I finally post this (loooong) race report, it might give some useful information to people preparing Norseman this year or in the future. For people who are not interested by the description of the preparation: the swim, bike and run legs are indicated in bold, just scroll down ;-)
There are pictures in the original version of the report, but I don't want to overload the page: I'll post only the bike leg profile + marathon profile
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This story starts in october 2015, when I first subscribed to the Norseman. Two things made me dream about participating : like many people, a picture showing triathletes jumping at dawn from a ferry into the fjord ; but also another one, with a wide angle picture of a triathlete on his bike, all alone on the plateau. When you’re used to crowded label-triathlons, this loneliness feeling is priceless. At least for me.
In 2015, the organizers introduced something new : anyone being unlucky on year one would get an extra chance if he participated to the lottery on year two, then if he ‘d been unlucky again, three chances on year three, and so on.
Hence my re-subscription in 2016, without any hope to be selected, just hoping to add a new chance for the years to come.
Checking my mailbox on November, 13th, I see an e-mail sent by « « Isklar Norseman Extreme T ». I’m expecting the same text as the year before, but on the screen appears this single line:
"Welcome to Norseman"
Reading this line, my heartbeat gets faster, and I spend the whole evening reading several race reports of the previous years, even if I had already read the race manual carefully. I’ve sought and read many other race reports in the next months. It helped me a lot to prepare the race, that’s why I write a report myself even if I normally never do so.
I won’t go to much into details, people who subscribe are supposed to have at least a basic triathlon experience, not to say a long distance triathlon experience. However, on the Facebook group (NB : for athletes only) created by the organizers after the lottery, one guy asked questions that showed that he had never been in a transition zone before… Well, maybe this guy is doing 200km cross-country skiing every weekend.
Here are a couple of figures regarding my preparation, it is however not a invitation to do the same, some athletes did probably better than me with less (or more ; or differently) training.
From the date of the lottery (13/11/2016) to the evening before the race (04/08/2017) :
1 - Distances
Swimming: 204,1km
Cycling: 6'446,2km
Running: 1'598,1 km
2- Elevation
Swimming: 2m (yes, yes, several upstream trainings :-D )
Cycling: 72'000m
Running: 18’000m
3- Long sessions (i.e. more than 3,5km swimming, more than 130km cycling and more than 21 km running)
Swimming: 3 (3,8km ; 4km et 4,2km)
Cycling: 6 (162km, 160km, 137km, 146km, 155km et 154km)
Running: 5 (34km, 26km, 21km, 21km et 24km)
4- In total, three cold water swimming sessions
December, Brittany, Atlantic Ocean, once 1 km, once 2km, water temperature 11°
April, Luxembourg, Remerschen lake, 2,5km, water temperature 13°
May, Geneva, Lake Geneva, 1km without wetsuit, water temperature 17°
5 – Miscellaneous: no training camp, or rather: a planned 7-day training camp in May that ended up in a… 2-day training camp due to gastro-enteritis.
But before starting with the training programme, the priority is to find an accommodation for the days prior to the race (and the night after). Just after receiving the « registration » e-mail, I pay the subscription fee, and I start to search for an appartment or a hotel in the vicinity of Eidfjord. Some people have been more clever than me and made reservations even before the lottery. It seems that only a minority of the unlucky participants cancel their reservations rapidly; that’s why I at first only found a room in Granvin, 25min by car from Eidfjord. I made a reservation but decided to keep on searching, and I saw there was a camping in Eidfjord. During my first trip in Norway in 2008, I had seen that many campings rent huts and appartments. I called Kjaertveit camping, expecting to hear that there was nothing available, but to my surprise, the guy replied that he still had an appartment available.
That’s how I got one of the closest apartments to T1, across the river, 3 minutes by foot. Ideal for those who want to sleep as much as possible the night before the race.
Logistics are essential in this race, it takes time and energy to anticipate the needs in terms of nutrition or clothing, among other things. Unlike many triathlons, it is not conceivable to use only a trisuit for the whole race: you have to change clothes several times depending on the weather.
Having thought it over during a couple of months, I finally decided to go to Norway by car. I was first considering to take the plane, but I think it was good for my nerves and those of my wife, who accompanied me, to drive instead: several competitors had to wait for their bikes or luggage at the airport because it was lost during stop overs.
