Celebrating 50 in Style: Three-Time Champion Susanne Buckenlei Returns to Norseman

A three-time champion returns to the start line at 50 — not to reclaim glory, but because a birthday joke turned into reality. This is the story of Susanne Buckenlei, who dominated Norseman from 2009 to 2011 and is now returning to the Norwegian fjords fifteen years later with her daughter Luna, aiming for a black-shirt finish and having no interest in the podium.

It's the kind of comeback story endurance sports rarely tell well — because it isn't really about coming back at all. It's about belonging.

The Joke That Became a Starting Number

The seed was planted at a birthday party. Susanne was there supporting Norseman founder Hårek Stranheim as he turned 50, and the conversation turned playful.

“I was supporting Hårek Stranheim when he had his 50th birthday,” she recalled. “So we were joking around — when I turned 50, I would come back again, and he would be my support. But of course he's too busy.”

The joke stuck. Stranheim may have been too busy to crew her, but the idea of returning had already taken hold. And when your milestone birthday coincides with a race you won three times in a row — a race that, by your own description, was designed exactly for the way you like to race — it turns out a throwaway quip can quietly become a commitment.

This is how many of the best athletic decisions get made: not through spreadsheets and goal-setting sessions, but through a moment of levity that reveals something true underneath. Susanne didn't need to engineer a reason to return to Norseman. She just needed permission to admit she wanted to.

What Makes Norseman Worth Coming Back To

Ask any long-distance triathlete what draws them to a particular race and you'll usually hear about PB potential, prize purse, or qualification slots. Susanne's answer is something else entirely.

“For me it feels like this racing is exactly made how I like racing. This morning, jumping in the fjord — I love Norway, that's one of the main things about it. Swimming in a fjord when the sun is going up, then riding through amazing landscape, which I also do on my holidays. Then doing a triathlon here, being supported by your friends — that is also something that makes it so special, to be supported by your close ones.”

What she's describing isn't a race. It's an experience that mirrors the life she already lives — the Norwegian landscapes she visits on holiday, the movement through terrain she loves, the people who matter most showing up along the course. Norseman didn't ask her to step out of her life. It invited her to bring it along.

The format itself matters deeply to her. Running uphill to finish was always her favorite element of the race — a detail that says a lot about the kind of athlete she is and the kind of athlete she's always been.

“It was the first triathlon where you run up to a mountain finish. That was the thing I liked most about it — to finish on Gaustatoppen.”

That summit finish isn't just a dramatic backdrop. For Susanne, it's the payoff — the place where effort becomes experience. When she talks about her goal for this race, she returns to that image immediately: standing on Gaustatoppen with a black shirt, not standing on a podium.

What is the “black shirt”? Norseman awards finishers a black shirt for completing the full course — including the demanding Gaustatoppen summit climb — within the cutoff. It's a mark of genuine achievement and the race's most coveted finish distinction.

The Mental Shift: From Champion to Participant

Here's where Susanne's story gets genuinely instructive. Returning to a race you once dominated as a completely different kind of competitor isn't a small psychological task. Muscle memory, ego, competitive instinct — they don't retire just because you do.

She was asked directly: Did any part of her return thinking she might be in the mix?

“No, not even for one second did I think about being in the mix somewhere or fighting for the podium. It was always like coming back, doing a good race, training to do a good race at my age, and to enjoy it. That's the main thing I'm here for.”

That clarity is striking. But she's also honest about what happens when the body catches up to the mind — or rather, when it refuses to.

“When you're here in Eidfjord — I've been here for a week now, like I always did — you sit on the bike or you run around, and it's so crazy, sometimes you feel the same as the old days. And then you have to stop yourself, slow yourself down — hey, you are here with a complete different aim.”

This is the real challenge of a comeback at 50 after a championship career: not fitness, but discipline. The body holds echoes of what it once was. The mind has to do the work of releasing them.

Her coaching background helps. Twenty-five years of working with athletes gives her an unusually clear lens on her own capabilities — not a pessimistic one, but a calibrated one. Understanding how to train effectively at any age requires the kind of self-knowledge that comes from years of coaching experience.

“I'm quite good at knowing — I'm a coach and an athlete, so I know exactly what I can do and what I can't. I would be really happy if I could get a black shirt, because I know the competition is hard and it's getting harder every year. If I can stand on Gaustatoppen with the black shirt, that's all I want.”

That's not a lowered bar. That's a well-placed one.

Twenty-Five Years, Fifty Athletes, and a Different Life

The Susanne Buckenlei who shows up at Norseman 2026 is a fundamentally different person from the one who won it three times in a row. That's not a setback — it's the point.

