Stephen Montoya
It’s 3:30 a.m. in Fort Worth, and while most of the city is asleep, Sarah Elizabeth Segrest is already awake, pulling herself out of bed and into a world she’s carved out through sheer willpower. In the glow of fluorescent lights at the local gym, she’s in the pool by 4 a.m., pushing through laps like the day depends on it.
Because for her — it does.
“I was the last person out of the water,” she says, talking about her most recent triathlon. “I mean the very last woman. I just remember thinking, ‘Dang, I’m already behind.’”
That was the Texas North State Championship, sanctioned by USA Triathlon — a title she now holds in her age group at 24. But it didn’t start there. It started in a run club, post-heartbreak, where Sarah could barely breathe through a three-mile jog.
Let’s back up.
Sarah Elizabeth Segrest — legally Johnson, at least for now — was adopted from the Biên Hòa area of Vietnam’s Dong Nai Province when she was just a year old. Raised in a predominantly white family and community, it wasn’t until middle school, after a move to Knoxville, Tennessee, that she began to understand just how different she was from those around her.
“My mom and I moved to Knoxville after the divorce,” she opined. “It’s her side of the family that really raised me. That’s why I’m changing my last name. To honor them. They sacrificed so much.”
There’s a pause, and then she adds quietly, “I just want to make them proud. I want to make my birth mom proud too — wherever she is.”
LGM Photos (Sheldon)
She’s never been back to Vietnam. Doesn’t speak the language, though she’s trying to learn. She knows her birth mother’s name, and that’s it. “I want to go back,” she says. “I want to find her.”
In September 2024, Sarah moved to Fort Worth. Not for a job — she works remotely for her family’s company — but for something more complex to explain.
“I always wanted to live in Texas,” she shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you why. It just felt like I needed to be here. And I heard Fort Worth had more of a community feel than Dallas, so here I am.”
She lives near the Stockyards, though you’re more likely to find her training than at Billy Bob’s line dancing. “I’ve been once,” she says about the iconic honky tonk. “It was fun. But I have to pencil in my friends just to grab coffee. I don’t spend a lot of time out and about.”
Because she trains seven days a week.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Seven. Days. A. Week.
Wake up at 3:30 a.m. Swim by 4:00. Group workout class at 5:00. Work from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. Then it’s either a run on the Trinity, a ride, another swim, or some mix of the three. Local coaches help her with swimming and cycling, but make no mistake — this is self-built determination.
The irony? She never intended to become a triathlete.
“In college, I used to cycle a hundred miles for fun,” she says. “Just at the gym at the University of Tennessee. My friends would joke, ‘You should do an Ironman.’ I always said, ‘no way.’”
But then came the breakup. A bad one.
“I wanted to prove I was strong — mentally and physically,” she says of her ambition to be an athlete. “So I joined this run club. I was totally out of shape. Could barely run the three miles. I was dying.”
But she kept showing up.
The support she found in Fort Worth’s fitness community didn’t just bolster her training — it gave her a renewed sense of purpose. “I finally felt seen,” she said. “I didn’t have to explain myself.”
Stephen Montoya
That sense of belonging only sharpened her drive. Segrest wasn’t just showing up for herself — she was showing up for every person who’s ever felt out of place. Her work ethic intensified. Her races got faster. And when someone in her run club was mocked for not being “good enough” to be an ambassador, Segrest didn’t flinch. She took it as a challenge.
“That kind of attitude just doesn’t sit right with me,” she said. “It motivated me to push harder and be someone people can look to for support, no matter where they’re starting from.”
So she did.
A few races later, she found herself chasing something more intense: triathlons. Sprint ones, specifically. That’s 750 meters in the water, 10–19.5 miles on the bike, and a 5K run to cap it off.
They call it a sprint because it never stops. There’s no cruising. No coasting. You go hard. From whistle to finish line.
“It’s a mental game,” Segrest says. “That’s what people don’t understand. It’s not just your body. You have to want it when everything hurts.”
On race day at the Texas North State Championship, she didn’t feel like a champion.
“I didn’t even want to go,” she admits. “I was sitting in bed making excuses. It was so far away. I was tired. I was like, ‘What if I just don’t do this one?’”
But she went. Slipped into the wetsuit. Fought through the claustrophobia. Hit the water.
And came out dead last in the swim.
“Still won, though,” she smiles. “Because I didn’t stop.”
Sarah’s philosophy is simple. “Have blinders on,” she says. “Don’t worry about what everyone else is doing. Be 10% better than you were yesterday. Stay humble. Have fun. Remember the people who helped you get here. Don’t lose yourself.”
She doesn’t care about medals. She cares about character.
Because in a world obsessed with podiums, Segrest is chasing something deeper. She’s chasing the girl she used to be — the one who couldn’t finish three miles, the one who didn’t feel like she belonged, the one who still hopes her birth mother might one day find her name in a headline and smile.
And that’s what she thinks about when the alarm goes off at 3:30 a.m.
That’s why she shows up.
Because winning isn’t just crossing the finish line. Sometimes, it’s simply being the one who refused to quit — even when you’re the last one out of the water.
Stephen Montoya
And for any young women wanting to follow the same path, Segrest has a few words of advice.
“No matter your platform or your time, it doesn't make you who you are. At the end of the day, it's your character,” she says. “I think that's the most important thing for any girl who wants to get into this style of competition. Just don't lose yourself in the process and have fun because the time that you don't have fun, then you're not doing it for yourself anymore.”