Just to warn people who think it’s possible to do this with a small car : I have a leisure activity vehicle, which allowed us to carry a lot of things without worrying about the space. Bike, gear, food, everything fitted inside and we still had some room left, just in case.
The trip was as follows: Luxembourg-Bonn on Saturday (seven days before the race), Bonn-Kiel on Sunday, Kiel-Oslo by ferry from Monday to Tuesday, Oslo-Rjukan (close to the Gaustatoppen) on Tuesday.
On Tuesday afternoon, a 2 hour bike session allows me to discover the first 25km of the marathon. You can read here and there that these 25km are « fairly flat» - well, the « fairly » is probably used because the rest of the marathon is terribly steep.
The same evening, we drive the rest of the 25k-37k by car. I’m superstitious, but after the « t-shirt split » I decide to check only the black-t-shirt part, hoping to be part of the first 160 triathletes… That evening, the summit remains in the clouds, and we’re showered by a heavy rain on Zombie Hill…
On Wednesday morning, we head towards Eidfjord, discovering the bike route but in the other direction. We check the best places to stop during the race and write them down on the map we have printed out ourselves (30 pages, approx. 5 km per page). No rain on the plateau, but 7°C and a mean wind. I’m glad we see this because I wasn’t expecting it. First-timers who arrive directly in Eidfjord via Bergen and who have underestimated the temperature difference must be surprised (and chilled to the bone) on race day when they arrive on their bike in Dyranut, warmed up by a 30km-long climb.
Short stop at Voringfossen, which is not only the official start of the zone where support is authorized, but also a famous touristic place, due to its spectacular waterfall.
We finally arrive in Eidfjord. After the check-in we go to the grocery stores (2 small ones in Eidfjord). If you’re used to eat local and organic food, make sure to bring everything with you, because there’s not much there. As said before, that’s what we have done. For those who don’t have this possibility, we would recommend to go as soon as you arrive in Eidfjord because the longer you wait, the more athletes you will see rushing both stores… I bet the shop keepers could sell a banana for 20 EUR the day before the race. But they don’t.
Thursday, D-2, last bike ride, 1 hour 30 « easy ». I decide to ride along the fjord in the direction of Hardangerbrua, so that I can see a bit of the vicinity, and not only the race course.
After a few minutes, I hear a noise coming from the crankset. There was already a bit of a noise the previous weeks, but nothing serious, and only when the chain was on the big ring. Now it’s there even when the chain is on the small one… (NB: for the race, I changed from 53-39 to 52-36; I always use 11-28 cassettes).
I stop at the bridge to check what’s going on. I tip the big ring a bit and I see that it’s moving sidewards: its bolts are loose. I’m not panicking but I can’t say I’m happy to discover this. I go back to the appartment, using only the small ring in order not to make things worse. There, I check more thouroughly and I notice that one of the four bolts is… gone.
Before I can do anything, my wife (rather stressed the couple of days before the race, as she wasn’t sure whether she would be able to cope, being all alone to support me on race day) tells me to go directly to the mechanic who is available at the race village. Same logic as for the supermarkets: « the more you wait, the more other people will need him ». I follow her advice, and indeed, I don’t have to wait too long: Andreas (first name of the mechanic) finishes to help John (BIB 232) with the battery on his Di2, and then it’s my turn. Andreas takes a look at the bike, tells me that I won’t find a replacement bolt anywhere closer than Bergen (more than a 2 hour drive to get there), and even there, I wouldn’t be sure to find it. But he tells me that three bolts should be enough, and he tightens them well. Before letting me leave, he thinks aloud: « Wait. The missing bolt is the one right where you put the most power. I will take the one from the « dead zone » here, where you don’t put that much power, and move it to the « power zone ». After doing this, he reminds me that I must be careful when shifting the gears, but that everything should be ok. Having prostrated myself at his feet, sobbing like a toddler, I go back to the apartment. Well, in fact, I just thank him enthusiastically, as he saved my race. This was my last ride before the race. Imagine I had noticed the issue only on race day…
It’s the beginning of the afternoon now, the sky is low and dark, it has started to rain. A foretaste of the race? In any case, it won’t stop raining until the evening. Nevertheless, I have to take a swim in the fjord, just to get a glimpse of what is awaiting us on Saturday. At 18:30, I swim a mere 300m, close to where the seaplane is moored. The water is much colder than I expected, and there’s plenty of jellyfish! I will realize during the race that I did this test precisely where the water is the coldest.
