|
|
RACE REPORT
It was Wednesday evening and the sun was going down as we flew in over the Alps. It was still just light enough for us to make out the sheer size of the mountains we would be climbing on the bike course. Once over the Alps, we went out over the Mediterranean and turned back in towards Nice, where we got a full view of the beautiful Bay of Angels, where we would be swimming, and, surrounding the bay in a necklace of fluorescent light, was the Promenade des Anglais, where the final challenge of the run would take place.
On the Thursday before the race there was an organized ride over the first 20km or so of the bike course, which was to take in a dead flat, 10km along the seafront, and then turn up towards the first climb. We were told the beginning of the climb averaged out at 6% gradient, but no-one mentioned that the first two parts of the climb were about 15 – 16% and not exactly short. Basically, we were out of our saddles, in our smallest gear, and when you consider there was 100km to go, it didn’t exactly fill anybody with confidence about how the rest of the course would pan out. Eventually the climb did even out to about 6%, but we were told the actual climb from Vence onwards up the Col de Vence was at least another 20km and, although the gradient didn’t change much, it was a consistent 8-9%, which didn’t bear thinking about.
The rest of the week I spent resting and preparing myself for the race to come.
RACE DAY
As usual, since competing in the long course races, I went to bed the night before the race wishing I didn’t have to get up in the morning, but, as sure as the sun comes up in the morning, my alarm clock went off at 4am, but, as usual, I was wide awake before it went off anyway. So I gave Adam, my mate and training partner, a nudge and we got up to have our breakfast. I’ve found, from experience, what I like on a race morning for my breakfast, and if I’m not sure they will have it I bring my own – and I do like my Weetabix!
THE SWIM
The swim was a single 4km loop in the Mediterranean Sea, in the Bay of Angels, opposite Nice’s famous Promenade des Anglais. It was an awesome sight to see over 2000 athletes crowded together on the beach in holding pens, literally like cattle off to the slaughter!
I already had a plan for how I was going to do the swim, and that was to stay very wide of the main pack of people until they had spread out a bit more, after the first turn buoy. This meant there was less chance of getting hit and being put out of the race before it really got started. The extra few metres I would have to swim wouldn’t equate too much in the grand scheme of things. In such a long race that lasts over 10 hours for some people a couple of minutes here or there wouldn’t make much difference to your overall standing at the end. (Slowly, slowly catchy monkey – as someone once said!)
The horn went and the race was on. I had a couple of slight scuffles in the first few minutes, trying to get some free water, and it didn’t take long before I’d got into my own rhythm. Although the weather was nothing like predicted, there was still quite a good swell to the sea, but it wasn’t choppy. This just meant that, whereas I would normally sight every 6-8 strokes for directions, I was only able to sight when I could feel myself being lifted to the top of the swell, which wasn’t often enough for my liking.
I came to the first turn buoy, which was 800m out, and took a wide berth because, as usual in a race this size, it was absolute carnage close to the buoy. Everybody tries to take the shortest line, which, as I’ve realized over time, is not necessarily the quickest route.
Once I had turned I soon realized the race organizers had made a bit of a cock up, because all of the main marker buoys were red and guess what colour our hats were – yes, you’ve guessed it, RED!! This presented a big problem as you lose all perspective in open water like that and what you thought was a buoy turns out to be a meandering swimmer, also not knowing exactly where they are themselves! Luckily, earlier in the week, I had been given other tips on sighting by people who had done the swim before, and one guy told me as long as I headed for the tip of the mountains, where they dropped into the sea, I would get a good line to the next turn around buoy. So this is how I decided to carry on.
The next thing I’m aware of is a speed boat pulling up beside me with a marshal waving his arms and shouting, "Arret, arret! A droit! A droit!" which, to all you uncultured people, is French for "Stop, stop! Go right! Go right!" So I stopped and took a look around and realized I was a long way off course. I couldn’t see any other competitors, or Nice. All I could see were the mountains behind! I was told later that the currents in the bay were sometimes very strong, but personally I think as long as you’re sighting the right landmark, you shouldn’t go wrong, however strong the current is. (I reckon I was either looking at the wrong site or the guy who gave me the tip was talking out of his …..!)
