I persevered, I tried and employed the same determination and focus that I had used during my previous Ultra-distance races. I slogged on and chipped away at it.
But then, alas, it happened, the submaximum heart rate, VO2 max, lactate threshold, base level this and anaerobic that, charts and graphs measuring velocity and critical power output was all too much: my head exploded!
I got up, put the book away and went for a run.
I gave up on the studying for two reasons:- 1 - I hadn’t got a clue what they were talking about, and 2 - I wasn’t enjoying it.
The Norseman is held in August, a year from now, so I should, if disciplined enough, be able to still train for it. I cherry-picked bits from the book and used it as a guide only. I was back on track.
Spend the next 12 months training, easy.
I was keenly aware that my previous two triathlons had been completed on a mixture of luck and bluff. Fitness and stubbornness were my two main assets - they had been enough, just, to get me to the finish line.
The Norseman was different - any flaws in my training would soon be exposed and the price for any such flaws would be high.
The Norseman, in a word, commanded respect. I would need to train properly, a real Ironman training schedule is what I needed to focus on. The kit would have to be spot on and according to the race rules I would need to provide a support crew.
First things first, a training schedule. With this in mind I cherry-picked what I thought to be the relevant bits, drew up a plan of action and started training.
The one fly in the ointment was the fact that nine weeks after The Norseman I would be racing across the Kalahari Desert in a race called Augrabies Extreme Ultra Marathon and fourteen weeks after that I would be in the Yukon to race in a 430 mile race called the Yukon Arctic Ultra.
So, unfortunately, my running would have to take priority.
Training for so many tough events was pushing my luck a bit. I couldn’t afford to get injured and I couldn’t afford to skip sessions. As is always the case, training, working and being a husband (those 3 things are not in any particular order, HONEST) is always going to be difficult and so it proved.
My wife works unsociable shifts and runs marathons and half-marathons with the occasional triathlon so was sort of understanding about the training. So I could either train when she was at work or train when she trains.
Time was still tight and required the skills of a master juggler. Fortunately the training was progressing nicely, with regular 60 mile bike rides and regular 100 length session in the pool, with an occasional open water swim.
As The Norseman crept ever closer so my training increased, maxing out with a 110 length swim session which was done a couple of times and a 104 mile bike ride which I did on 4 occasions.
I felt good, I felt confident, I was ready.
Arriving at Eidfiord, the small Norwegian town that was once again to host The Norseman, and meeting the other athletes I suddenly wondered if I hadn’t once again, bitten off more than I could chew. There were some very fit-looking athletes here, all with stories of multi Ironman races, and previous Norsemans.
Too late now - we will see tomorrow.
THE RACE
Arriving at the ferry in the dark and wearing a wetsuit, I for some bizarre reason, was not in the least bit nervous. After a while people started making their way up onto the deck. It was still dark and the lights in the town of Eijdfjord were twinkling away like the stars in the sky - they certainly appeared to be the same distance away. I made my way to the ramp, that had now become an impromptu diving board. It was some 4 meters above the water, the intention being to recce the thing before getting my head round the fact that I was about to jump off a Norwegian ferry at daft o’clock in the morning. However, things conspired against me, the ramp was slippery and wet. The moment I stepped on to the thing I was committed to the jump. The swim booties I was wearing afforded no traction, in other words I couldn’t get back up and so it was a very undignified start. As I left the ferry I seemed to be suspended in space - it took ages to hit the water and if I thought it took ages to hit the water it took bloody ages to hit the surface.
It was now that I realised the 2:4 mile swim was at least 400 meters longer, it was at least that distance to the start line. As I turned back to the lights on the ferry it reminded me of the scene in the film the Titanic, when passengers were jumping for their lives.
As the last of the athletes made their way over to the start, we were guided into position by kayakers and then bang on 05:00 the ship’s horn sounded and the Norseman 2010 was officially under way.
I settled into a nice steady pace and by steady I mean slow. However, as I glanced back I could see many swimmers way behind. I swam along and some time later looked behind and saw half a dozen or so swimmers. One of them was actually doing backstroke. At about half way I realised that I was last.
I could now see the finish line which was right outside a large hotel, the Hotel Voss. However, as I tried to swim toward it, the kayakers had other ideas and kept guiding me to the right. Eventually I lost site of the finish. Then I saw the reason: a marker buoy that I had to go round. I made it round and was now just in front of the hotel. As I got to the finish I realised that I was the only swimmer in the water and had been for some time, all the kayakers were there just for me. As my feet touched the beach I needed a bit of assistance. I had been swimming for two and a half hours (my actual swim time was 2:13). As I was guided up to the first transition and helped out of my wetsuit, I could see just 2 bikes - mine and the bloke who was just leaving.
I got dressed tried to eat then left, hoping that the sooner I got going the sooner I would warm up.
It wasn’t long before the climbing started. I felt good and was certain to catch the others. Last out of the swim was a first for me, so to speak. I have never been in last place (but by the same token I have never been in first place!). I knew swimming was my weakest discipline, just not that weak.