Friday, D-1, bike test-ride of 10 minutes to see if what Andreas did works. It does. This time, I only ride a couple of kilometers north-eastwards – the view is beautiful.
After breakfast, my wife and I sit down to decide exactly where she will stop during the bike course. This seems to lift quite some pressure off my wife’s shoulders. Maybe is it due to the fact that the start is getting very close.
I finally decide to use my triathlon shorts because I think I will waste too much time at T1 and T2 if I use bike shorts. The only problem is that I can’t find the triathlon shorts I thought I had brought with me. I have no other choice than to buy one at the Huub shop, at the race village. I only see an XXL model on the rack, but one of the sellers rummages in a cardboard box and hands me out a S and a M version. He tells me to try them on in the hotel’s restroom. I am not sure there are many countries where a seller will let you go out of his sight with two shorts of 125 EUR each. One of the shorts fits perfectly, so I buy it. I know one should never wear new clothes on a race, but the short run of the afternoon will have to do: 30 minutes in Eidfjord after the race briefing, above the church and along the fjord.
The briefing is very well organized: we first all receive our GPS transmitter and gather in the village’s sportshall, watching first two young dancers and a violinist who show us a sample of local folklore. Their performance is much appreciated by the audience. So will be 2016’s Norseman movie and the rest of the briefing. Afterwards, several volunteers are available for questions, in the following languages: Norwegian, English, French, German and Spanish. The French and English corners are crowded, so we go to the German one, where the girl has an extensive answer to our last few questions. She even knew the capital city of Uganda.
For some of the participants, this possibility to hear instructions and answers in their own language is very important, for example for some of my compatriots (NB : French, even though I subscribed under my second nationality, the Luxembourgish one). We overheard several attempts of translation during the main briefing where the essence of the message was missing. My wife also noted during the race that several supports had not understood the SMS that the organization sent them when the athletes were on the ferry, saying that the fluorescent jacket was compulsory until Geilo. Apparently no one was caught by a race marshalI, but it would be a pity to get a penalty only for this kind of misunderstanding…
After the short run, I go back to the race village as we’ve been told during the briefing that we can participate in scientific research. I know it’s sometimes difficult for scientists to find human Guinea pigs, so I subscribe to the three tests : Omega 3, breath capacity and body temperature. For the latter, I (and 25 other athletes) have to swallow a pill that contains a transmitter. The crew will then hold a receiver close to me on the boat, on T1, and at the finish. We just have to pray that we won’t get injured: as we swallowed metal, we wear a wristband saying we can’t get an MRI.
It’s 20:00 when I arrive back home. We planned to go to sleep at around 21:30 - 22:00, because the alarm clock is set at 02:00 the next morning. The bike park is only open between 03:00 and 03:45, and all athletes have to be in the ferry before 04:00.
We’re in bed at 22:30. I am rather calm, I have the feeling I will fall asleep fast, but some SMS from Luxembourg (the last one at 23:30) keep me awake. I’ve left the volume at the maximum to make sure I will hear the alarm clock… All in all, I think I slept two hours, but I’ve read several race reports of previous years telling about sleepless nights…
And when the alarm clock rings, the adrenaline makes sure that we’re not sleepy.
Breakfast with marmalade and herb-tea from home, local bread and buckwheat crackers (magic potion for my Breton blood), and then it’s time to take the bike to T1.
Upon leaving the apartment, my wife hears a loud « F*** » from upstairs, where Tu (BIB101), -second-timer- and his wife are staying. We chatted a bit the days before, and during the briefing. When we see him outside a few minutes later, he shows us what’s wrong: he has torn his wetsuit when putting it on. The Norseman is exactly the race where you don’t want this to happen. I haven’t seen Tu after the race, but I know he finished, which means he must have found a solution with the duct tape he was holding when we last talked. In any case, respect for swimming with an « open » wetsuit in Eidfjord.
