Writing a race report is kind of therapeutic: you get to deal emotionally with the good and bad bits of the race. I actually write much of it in my head while on the bike. It helps me get through those long hours. Most, if not all of what I write in my head never finds it's way into written words, and sometimes a report never gets penned at all. And when it does, you will find I ramble on. But then this is for me, it's my record of the event. I'll let you read it if you like. So, here is my race report for Challenge Roth 2012, the biggest, and funnest full distance triathlon in the world. It's more than a race, it's a festival, a party even.
Build up
My build up to the race could hardly have been worse, although I don't want to tempt fate. Mostly, my training went reasonably well, for winter that is. I count my weeks backwards from race day, and only start thinking of real training for an event at about week 8 (i.e. 8 weeks out). Weeks 5 and 4 are the critical ones for me, and I didn't get much done at that time mainly due to really cold June weather. But the weeks before and after that were good. But then I did absolutely nothing for the last two weeks, firstly due to a surfing escapade which I enjoyed but was a bad idea. Hey, you only live once. More critically 10 days out I developed a bad cold, and started on antibiotics 8 days before my race. Yes, I know antibiotics don't fix a cold, but it's the secondary infection that actually lays me low, and what I needed to get on top of.
I knew I was taking a bit of risk flying in 4 days before the race, but I had a carefully planned flight schedule to minimise the jet lag. However when I booked my tickets I hadn't factored in that I might be sick. Because my eventual decision to race in Roth was a very late one, I had not booked any accommodation, so staying in Nurnberg was my only option. I was lead to believe the great German public transport system would work for me. It did not. I don't dispute that its a great public transport system - it's brilliant. But it didn't fit in around the race organisation schedule, particularly in light of the fact that the start and T1 (transition 1) are some 10km away from the finish, and that they choose to hold the race briefing at 6pm the night before the race - a very unsatisfactory time given my location and reliance on public transport.
The upshot of this was that on the afternoon before the race I had to ride my bike 15km, walk 4km, and hitchhike the rest. I arrived back at my accommodation some 6 hours after I left, at 8pm, exhausted and hungry. Now my normal pre race schedule involves lying down from about noon the day before the race. Add to this the fact that I was still jet lagged and getting over a cold. My legs ached when I climbed stairs - my key indicator that I needed rest. A full distance triathlon the next day was definitely not my preferred list of things to do.
And on race day I had to wake up at 4.30am, more than 3 hours before my start. In Wanaka and Taupo I normally only wake up 90 minutes before my start, and I get to bed a lot earlier. Again this was due to the logistics around my accommodation and transport options.
Race morning started with a taxi ride, and a traffic jam. However the traffic was moving and I got to the start without too much stress. It was only when I arrived at the start and saw nearly 4000 bikes racked in the paddock, and the associated hustle and bustle did I begin to feel more comfortable. This is what I had come to do, not hassle with trains, taxis, baggage, foreign languages, antibiotics and so on.
Fortunately Syko Simpson was there, his bike racked near mine, and chatting to him during the two hour wait calmed the nerves. Roth starts in "waves" of about 300 athletes every 5 minutes. I was in the second to last wave 70 minutes after the professionals had set off.
The swim
But before I knew it I was in the water. And I experienced what I call "The Swim Start Effect". What this means, is that once you are in the water nothing else matters. It doesn't matter how good or bad your build up has been, that is all history, you are now racing. "Living in the now" is a concept oft spoken about these days. Well, you don't get more living in the now, than during a triathlon swim. Everything else melts away. It's just you, in the water, in a race, and those pesky goggles that fog up.
I really just cruised the swim. I couldn't see where I was going, so followed whatever feet where in front of me. I used to use $12 goggles and buy a new pair every year or so. This plan worked brilliantly and they never leaked and I could always see where I was going. Then I couldn't source that brand any more, and I switched to expensive $40 goggles, and still buy a new pair every year. Now I can never see out of them when I need to (yes, I do spit in them, but it makes little difference). Go figure. I couldn't read my watch either so had no idea of how far I was through the race. It felt like one of those days where they say you got out of bed on the wrong side. However towards the end of the swim I very grugdingly had to admit to myself I was enjoying swimming in this murky canal on the other side of the world.
The bike
I eventually exited the water some 7 minutes slower than my best time. Now while I had been swimming better than ever in training, I was still pleased with this time, given my circumstances. I nip through transtions pretty quickly these days and was soon on my bike, only to discover that there was rather a fresh breeze blowing. Later I reclassified it from a breeze to a strong wind. And it was doing the old switcheroo. It's a two lap course, and what was headwind on the first lap was tailwind on the second, and vice versa. And while this is one of the fastest courses in the world, the cycle is anything but flat, and it is also quite technical, especially when doing it for the first time. There are some tricky descents. I came across men with red flags. And then hay bales packed around the corners. So I knew I should slow down at these places. Brainy huh? I was doing more braking than I normally like to do on a triathlon course.
The support on the ride was sensational. The first food and drink station was run by the German army. It's hard to describe. It was about 500 m long (probably precisely 500m long). And the boys (and some girls) were resplendent in their uniforms. You were welcomed to the station with soldiers on either side of the road saluting as you rode up. I couldn't help myself I saluted back. Then the attendants were all in a perfect row, about 1.748m apart, right arms held out with Wasser, Iso, Cola (water, isotonic drink and coke), and various items of food.