In the fifteen years since her last Norseman victory, she's built a full-time coaching practice working with 50 athletes. She lives in the mountains. She skis more than she cycles. She teaches ski technique in winter and runs and bikes through summer. She barely swam for years before ramping back up specifically for this race.

“In my normal life I'm not at all in the triathlon life anymore. I'm more on skis than on a bike.”

She doesn't call herself a triathlete anymore. She's clear about that. But she's equally clear about what she is.

“I love sports, and I will do sports as long as I can.”

Releasing a competitive identity doesn't mean releasing the sport — it means reclaiming it. When sport is no longer tied to performance outcomes, it becomes something you can do forever. Coaches and aging athletes alike would do well to sit with that idea, as demonstrated by athletes who continue competing well into their later years. Her approach models what sustainable athletic life actually looks like across decades: diversify, adapt, prioritize joy, and don't confuse what you once were with what you still love.

The Support Crew (and the Daughter Who Has No Doubts)

Susanne's support crew for this race is built around the people closest to her. Her boyfriend — Luna's father — will run the Gaustatoppen climb alongside her. Her close friend Julia handles second support. Other friends are scattered along the course, a tradition she traces back to her championship years, when friends would show up unprompted just because it was Norseman and that's what people did there.

“It's Norway, it's Norseman. So there are some more friends here to support me.”

That kind of community doesn't form around prize money or prestige. It forms around a place and a race that people genuinely love.

And then there's Luna.

Her daughter is talented on skis and mountain bikes, completely uninterested in competitive racing, and absolutely convinced that her mother is going to win tomorrow. The gap between those two facts has required repeated correction.

“I just have to tell her more often per day that I will not win again, because she's for sure sure that I will win tomorrow,” Susanne said, laughing. “But that will not happen.”

Luna's certainty is charming precisely because it reflects something real: to a child, the parent who won three times is always a champion. The nuances of aging, cutoffs, competitive fields — those don't register. What registers is that her mom is brave enough to be out there at all.

That intergenerational faith is one of the warmest details in this whole story. And it says something important about how athletic legacy actually works — not through records, but through presence.

Susanne notes that Luna's relationship to sport mirrors her own as a child: talent without obligation, movement without pressure.

“That's also something I love — that she's doing it because she's liking it, not because she has to fight or beat someone.”

She recognizes herself in that. “I was the same when I was a kid. I hated competitions. I just found out that I'm good on the bike, and that fit to me, and then I started to do some triathlons growing up.”

For parents raising young athletes — and for coaches working with them — this is worth holding onto. The goal isn't to manufacture competitive hunger. It's to let kids discover what fits. Susanne discovered it on a bike. Luna may discover it somewhere else entirely. Both paths are valid.

What This Comeback Really Teaches Us

Susanne Buckenlei's return to Norseman isn't a redemption arc. She doesn't need redemption. It isn't a warning about unfinished business or a desperate attempt to recapture something lost. It started with a joke and became real because the place and the people and the format still make sense to who she is now — not who she was then.

The lessons here are practical and portable:

• Meaningful comebacks don't require winning. The most honest goal Susanne has named is standing on a mountain summit in a black shirt. That goal is hard, personal, and entirely hers.
• Self-knowledge is a competitive advantage. Twenty-five years of coaching gave her the tools to set a goal that fits her current capabilities, not her former ones. Most athletes — especially those with elite backgrounds — struggle to do this.
• Place and community are legitimate reasons to race. Not every start line needs to be a qualifier or a PB attempt. Sometimes the fjord at sunrise is enough.
• Athletic identity can evolve without disappearing. Moving from “triathlete” to “someone who loves sports” isn't a diminishment. It's a longer-term strategy.
• The values we model in sport ripple outward. Luna, watching her mom head to the start line at 50, is learning something about how to move through the world. That lesson has nothing to do with the podium.

Following the Race

Norseman 2026 starts in the dark hours before dawn with a leap into a Norwegian fjord — exactly the way Susanne Buckenlei likes it. The finish line waits at the top of Gaustatoppen, and she'll have her boyfriend running that final climb beside her.

She knows she won't win. Luna still believes she will.

Somewhere between those two certainties is the best possible reason to be at a start line.

Follow Norseman 2026 coverage on Slowtwitch, and join the conversation at the Slowtwitch Forum. For gear that supports your own race-day experience — whether you're chasing a podium or a finish shirt — explore our triathlon suits, cycling helmets, and running shoes collections.

Source: Slowtwitch