We’re waiting in line before entering the bike park, surrounded by flickering bike lights in the night. The volunteers check lights (min 100 lumen, and they have to last the whole bike leg), helmets and fluorescent jackets. Just in front of us, a guy’s jacket gets refused. Fortunately he has another one, which is accepted.
Next to us, Harek (BIB50), participating for the ninth time, tells us: « We’re lucky, it’s not raining ! » Short addendum about Harek: when Bent, one of the organizers, read my race report on the 2017 Norseman athletes zone on Facebook, he told be that Harek is... the inventor of the race. It explains the fact he participated that often, and also the privilege to get BIB 50: he turned 50 in 2017.
Five minutes later, it starts to rain, and it won’t stop (at least for me) until Dyranut, i.e. 3h30 later. Some 2017 reports, written by athletes who came out of the water after me and were a bit slower on the bike, mention rain from T1 all the way to T2.
Small problem in the bike park: the person with BIB 182 has put his bike on the wrong side of the rack. The volunteer who’s standing there doesn’t want to move the bike to the right place, but tells me I can do so. Now both bikes are at the right place, the guy will maybe lose 5 seconds before he realises his bike is on the left and not on the right, but our bikes are exactly next to the path that separate two racks, three steps and he’s on the other side, with more space than if his bike had stayed where it was initially.
It’s time to go to the ferry, walking along the dock. Small kiss, and there I go, welcome aboard. I stay on the cars deck, the lounges are full. The ferry takes us to the start. Last stop at the toilet, with Allan (BIB2, winner in 2014 and 2015), waiting like any other athlete, just in front of me. I decide that it’s not the moment to behave like a groupie; saying things like « your son has got the same first name as I » or « if Oscar Freire were next to me during a bike ride, I would recognize him ». Not mentioning the fact that during a bike ride Freire would be kilometers ahead of me.
Bent offers us a shower with a fire hose, I put on my neoprene socks, my titanium diving hood (very thin, but very efficient), a neoprene swimcap and the Norseman yellow swimcap.
The swim (3,8 km)
The clouds hang low, hiding the top of the hills surrounding the fjord, it’s dawn… and time to jump. 200 m until the start, a virtual line behind the kayaks, not far off the shore. Everyone has found his/her place in the line, the atmosphere is calm. Tôôôôôôtt! The horn of the ferry honks and we all start swimming as one man. It’s far from the worse mass-start that I experienced, a couple of elbow hits here and there, but nothing bad. After 500 m, I am right behind a guy who is just a bit faster than me, and I manage to stay in his wake until the curve, where the bonfire burns. This means I have been able to draft for about 3 km of the swim, right behind Fernando (BIB 229, I lifted my head while swimming and saw his BIB on his swimming cap).
After the curve, I lose him but we’re almost at T1, and I’m happy to see the village getting closer because the water is colder here. We swim along the dock and behind it, and we get out of the water onto a small beach that was levelled by a caterpillar the day before (some « second timers » had reported slippery stones at the water exit in previous years, so it seems this is the first year this levelling was done). NB: unlike during the swim test, I haven’t seen any jellyfish. Maybe they overslept.
I get out of the water after 1h07 and run past the group of official supports in their white t-shirts. My wife wasn’t expecting me that early (me neither, to be honest), she runs after me and helps me to change. While I’m preparing for the bike ride, one of the scientists testing body temperature stands close to me (but without disturbing) with his receiver: he tells me that my body temperature has remained the same as on the boat 1h30 ago (37,2°C).
Target time 1h30 (I thought the cold and the swell would be worse), effective time 1h07
Target time at T1: 10min, effective time 8 min.
The bike (180 km)
I came out of the water in 64th position but as usual, I lost (wasted?) time during T1 and some competitors passed me. It’s raining and there is quite a lot of traffic, as the cars of the support teams are starting to leave Eidfjord. Immediately before the first tunnel, the athletes leave the road and take the old one (much more beautiful), which winds along the Eidfjordvatnet (« Eidfjord lake »), under several arches dug into the rocks. We have to be careful as there are a number of potholes and some stones that probably fell from the cliffs: this road is not open to traffic anymore. At Ovre Eidfjord, we turn back on the main road. Directly after the village the road becomes steeper: it is the real start of the climb that will take us 29 km further (and more than 1000 m higher), to Dyranut.
