarding the challenge. The results were eye-opening. While I will not dive into exact figures, roughly 23 people did not believe in it, while 267 did. This was even before we started airing the series, where we released episodes weekly five weeks before the event, showing my preparation honestly. At best, I was only 6 out of 10 in terms of readiness. That is far from ideal, especially in the summer when nerves from organising our running club's events made it impossible to fully train. Even when I showed up to train, I was not really training.

When I moved to Spain later, I became more focused. But I had to adapt because I had not been swimming at all and only cycled sporadically. Choosing Dubai was not random — it was deliberate. In December, under those conditions, I knew I could do it. I pay a lot of attention to both hidden and explicit meanings in everything I do. There is a kind of symmetry in the dates, numbers, and timing that resonate with me — like the "Thousand and One Nights" theme of the East. Even the choice of distance carries layers of meaning for those who look deeper.

— I am sure people have asked you what was the hardest part, but was there anything that turned out to be easier than you expected?

— The first 160 kilometres — specifically the middle 40 kilometres — felt surprisingly easy. I thought, "You are doing great, man." I was riding at very low wattage, with a low heart rate, and I was in peak form without even realising it. But by around kilometre 120, I started to feel fatigued. The average speed of 39 km/h began to catch up with me, and I thought, "I am probably going to pay for this pace later." And sure enough, I did. The next two hours were brutal.

What really struck me was how hard it is to accept mistakes in the moment. You can only start addressing them after acceptance. For instance, I overheated during the swim segment because the pool temperature was 29°C, and I made the mistake of wearing a wetsuit. Originally, we planned for an open-air pool with a water temperature of 13°C, but it became unavailable at the last moment. I did not think to check the temperature of the backup pool — it was boiling.

By the third set of 6,000 metres, my body was completely stressed, my heart rate shot up to 193, and I felt like I was cooking. When I took off my swim cap, hot water poured out. I thought, "What just happened to my body?" After that, I adjusted — ditched the wetsuit, cooled down under cold water, and resumed swimming. Within 500 metres, I felt much better. But that swim segment was the most stressful part of the entire challenge.

Another tough moment was during the cycling leg. My vision started to blur, and I could not see clearly. It felt like I was riding blind. A friend lent me their anti-glare glasses, which helped a little. By covering one eye, I could at least look through the glasses with the other and see where I needed to go. This resolved the issue of whether I would make a turn or not. At one point, I taped the glasses to my helmet with old-fashioned duct tape just to keep going.

When you set off into something unexplored by humanity, you must understand how long you are willing to endure. I always say, "I will keep going for as long as necessary." If I need to run for a week, I will run for a week. If I need to walk for a month, I will walk for a month. I do not see the point of setting a fixed time for an expedition where you are a pioneer. I can estimate, but realistically, it is 50/50 — I don’t know what I will face. I just know that everything must be solved calmly. There will undoubtedly be physical, mental, and emotional challenges. You must be ready to cope with them, just as in life. Overcoming them is like living a short, intense life around which thousands of people gather for three days.

Then there was the injury. What could I do? Endure the pain. The solution does not come immediately. My ankle was swollen; it would not bend. My shoe did not fit. I wrapped it tightly with tape, bearing the pain. How long would this help? In my case, 27 kilometres. But then came bigger problems caused by that decision. I had to redo the taping and start over. The hardest part was accepting that after running 62 kilometres, I could not stop. If I stopped, I might not start again for an hour because I would want to sleep. The thought of restarting, knowing how much it would hurt, was unbearable. I hobbled along, walking at a 9:38 per kilometre. The pain was intense. If I endured it again, I would have to endure it for another six hours. I thought, "No, I cannot do that." I got angry with myself, yelled, and forced myself to move. Then, I pushed hard — the last 32 kilometres were at a pace of 5:04–5:05 per kilometre.

— What is your main professional focus now? I know you manage running clubs, but what else do you do?

— At some point, I realised I am a creator. It is important for me to create and to build something meaningful. Right now, I am shaping my life around this principle — I want to keep creating, integrating, and moving forward. I do not want to get stuck in a routine or the typical structures of everyday life.

I want to align my hobbies, challenges, clubs, and activities with financial sustainability because I see myself as a creator. I love coming up with ideas. It does not matter whether it is developing a farm-to-table dairy brand or building a strategy for a construction company launching a new project — what matters is the process of creating something.

What drives me most is being useful to society. For example, supporting a Russian sports nutrition manufacturer or promoting Russian-made sportswear means more to me than just being a billboard for some international corporation. My mission is to bring value, not just earn money or attract sponsors.

I am not interested in fame or flashy accomplishments. For example, when I help design running tights, I don’t need public acknowledgment. What matters is the impact — when I see people benefiting from my work, that is more fulfilling than any financial or public recognition.

It is all about creating value for my close circle, for those around me. If I cannot bring value to something, I move on. Life is too short to waste time on things that do not matter. Professionally, I love creating and innovating — that is what fuels me. I enjoy building things that become popular later on.

For example, before the show Squid Game gained popularity, we had already come up with a concept for a dusty dumbbells group two years earlier. When the show aired, people said it reminded them of our idea. Or take the green-and-white branding we developed for our ratings system — it became a trend, and a couple of months later, Zara and H&M launched similar designs.

The same applies to our unique running socks, which combine creativity and functionality — designed with silicon bands to prevent slipping. When I see people wearing them and loving them, it brings me joy.

I am not interested in breaking Guinness World Records or selling "success courses." What matters to me is inspiring people to change their lives. For instance, someone once wrote to me, saying, "Thanks to you, I quit drinking and turned my life around." That is what makes me happy — the impact, not the fame.

We live in such a fast-paced world. Today’s challenge will be forgotten tomorrow. What truly matters is how you inspire and uplift others along the way.

— When you talk about inspiring others to change their lives, is there a particular story that stands out?

— There are so many stories, but one of the most memorable happened in 2013. I received a message from a young man named Dzhahangir. He asked me to train him and shared his life story — it left me speechless.

He was a professional tennis player who, through his skills and discipline, earned a scholarship to an American college. For four years, he studied and trained without asking his parents for financial help. His life was like military service: waking up at 5:30 am for training, followed by classes and another session in the afternoon.

He successfully completed his education and returned to Uzbekistan to work in the family business. But in a short time, he went from weighing 89 kg (196 lbs) to over 150 kg (330 lbs).

Despite this, he was determined to change. He set a goal to participate in the Samarkand Half Marathon. Over the course of a year, he didn’t miss a single training session, no matter the weather or his mood. He went from walking and jogging for hours to running confidently.

By September, he had lost over 25 kg (55 lbs) and built incredible discipline. It was not easy — there were plateaus, psychological challenges, and moments of self-doubt. But step by step, day by day, he transformed himself.

Eventually, he registered for a half Ironman in Valencia. For someone who once could not run a kilometre, completing this challenge was monumental. His family and friends travelled to support him, holding signs and cheering him on. Seeing their support, he smiled throughout the race — it was not just about overcoming obstacles; it was about enjoying the journey.

This story inspires me because it shows how determination and discipline can lead to incredible transformations. It is about proving to yourself that you can achieve the impossible.