Ah well, should have trained harder. After about 60 km I realised that I had not seen a single cyclist and now that I was on a plateau and could see for miles ahead, and I still couldn’t see a cyclist.
On reaching the halfway CP I saw one of the Austrian athletes who had withdrawn and I felt a bit sorry for him, but I am afraid to say, for some reason, it made me feel better.
Now we were at the halfway mark the real work could begin. Five climbs, one after the other, the longest of the climbs was some 10 km long. Bizarrely, it was whilst on the climbs that I not only saw my first cyclist but actually caught him - this cat and mouse continued. I caught him while climbing, only for him to pass me on the descent and the flat. Eventually the climbing ended and the long 30 km descent began, full of switchbacks and very technical: great care was needed.
My cycling is a lot like my running. I can climb pretty well but when it comes to descending I am a wuss, very slow and overly cautious. It annoys the hell out of me because I always lose so much time.
Ah well, I was now watching the distance markers counting down to the next transition. Then turning a corner, there it was - The Norseman banner and flags indicating the transition.
On arriving I was greeted by my support crew and told “You’ll have to hurry, you’ve got 7 minutes.” After spending a little over 9 hours cycling and knowing that most of those precious 7 minutes would be required to just get me off the bike, I made a decision that I had never made before in 14 years of racing some of the toughest races in the world:- I withdrew, scratched, pulled out, retired, whatever name you want to give it. I knew that with what the swimming had taken out of me and the 9 hour monster bike ride, a mountain marathon was one step too far. I knew with my hand on my heart that I hadn’t trained enough and had grossly overestimated my ability.
Glad that swimming is over - wish I had trained harder!
Above - not only was I last out of the water, but I was having a bad hair day.
I was lulling the others into a false
sense of security by giving them all a head start!
THE AUGRABIES EXTREME ULTRA MARATHON 2010
What is it: Ultra-distance Desert stage footrace
When: October
Where: South Africa, the Northern Cape Province
Distance: 155 miles (250km)
It is: Bloody hot and bloody tough
See: extrememarathons.com
This was another one of those races that I’d had my eye on for some time.
The race is held every October, in the Augrabies National Park. A stunningly beautiful area located in the Northern Cape Province of South Africa.
I flew out with Nic, a friend and fellow Ultra-race enthusiast. After a long 11 hour flight to Johannesburg, we were met at the airport by Ed, the British race representative and lover of the race - a race that he had entered and completed 4 times.
Me being me and thus able to apply a simpleton’s logic, reasoned that the race couldn’t be that bad if someone was prepared to return time and time again!
Whilst at the hotel, a few of the other racers started to arrive and as usual it was a complete mixed bag. The one thing we did have in common was the fact that we were all a little nervous.
The next day was a long drive to the Augrabies National Park. Arriving late afternoon we were presented with our race number, chalet key and, most important of all, our ‘goodie bag’. I don’t know what it is about the goodie bag but they always seem to bring out the child in me. I played it cool and resisted the urge to look inside. Once inside the chalet however, I would be like a seven year-old at Christmas: desperate to look inside, to see what goodies I’ve got.
After a quick introduction and brief chat about the dos and don’ts, we were shown our chalet. On entering the chalet the first thing I noticed was the bed. Now I like Nic, I consider him a friend, but there are limits to our friendship and sharing a bed is most definitely not within those limits. I was rapidly forming a plan as to whether we should paper scissor rock, or toss a coin for it, when he pointed out that it was in fact two singles pushed together!
During the registration we got a good look at the other runners and there were some tough-looking South Africans and some very lean-looking racing snakes.
More than once we were told to be careful of the monkeys that roam around and live close to the chalets. They had been brought up living with tourists and consequently have little fear of humans and are opportunist thieves. They will nick anything that they can get their hands on, and more than once they have been seen running through the campsite with their ill-gotten gains which include absolutely anything from glasses, underwear, hats and bits of food - including energy gels and sweets.
During the registration we showed the race crew the bits of kit that we were obliged to have:- sleeping bag, compass, first aid etc, and then we had our rucksacks weighed. Mine weighed in at 7 kilos, a weight that I could only dream of achieving in my earlier desert races. It looked as if I was finally getting the hang of this desert racing malarkey.
The shoes I had decided to wear were made by the British company called UK Gear, I had first seen these specialist desert shoes with their shoe, gaiter combination, during last year’s Atacama Crossing. A guy called Mark Cockbain was wearing them. Mark is a very experienced and well respected Ultra Runner. He is not only sponsored by UK Gear but also told me that they were without doubt the best desert racing shoe he had ever worn. If they were good enough for him they would, I reasoned, be good enough for me! Standing at the start line the following day, my shoe gaiter combination was attracting a lot of attention. I fully understood why - the knee-high gaiters were the same colour as the shoes and it looked as if I was wearing wellies.