I pass several competitors; Florian (BIB 246), who will finish the race 10 minutes before me, passes me. In the narrow curves of the old road, I hear a noise that makes me fear a mechanical problem, again at the crankset. In retrospect, there was nothing wrong (I now think that the noise was simply due to soil in the chain, as it was raining during the climb and the old road was rather dirty at some places).
Just before Voringfossen (km 20, where the support teams may start to give clothes/food/kisses to their athletes), another noise appears. This time however, it’s not coming from my bike but from another bike behind me, getting closer. The cyclist is a woman, I think the noise comes from her rear brake that is in contact with the rim. Either she repaired the problem quickly or she’s Wonder Woman, because I realized after the race that it was Anne Nevin (BIB 68), the winner of the ladies’ race. She probably did repair her brakes, but she IS a wonderwoman: she won although this was her very first long distance triathlon.
At that point of the race, I am a bit worried: I feel I’m overdressed, it was 13°C down in Eidfjord but it’s not getting colder as fast as I expected it would. I’m sweating a lot, I’m afraid of paying the tribute when I will arrive on the plateau, where it’s only 7 or 8°C, with much more wind.
I take my first stop at the place we agreed upon with my wife the day before, after Maurset, under the dam of Sysenvatnet. One minute, just what it takes to exchange an empty water bottle against a full one and to tell my wife I will put on warmer clothes a few hundred meters before Dyranut. I think this second stop, only 8 km later, has changed my race: right before, I am feeling down, I have lost four places during my first stop (even if I stopped only shortly), and although the road is rather steep (which normally plays in my favour), I have only caught up with two of them again before this second « let’s put on the merino underlayer and the winter jacket » break. It takes me three minutes to change, and I realize something that is actually self-evident: the others are also taking breaks! And indeed, I won’t see the guys who passed me at Maurset again: they probably stopped longer than me in Dyranut.
The desolated parking of Dyranut Turisthytta has probably been the beginning of a nightmare for a lot of competitors since the creation of Norseman. For me it is (almost) exactly the opposite: tailwind gives me power on the plateau, in addition to frozen feet (thanks to Luxembourg’s winters I’m used to that) and knees (this is a discovery, however), that I will start to feel again only 100 kilometres later. I am not overtaking many athletes, but I’m gaining field on the ones that are following me. Only Morten (BIB 100) passes me like a bullet in a descending false-flat - two months later my ears still feel the breeze - but I will pass him again 10 km into the marathon. My wife stops regularly but I keep on saying that everything is fine. Anyway, as I knew things would be difficult for her as my sole support, I have taken all the food with me, so I only have to stop for water and to change clothes.
At my next stop, after Ustaoset, I only want to take off my fluorescent jacket; however, my wife reminds me that the jacket is compulsory until Geilo. I have not been concentrated enough: she told me this a few hours ago, after receiving an SMS from the Norseman crew. Which means a stop for nothing, but only one minute or so lost. Two kilometres after Geilo, I finally remove the fluo jacket and change into lighter clothes, that I will wear until T2.
From Geilo on, there are still four climbs, and I start a Wagnerian ride: being in 61st position in Geilo, I reach the top of the last climb, at Immingfjell, as the 42nd athlete. At that moment, however, I have no clue of my ranking: my wife doesn’t have a smartphone and therefore cannot check the temporary classification on the Norseman website.
Last stop to catch a water bottle at Immingfjell.
Still four of five kilometres slightly uphill before the point where the « no support zone » starts again, i.e. at 30 km from T2. These last 30 km are a rather fast part, starting with a downhill where one has to be careful of the potholes (there was a warning at the race briefing, plus I made a mental note of the biggest ones during our outward journey by car), followed by a slight downhill where you can enjoy speeding up. I am overtaken by Solve Magnus (BIB 239), and I do not pass anyone myself, my average speed being lowered by an urgent need to void… During the last thirty minutes of the bike ride, I cross a zone of pouring rain. These are the last precipitations of the day, for me. It is not that unpleasant, as the more I descend, the warmer it gets.
It is fortunate that I lose some time in this last part, because when I arrive at T2, my wife is there since no more than five minutes (she expected to have more time to prepare the second transition). When we watch the race video afterwards (T2 is one of the few moments where we are filmed), we can see that when she arrives at T2, she takes her time to choose the right place (there are only 20 bike racks, as there’s no chance that all athletes arrive at the same time at T2) as if she still has 15 minutes or so. Retroactively, we laugh, of course, but maybe we would have been less amused if I had arrived at T2 with no one waiting for me and nothing ready to start the run.