By working really hard, I managed to make my way back to the race. By now there was a steady stream of swimmers making their way round and I steadily drifted up to and then past quite a few over the rest of the course. I finally got out of the water in 1hr 7mins, which was good considering what had happened!
THE RIDE
After running through the biggest transition area I’m ever likely to see in my life - it was about 500-800m long - I found my bike, carefully and methodically put my bike gear on, then ran another couple of hundred metres to the bike out, only to be told I’d forgotten my number belt. So much for taking my time and getting it right!
The first part of the bike course ran flat along the Promenade des Anglais and then turned through the back of Nice. From that point on I was never to see a flat road again! (Well, not until the end!) Luckily, having ridden the first part of the course on the previous Thursday, I had a rough idea of what was to come, but having a rough idea and a small imagination could not have prepared me for what the bike course had in store.
The climb up to Vence, which we had already ridden on Thursday, held no real surprises, apart from my mate Adam, who I hoped wouldn’t catch me until at least half way round the bike course, caught me just as I got to Vence. We had a few words then I told him to go on because I didn’t want to have to try and keep up with him. Once he’d gone I got back into my own rhythm and carried on.
Once past Vence, the course went onto the Col de Vence, which was the main part of the climb. It just seemed to keep on going. Every corner you went round you thought "this has got to be the end" but no, it just kept on going. At one point the gradient increased slightly, so, to keep my momentum going, I got out of the saddle and then Bang! My back clunked and it was out. Fortunately for me it was an old problem which, although it hurt a bit and I felt tight, it wasn’t something that would stop me. So I changed down a gear and just kept trying to spin my legs out, so I didn’t put too much pressure on my back.
After what seemed like ages I broke through the tree line and could see a break in the mountain, which I presumed was where the road went through. After another km I looked up again and could just about make out little colourful dots zigzagging up another part of the mountain. My heart sank as I realized there was still more of this climb to go. I pulled myself together and started in earnest for the top.
A short time later I turned a corner to see about 100m ahead of me the bright yellow bike of Adam, who had passed me an hour before. So lifted by this, I raised my game a bit, so I could catch him before the top. When I caught up I eased back to see if he was okay, he was as good as could be expected considering the climb. He’d just hit the climb a bit too hard and had had to ease back. We ended up going over the top together, making sure to appreciate the view as we went over. And then came the descent!
Like the climb, nothing could have prepared us for the descent. 30km downhill! We went over the top and what a relief it was to be going downhill. I still had to keep my wits about me because, although this descent had quite a lot of long straightish roads on it, there were still a lot of corners that suddenly went from a gentle bend to a hairpin and, unless you were totally concentrating every second, you would be off. As the ride went on people either got tired or too brave and the crashes became more and more frequent. At one point I heard Adam’s voice behind me going "wooooooooooh", as he totally missed the turn, but luckily went straight off the bend down an old track.
Part way down the descent a biker in the French team came past me like I was standing still. Realizing he knew the course like the back of his hand and knew the best lines to take on the bends, I got out of my saddle and put the power down to catch him. For some time I followed his every move and the time I must have saved was great, but his bike skills were obviously better than mine and he got the better of me as I battled on one of the hairpin bends. I carried on down as best I could with my new found confidence and finally got to the bottom, where we followed the river bed for a while. I took the opportunity to get off and stretch my back out as it was causing me a lot of grief. I ended up having to do this three times before the second climb, but by then I knew I would be able to do the other climbs because, although they were the same gradients, they were only about 10-12km, as opposed to the 20 or 30km of the Col de Vence.
Again, before the third climb, I had to get off and stretch. Just knowing it was the last climb made me enjoy it and take it all in, because after this climb there was, apparently, the worst descent on the course. It was described as ‘trecheros’ in the race info’, and boy, was it! 16 hairpin bends in a 5km descent and the road conditions were disgusting – a bumpy surface and rubble, which had fallen from the cliffs above – which made braking onto the bends impossible. So I had to be continuously braking all the way, to make sure my speed didn’t get too high, making it dangerous on the turns. By the time I was at the bottom my hands were killing me from the pressure of all the braking and my full weight going through them onto the handlebars.