Once we were all on the start line, the usual nervous waffle began and, as usual, as soon as the countdown began, the waffle died down. The cameramen and women jostled for position, 3, 2, 1, and we were off. Clapping and cheering, cameras clicking and runners doing their usual running whist trying to look good for that all important photograph, and, as usual, as soon as the photographers were out of sight a more sensible pace was adopted and for some that pace was walking.
It was already bloody hot and thankfully this first day was not too long at 28km, however, I decided that I would like to get the day over and done with as quickly as possible - the less time I spent in the baking heat the better.
My photographers’ posing run felt good and reasonably comfortable and I decided to keep it going for as long as I could. I found myself running with a small group, the pace was comfortable so I decided to hang around with them for a while. That was until one of the group who was experiencing all sorts of problems slowed the group down for the third time to retrieve another dropped piece of kit. My very limited patience got dropped with it and I carried on, on my own.
The terrain was a mixture of jeep tracks, small, steep undulating hills one after the other (requiring constant climbing and descending) loose gravel and sharp tricky rocks. It was technical running at its best, every step needed concentration.
I continued running and all the time kept an eye out for the route markers. It was hot and slowly getting hotter, reaching 42 degrees at one of the checkpoints.
Everything felt good, the rucksack, shoes and clothing were performing well, no hot spots (areas that get hot prior to a blister developing). I was using a camelbak that contained an electrolyte drink and in my hand I carried a 750ml bottle of water - the theory being that I would be able to top up just my water bottle in seconds as opposed to the minutes it would take to refill a camelbak.
I was doing well and felt comfortable. No-one had overtaken me, however, about three km from the finish line I was overtaken by the group I had been running with earlier. They looked strong, too strong for me. I know my pace and I was running at a pace I knew I could maintain for a long time. Unfortunately, the problem with that pace is that there is no acceleration: I could only watch the group go.
I carried on trying to work out my overall position in the field and then about a kilometre from the end, the bite valve, a small rubber mouthpiece that fits on to the end of the drinking straw on the camelbak, came off and fell into the sand, I bent down to retrieve the thing only for the contents of the camelbak to come pouring out and onto my shoes and so it was that I finished my first days desert running with wet feet!
Arriving at the campsite I was pleasantly surprised:- it was not only in a beautiful location but the clincher was that it was on the banks of a river, a reward that I hoped would be repeated. (It wasn’t!)
After a quick swim, which in turn had two important benefits: one was to cool me down and the other was to wash away the stench and grime, I made my way over to the gazebo which was to be our home throughout the race. On my way, however, I caught the faint smell of barbecued steak - the smell was wonderful and I instantly decided that the support crew were sadists, deliberately cooking steaks, so that the poor unfortunate racer with his sawdust-like concoction would cry and salivate and beg forgiveness. I was stronger than that and pretended I couldn’t see or smell the wonderful aroma of freshly-cooked, juicy, barbecued steaks. I walked past the support crew area - the surprising thing was that the smell just got stronger. Then I realised that it wasn’t the support crew at all, but some of our so-called fellow racers, the bastards had the foresight to bring with them, for a first night treat, some vacuum-packed steaks.
I reflected on the first day, and for me it had been textbook - everything had gone perfectly, I was in a good position, had no blisters, no hot spots or chaffing.
I lay there eating my rather unappetising rehydrated pack of sawdust, when I suddenly realised that so-called perfect day hadn’t been as mishap-free as I had thought. My inflatable mattress had developed a slow puncture. I quickly realised that the puncture had occurred because I had strapped it to the top of my rucksack and brushed against a camelthorn. These nasty thorn-laden bushes wait for the unsuspecting innocent Ultra-distance runner to brush past and then attack, by shredding anythi
ng that touches it - clothes, skin or inflatable mattresses. This could be a disaster - the ground was rock hard, no mattress would mean no sleep. The whole thing left me feeling a little deflated, sorry, I couldn’t help it!
I located the hole and set about repairing the thing with duct tape. It sort of worked, but, in reality, the slow puncture became just a little slower.
Unfortunately, not everyone had had such a good day: one of the girls had missed one of the route markers and ventured off the route. This consequently had added another 8 miles to her total distance. Not only that, she had frightened herself and knocked her self-confidence. The 42 degree heat and the fact she was low on water, combined with not knowing where the hell she was had really scared her. It was only when one of the race crew realised that she was not where she should have been that he worked out where she could have gone wrong. He then back tracked and luckily found the now distraught but relieved runner, he then guided her back onto the proper trail.
As the last runner came in, at a time of six and a half hours - as opposed to the first person who came in at two hours eleven minutes - we all cheered them in.
The first casualty of the race was a heatstroke victim, though he had made it across the finish line the race medics were a little concerned and checked him out, and to err on the side of caution were taken to the local hospital where the decision was made to not allow the runner to continue.
DAY 2
Today the race organisers had decided to split the race start into two groups: the slower runners would be starting an hour before the faster ones. For some reason I had been classed as one of the faster runners and was in the second group. The theory was that all the runners would be finishing closer together, rather than being so spread out.
Fartleks & Flatulence Page 16