Target time 7h, effective time 6h30
Target time at T2: 10min, effective time 4 min.
Target aggregate time leaving T2: 8h50, effective time 7h45min
The run (42 km)
Initially, I considered running the whole marathon with a camelback, but as I see at T2 that my wife is managing the support part like a pro, not any longer showing any sign of stress, I think it would be reasonable not to carry unnecessary weight. Hence I decide to take only a few gels with me. I put on a base layer and my triathlon club’s top, my shoes, and off I go. When I leave T2, there’s a lady holding a binder in the air, who shows me the page she just turned, revealing: « 43 ». I can’t believe it, so I ask her if that’s really my position. She answers « yes » with a big smile, and I smile back: « Much better than expected! » Indeed, during the previous months, I have more than once estimated (obviously not so accurately) how fast I will have to be in order to obtain a black t-shirt. Only in my wildest forecasts I finished 90th...
My left foot has become numb. This worries me a bit, since I still have 42kms to run, but, first of all, learning that I’m 43nd has given me wings, second, 120 people will now have to pass me in order to kick me out of the black t-shirt group, and third, when I’m looking over my shoulder at the end of long straight lines, I can’t see anyone behind me. Even better, I am closing the gap with the runners I can see ahead of me.
My feet start to get warmer (probably the cold caused the numbness) and I keep running at a 4min50/km pace. I feel I could run a bit faster because my heart rate is rather low, but there is still a long way to go and I don’t want to jeopardize the end of my race.
I pass a couple of runners, and I’m passed only by Andreas (BIB 211), who will have the 8th best running time and will finish 17th overall. After Miland, 20 km into the marathon, I can see for the first time Gaustatoppen towering ahead, which gives a mixed feeling of « Yes, I can see the finish » and « Uh, it is that high »…
2 km further there’s a slight uphill, nothing serious in the light of what still has to come, but enough to slow me down a bit: my pace is at around 4min55s/km now. I pass Kjell Magnus (BIB 6), 5th of the 2016 edition (6th in 2015). Obviously he has had a problem on the marathon (he left T2 in fourth position), as he will arrive at the top in 49th position - but with a big smile on his face. Nice to see a top athlete showing that much respect for the other participants and for the race.
Just before Rjukan, at km 25, I turn right, cross the bridge, and then the road suddenly rises: I am at the foot of the greatly feared Zombie Hill: a 7,2 km climb with an average elevation of 9,3 %.
At that moment, I’m in 36th position. I still feel good and I keep on running, albeit at a much slower pace, of course (a bit less than 7min/km). I run 3 km like this, passing a couple of teams (athletes may be accompanied as from the 25th km, so many athletes with a support team of more than one do have company – one man (woman) support teams can also run with their athlete from km 25 onwards, but then he/she will have to walk much longer to pick up the car afterwards…), but after the third curve, I start to have trouble breathing. I keep on running for about three hundred meters, but it doesn’t get better. Then I think « I’m in position thirty-something now, but who will remember in three months’ time if I finished 20th or 50th? Let’s simply make sure I make it to the top ». Thus I start to walk, my average pace slows down to more than 10min/km, but I breathe more easily.
Rune (BIB 88) and his sister, who I passed a few hundred meters earlier, catch up. We start to chat (it’s their second time; the first time, he ran and walked on Zombie Hill but then realized another guy was faster than him while only walking), I try to keep up with them but they are a bit faster than me, so I slow down a bit.
When I finally arrive at km 32,5, a race marshal congratulates me and tells me I can drink and eat something. I take a plastic cup full of crisps and I stay there standing - after all, I expect there to be a medical check or something like that. But in fact, there’s no medical check, or I look fit enough not to be controlled… After a minute or two, I ask the ladies behind the table whether I can continue, to which they reply « Of course!». This reveals a cultural difference that my wife and I already noticed during previous trips in Scandinavia (Norway and Sweden): the locals tend to let you make a mistake instead of telling you that you’re making one. For example, while seeing us starting up a corridor in the basement of a building, a guard there did not tell us it was a dead end; and a lady working in a tearoom didn’t say that it was closing time when we came in and sat down, instead she just started to switch off the lights five minutes later… It seems easier to say « Sorry, we’ll close in five minutes » or « What are you waiting for, you can continue until the Gaustatoppen » when they see a guy who woke up at 2 in the morning to swim 3,8 km in a chilly fjord, ride 180 km through their hilly (and beautiful) region, and who, after 32 km running, is 36th out of 245 athletes but remains standing there looking at them, chomping potato crisps.