I later found out that Adam had a blow-out on one of his tyres, because all the braking caused his tyres to heat up so much that they burst. When he went to change it he burnt his hand and had to pour precious water onto it so he could change it.
After the descent, the last 17km were gently rolling back towards Nice and just before I came back onto the Promenade des Anglais we passed through the 2.5km tunnel du Pallion. I was absolutely dying to get off my bike. Never before have I looked forward to getting off my bike and running, normally it’s just the opposite! As I came up from the tunnel du Pallion, back into the bright sunshine, the crowds went mad as each rider, including myself, came up out of the tunnel. It was amazing and as I got nearer to the transition the crowds got thicker and thicker. This, to me, was what it was all about, being at the world championships representing my country and hearing the crowds cheer. It didn’t matter what country I came from, or whether I was elite or not, they were there to support their friends and family, or on holiday and just caught up in the spectacle of it all, saying to the person next to them, "How far did you say they swim/ride/run????"
THE RUN
Anyway, I came into transition and came to my area, had half a litre of my drink, got my shoes on and I was off. My back was still causing some problems, but I knew I could finish, I would just have to take it a bit easy. I soon realized, after a few miles, that my foot (which I had banged on the cobbles getting out of the sea) was getting worse from the running. It never bothered my on the bike because the pressure was different on my peddles, but now the repeated pounding on my forefoot was becoming too much to stand, or should I say too much to run on! Soon after that I had to stop and ease out my hamstrings and then walk for a bit until my foot had eased off.
I tried at first to stretch and walk only at the aid stations and then jog in between, but by the end of the first lap I was so sore I was having to stop a lot more. Also, holding my back so stiff was causing me to desperately need the toilet, and I’m not talking just a no.1! I soon came to realize there were NO toilets on the course. Now if that isn’t one of the biggest oversights in a race that lasts 9 hours, then I don’t know what is. In the end I was so desperate that I was asking spectators if they knew where there might be a public toilet off the course. Two ladies called over to me and said there was one in the park we had to run round, so they lead me to it and kindly gave me some money to get in. To my absolute dismay the bloody thing was out of order, but they said there was another on the other side of the park. So I ran back to where I had cut off the course and continued to run round the park, but I couldn’t find it. Luckily I had ended up back near the transition and, remembering that there were some toilets in there, I ran off the course again and went to the transition. After explaining my predicament to the marshals they finally let me in to use the toilets.
After finding great relief in more ways than one, I had another stretch and carried on. I was able to get going a bit better than the first lap. I still had to keep stopping to ease my legs and foot out, but I felt much better and actually started to overtake some of the athletes who had passed me earlier.
As I started to get back to where the crowds were thickening I realized again that some of the spectators were not only saying "Come on, Great Britain" but were calling my name, which as we all know is so uplifting it’s unbelievable. I later found out that a lot of the GB supporters had been given GB numbers and names so they could support us that much more, and it worked for me.
I only had a couple more kilometres to go and I wasn’t stopping for anyone, even if it did feel like my foot was broken. In that last couple of km’s I passed easily 40-50 people, some I’m sure still had another lap to go, but I didn’t care, it made me feel great. As I came into the finishing straight I caught up with one of the GB team who I had been having a little race with on the run, he’d been having problems as well. I slowed up to go over the line with him, but he said no and insisted that I could catch the five others in front of us, so I did and what a feeling as I crossed the line. It was indescribable, unless you had been through it yourself and then you would have had your own mountains to climb!
Adam, who had passed me near the end of the first lap of the run, was waiting to congratulate me as I finished. I picked up my medal and T-shirt and found a lovely big bit of fruit cake and went to transition where Adam and I had stashed some tins of Kronenburg 1664 to celebrate our finishing. We lay there for some time chatting about the race to people as they finished and patting each other for a race well done. We both agreed that no amount of training in England could have prepared us for the bike course and that if we did the race again, we would definitely come to train over in Nice to prepare.
All in all, it was my race of a lifetime and, without the sponsorship from the Club and others like Advance Performance, not only would I not have been able to get to the race, but when I was on the run and wanted to stop and end it, knowing that I would have to face you lot when I got home kept me going – and I’m glad it did!
Thanks to everyone for your support and I hope I didn’t waffle on too much!
Michael