Amazing, what a change of scenery can do! Immediately after
dropping anchor at Nice the stress of all the preparations
and travel had turned into a completely different sensation:
Incredibly fine sunshine and the beach merely 200 meters from
the apartment. Grand!
The upcoming events were shedding their light all over town,
be it by day ...
... or by night.
To be honest, when first having direct contact with the sea
I was truly scared shitless.
There were some yellow buoys, separating swimmers from motor-boats.
However, for the official event's training some red buoys
were temporarily placed. When I saw the distance from the
shore I turned pale as a ghost. A Spanish combatant was standing
nearby and despite of his impressive tan he turned pale as
well. We both decided that this sensation will doubtlessly
apply to all of the 2500 participants. As a contrast, my inspections
of the bike course presented me with some amazing views and
a native population that was predominantly inclined towards
cycling.
At this point I would like to stress the impressive "Riviera-compatibility"
of the Pirate outfit.
As on many more occasions I always had the feeling of being
anything but isolated in this part of the world.
And so it happened that the days before the competition became
an unexpectedly wonderful bit of holiday for my family and
me. Amongst other activities we inspected the local fauna.
For instance, seagulls changing breeding-shifts: We observed
the partner who was guarding the offspring as it was sitting
in the blazing sun for several hours. I consider this to be
a fine example for severe toughness!
But nighttime as well revealed its beastly actors.
In some cases we decided to be more selective.
At some point I thought it was time to become friends with
the sea and tested the conditions in a wetsuit.
I suppressed all thoughts about the farthest of the competition's
red buoys and instead, as shy beginner, headed for one of
the yellow, 300 meter buoys. That actually went surprisingly
well. Except for an occasional mouth full of salt water I
found myself having no real issues with the waves. Orientation
is not as smooth as in a calm lake. However, as an advantage
previously unknown to me, the sea water and a wetsuit were
obviously made for each other.
Nevertheless, I was getting comfortable with the thought of
not being able to come in below 1:20h on this race's course.
After picking up the race pack, the psychological tension
was increasing noticeably.
The final preparations for the bike had to be made. A puncture
on one of my excursions had warned me of the risks of over-ambitious
tires. Instead, I decided to stick with the category "bomb-proof".
The check-in on the fortnight of the event revealed that none
of the combatants had been spared of the excitement.
>From this point on anything missed out or packed wrong would
become an uncorrectable mistake.
On the other hand, the check-in finalized things temporarily.
And it so happened that I slept short but well. It was a slightly
surreal scenery marching past the shops of the titans of fashion
this early in the morning. Latest by now my crew was at just
as jittery as myself.
And this is how it looks like when there's just a few minutes
left while standing in a queue for the loo.
After successfully making use of the relieving device I zipped
up the wetsuit. It was due time to head for the beach to meet
2500 fellow enthusiasts of endurance sports.
I assume that the following pictures are self explaining.
Anyone ever having attended such a start will intensively
feel the excitement.
The moment one goes into the water, perception flips from
outside to inside. I can remember various phases in which
I was predominantly dealing either with competitors, or my
body, or the water. The course offered a long loop, a short
land exit and a not-so-long second loop. For some reason I
never got to see the first buoy. The group was navigating
automatically. In contrast to smaller scale competitions I
noticed that the competitors were acting more cautiously,
avoiding unnecessary contact. Everybody seemed to have in
mind the long distances that would follow. The land exit became
very unpleasant due to the waves tagging us back while struggling
in-between the sheer mass of competitors. The same discomfort
applied to the final exit after the second lap. While my legs
were cramping I was pulled out from the water by helping hands.
I was certainly in not a good mood ...
... until I saw the time: 1:08:57 Awesome! Allez, allez, get
the bike bag, ...
... find a spot in the tent, slip off the wetsuit, get the
bike stuff, toss some water at the salty mouth, ...
.... grab the bike, hop on at the line and ... push the pedals
hard, because now I was back on solid ground!
Unfortunately, there are no pictures of the bike split that
would not infringe any copyrights. But I can assure you that
the following 5:36h became the most magnificent bike ride
in my competitive career so far. After a few miles along the
coast line the course led us up into the Alps of the Provence.
A total of 1800 meters of ascent make this bike split to be
considered as one of the hardest in the Ironman series. Therefore,
as an ex mountain bike marathon racer the course was as if
tailored to my preferences: No suckers drafting, technical
descents with up to 98,7km/h and the rare chance to jubilate
madly while outpacing smiling policemen on motorcycles.
When heading back to Nice I had to mentally prepare for the
"finale al dente".
Some time before the event I had acquired an orthopedic condition
and I was well aware that the original plan of a blazing marathon
was no longer realistic.
What might seem to be a brisk pace on this picture in reality
was a sharp pain with every landing of my left leg.
In addition to that we were blessed with a cloudless sun shining
on shadeless asphalt. Indeed, the heat was on!
I was able to sustain the pace as planned for the first of
four laps. But then I saw the first competitors collapsing.
And it was getting hotter ...
... while I reduced the pace. And it was getting hotter, ...
... and everyone was trying to stay cool in their own way,
...
.... and it remained hot, until finally ...
... I had collected all three tricolor wristbands, allowing
me to enter the canal leading to the finish line. Strategically
ideal, Adrian had already positioned himself right behind
the line. Again, I assume that the pictures speak more than
words:
And they lived happily ever after ...
.... except for the manner in which the Athlete's Garden or
the bike check-out had been organized. In my eyes this was
lacking a bit on dignity and does not stand any comparison
to similar events in Germany. A couple of Spanish combatants
actually became quite rude and decided to express themselves
by means of "airborne plastic bottles". In the end, all of
us had to hand-pick her or his bike from 2500 others. Just
imagine, cohorts of dehydrated, ill-dressed people stumbling
around 2500 expensive bicycles.
By now, my left leg had become close to immobile and my back
resembled a traffic sign.
Cooling agents were well received.
Unfortunately I had to skip the closing party at the finish
line. I had done the mistake of lying down on the bed and
my leg did not allow me to get up any longer. However, my
crew went there to take a few pictures of the Promenade des
Anglais at night ...
... and the fireworks.
The following day I somehow managed to dismantle the bike,
pack my luggage and to move about town a bit. I gave my farewell
to the sea, the beach with the start line and the Promenade
where the finish had taken place. A particularly emotional
moment for a particularly emotional experience! The next day
we returned the keys of the apartment and headed towards the
airport.
A smooth flight back home gave us the chance for some peaceful,
final impressions.
So, now I'm an Ironman!
01:08:59 - Swim
00:05:07 - T1
05:36:39 - Bike
00:05:23 - T2
03:35:44 - Run
10:31:52 - Total
After crossing the finish line I was convinced to never attempt
doing something like this again. The next day it was reported
that someone had heard me mumble something like "when I turn
50 ...". About a week later I had to correct my official statement:
"I am not watching others for 5 years. Not next year but the
year after!" Err, ... well, perhaps ... let's see ;>
Such an event is not to be taken lightly. From my perspective
the hardest part is to make it physically safe and mentally
sound to the start line. I clearly want to warn anyone not
to engage on something like this based on a drunken bet. But
whoever prepares properly is in for an invaluable experience.
For me one thing is for certain:
All being well, I will find myself again standing on this
beach, wearing a rubber suit and waiting for the gun.
Peace
Captn Crook a.k.a. Alex