Anyway, this small break has no significant impact on my race. From that point on, having parked the car, my wife walks besides me (we do a bit of running at km 35-36). We both carry the compulsory backpack with content (i.e. warm clothes, windbreaker, flashlight or headlight, phone, cash, wool cap, gloves, water and food). Until km 37,5, where the trail part starts and where the backpacks are checked, my wife carries some more than I; we divide everything between our backpacks right before the checkpoint.
My break at km 32,5 allows Magnus (BIB 277), a young Norwegian, and the friend that walks with him, to catch up with us. We chat a bit, but they turn out to be much faster than us on the trail.
On the rocky path, we don’t run anymore. We start out in 33nd position, but my wife is not very comfortable with this kind of hikes (although she’s a very good runner), and we drop several places during the climb. During the 1h20 that it takes us to arrive at the top, we overtake Marcus (BIB 11), winner of the Ironman of Kalmar in 2016. Finally, in the steeper last 500m, we lose another 3 places.
10 meters and only a few steps left before the finish. I let Trude (BIB32), fifth lady this year, pass me, because I want to finish together with my wife, who takes such a big part in this achievement, and whom I have outran a bit due to my enthusiasm. We pass the line in 12h53min, cheered by the volunteers. One of them immediately gives me a plaid, another one hands me the famous cup of soup…
After enjoying the moment on the stairs for ten minutes, we enter the « hytta » because I have to go and see the researchers for the medical tests. The tests are the same as the day before, except the one for the body temperature, for which I have to hold a receiver in front of my belly during 15 minutes, to transfer all the data that the transmitter I swallowed registered during the race.
The girl of the « breath test » tells me my breathing capacities have worsened since the day before. I am not surprised, considering the problems I encountered on Zombie Hill. One of the other athletes, also having executed this test, feels bad. She suffers from digestive problems and is finally evacuated. Fortunately, at the t-shirt ceremony the next morning, she looks in a good shape.
The race has made me hungry, and I’ve read race reports of previous editions with lots of compliments about the food up in the hytta. So, after the tests, I try almost everything on the menu: the same soup again, two hot-dogs, and a waffle with marmalade. The reports told the truth. Small detail: cash is a compulsory item on the checklist for the backpack to be carried during the trail, but the vendors at the hytta tell us they prefer to be paid by card (they do accept cash, though).
Then we go down to Rjukan. I’ve made a reservation at the same camping where we stayed five days before on our journey north. As we both start to feel tired, we decide to skip the buffet at Gaustablikk hotel and order two pizzas instead. Our neighbours are also a « Norseman duo »: Robert (BIB180), who claims to quit triathlon, and one of his friends. They’re doing the same as we do: first pizza, then bed. Robert’s friend makes my wife laugh when he opens the trunk of his car (NB: when you’re alone to support a triathlete on such a distance, you don’t have time to tidy up, you just throw wet clothes, water bottles and gels into the car without paying attention). He stands there watching the disaster inside, and says in a tired voice: « And now we’re stuck with all this shit. »
The next morning there’s the T-shirt ceremony at Gaustablikk. A couple of tears appear on my wife’s face when I put on my black t-shirt. It’s a bit hers too, after all the efforts she made during the past months, and especially the last week. I’m not sure there are many athletes with a « single support » who outperformed us, by the way. Indeed, even though there’s only one official support (wearing the white support t-shirt), it is not forbidden to have several persons following one athlete. Many locals are accompanied by family members or friends: one person drives the car, another one takes care of food and clothes, a third one takes pictures… A single support must do everything at the same time. Moreover, he/she also wakes up at 2 in the morning, has to concentrate on the road and the health/well-being of his/her athlete, and then run the end of the marathon. As a reward, he/she can go back to the car by foot, as only athletes are allowed to take the funicular. NB: it is worth giving a try, though. If the funicular is not full, non-athletes may use it, but unlike the athletes they have to pay (250 NOK, i.e. 26 EUR at the current exchange rate: welcome to Norway, where everything is expensive even when you’re used to the prices of the Grand-Duchy) and wait in line (priority to athletes). Unfortunately, when I notice that this is possible, my wife has already started her descent since 10 minutes.