Many of the intersections were managed by the Polizei, and a superb job they did to, not only managing traffic but directing cyclists as well. It was great to see the race backed by the authorities.
And the fans - well they certainly know how to do it. Some stand by the road. Boring! Others bring their benches, and tables, and they make beer gardens alongside the road, and they sit there in the sun drinking radlers while you sweat your way past. The famous Bier Mile in Eckersmullen is wonderful to see. I wanted to stop and partake, but sadly I was a tad busy.
I've grown up following the Tour de France on TV. Large crowds and cries of Allez Allez Allez are fixed in my head. In this race I got the large crowds but the chant was Hopp Hopp Hopp (Go Go Go). PA systems all along the route kept the music and the chanting coming. I rode up more than one hill to "Moves like Jagger", one of my favorite Ceroc dance songs.
And then there was Solarerberg. Words fail to properly describe what it is like. This is why I came here. A guy like me was never, ever going to ride in a race like the Tour de France. No matter now, I've ridden Solarerberg, and no one can take that away from me. They pressed in 3-4 deep and screamed all the way till I rode over the top. It was amazing, and it will live with me forever.
I got a special surprise just after the start of the second lap. There was a crowd at a certain point on a small hill, and as they do the cyclists tend to bunch up slightly on the hills. As I approached the group, I noticed one of the watching men start running and jockeying for position on the road. Clearly he had singled out a cyclist and wanted to run with him for a while. And then I realised it was me he was aiming to run with. I got an even bigger surprise when I realised who it was. There is a thing called the Challenge Family League. You get points for finishing a Challenge race. There are over 40 thousand people listed in the the league table. I'm quite pleased to be in the top 100 right now. But the fellow who was running with me, and yelling encouragement at the top of his voice is the one who sits at number 1 in the league, Luke Dragstra. I had run a bit with him in Wanaka one year after he injured his ankle and was reduced to a walk, one lap ahead of me. Triathlon is one sport where this happens. The professionals have every respect for age groupers. They know what it takes to get around a course like this, and they know that we are often out there a lot longer they are, that we have much less natural talent, and we get around sometimes on sheer guts and stupidity.
For many years, the 140km point on the bike course has been my nemesis. This is usually the point where I realise that "I can't anymore" (sorry, old army joke). It's not a good place to be, because you still have 40km to ride, the saddle has pushed up to your belly button, and your legs don't want to work those pedals no more. Now, while I hadn't gone passed 90km on the bike since January, I felt as strong over the last 40km as I had any other time of the race. I was about 8 minutes slower than my bike PB, again, not a bad result. But I feel as I now have the bike working for me. My set up is good, especially the wheels, tyres and my position on the bike.
The run
Finally I got to the end of the bike. I was tired and behind overall PB time by about 15 minutes, and my running training hadn't gone superbly well but I had had 4 decent runs between 8 and 12 km, and I wasn't injured. So I was going to give it a go. I ran the first 13k in an hour and a half, and this was well on schedule for a best time. But I know very well it doesn't work like that. Somewhere between 13 and 14km I ran in the proverbial wall, and at 14km I felt very much like a beaten man. Quit I would not, and so I settled in for a long painful 28km walk. I realised I was dehydrated, despite having drank more than I usually do, by at least half. I had only had sports drink, with a small amoint of coke, so I was sure this had given me enough salt.
But once you are dehydrated you can't really reverse that situation if you keep running. So over then next couple of hours I kept walking and had plenty of coke, water and chicken soup (thank you organisers, this was a great decision - our long distance tri coures generallydo not have enough salty foods available). I had thought I could easily walk in under the cut off of 15 hours. The cut off is not strongly enforced - its difficult with the wave starts to do so, but I didn't want to finish outside of it. However I was reduced to a less than 5km per hour walk at one stage and at that rate I wasn't going to make it. At his point I crossed Syko going the other way. He did not look too flash, and pulled out soon after.
My rehydration programme eventually worked, and by 30km I was back running and walking, and from 35km I was able to run the rest of the way. Before that however, I witnessed once of the worst things I have seen in triathlon. An attractive young lass had passed me a bit earlier, and I had remembered her cute pigtail plaits bobbing along as gracefully as she was. Sadly though the next time I saw her she was vomiting up an awful bloody mess. It did not look at all good. Luckily, the marshal patrol boat in the canal alongside the running track had noticed her, and was moving in for a closer look. I waved them in, trying to say, that she needed help quite urgently. One of the other runners was already holding her up. A minute later the ambulance was on its way, and I left the scene somewhat shaken.
The crowds were in behind me by now. They loved my pink set up. At first they where calling out "pink pink", but evntually they went with "super super". And some of them just burst out laughing when they saw me. But I made more than one young lass squeal with delight.
The finish
And so I finally made into the town of Roth. By now it was dark, and there a few magical sections along the cobblestones down classic narrow European alleys. And then on into the finish line area with 10,000 screaming fans. And into the arms of the delightful Kathrin, princess royale of triathlon in Europe. And then prince Felix got down on his knees to welcome me home. Alice gave me a hug too, sweaty as I was. I love these people dearly. They deserve so much respect, mainly because they know how to show it. Long live Roth.
Race photos below
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