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The Long Way to Nice - Part 5: D-Day!

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



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