In short, she’s allowed to shed a tear when I put that t-shirt on! Then it’s time for the group picture…
After the shooting, someone hails: « Les Français! La photo! » Well, I did participate as a Luxembourger, but I haven’t waived my first nationality, so I get together with the other French. « Patriotic opportunism »: I’m the first Luxembourger to finish the Norseman, but I wouldn’t have been among the first three Frenchmen if I had subscribed as such (4th: chocolate medal). I don’t even win in the category of the Bretons: Vincent (BIB 90) finished 15 minutes before me.
Message that I posted on the facebook page reserved for the 2017 Norseman athletes:
A big THANK YOU to:
- The crazy guys who invented Norseman Extreme Triathlon.
- The volunteers, helping, smiling and often cheering, who make this triathlon into what it is.
- The Norwegians, for their enthusiast "Heja, heja!" in all the climbs (and there are a few).
- The competitors: maybe it's because participants are aware to be one of the 250 "happy few" that they are much friendlier than at other long-distance triathlons, but still: this is competition as I like it.
- Bent Olav Olsen, it was a pleasure to see that you enjoyed these couple of days as much as we did (constant smile on the ferry...).
- The fjord, for not being too cold this year.
- The wind for blowing eastwards. Exactly the direction we were heading in on the plateau. I don't want to imagine having to ride against it there.
- Andreas, the mechanic from Intersport, who saved my race... It assume I wouldn't have finished the bike ride in 41st position if I had been able to use only the small chainring (36) for 180km.
- The live broadcast and athlete tracking: I thought my friends would merely check the result on Saturday evening, like for any other race, but as it appears, quite a few people were literally glued to their screens.
- The medical researchers (body temperature, breath capacity, Omega3). I'm curious to see the results...
- The cook who made the soup.
I'm probably forgetting many people (NB: family and friends did receive direct messages...), but there will be a race report (because race reports helped me a lot to prepare the race; I'll try French + English) in a month or two. Did I say a couple of weeks?
PS: Zombie hill is not a hill. It's a mountain.
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The bike course profile
The marathon profile
There are pictures in the original version of the report, but I don't want to overload the page: I'll post only the bike leg profile + marathon profile
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This story starts in october 2015, when I first subscribed to the Norseman. Two things made me dream about participating : like many people, a picture showing triathletes jumping at dawn from a ferry into the fjord ; but also another one, with a wide angle picture of a triathlete on his bike, all alone on the plateau. When you’re used to crowded label-triathlons, this loneliness feeling is priceless. At least for me.
In 2015, the organizers introduced something new : anyone being unlucky on year one would get an extra chance if he participated to the lottery on year two, then if he ‘d been unlucky again, three chances on year three, and so on.
Hence my re-subscription in 2016, without any hope to be selected, just hoping to add a new chance for the years to come.
Checking my mailbox on November, 13th, I see an e-mail sent by « « Isklar Norseman Extreme T ». I’m expecting the same text as the year before, but on the screen appears this single line:
"Welcome to Norseman"
Reading this line, my heartbeat gets faster, and I spend the whole evening reading several race reports of the previous years, even if I had already read the race manual carefully. I’ve sought and read many other race reports in the next months. It helped me a lot to prepare the race, that’s why I write a report myself even if I normally never do so.
I won’t go to much into details, people who subscribe are supposed to have at least a basic triathlon experience, not to say a long distance triathlon experience. However, on the Facebook group (NB : for athletes only) created by the organizers after the lottery, one guy asked questions that showed that he had never been in a transition zone before… Well, maybe this guy is doing 200km cross-country skiing every weekend.
Here are a couple of figures regarding my preparation, it is however not a invitation to do the same, some athletes did probably better than me with less (or more ; or differently) training.
From the date of the lottery (13/11/2016) to the evening before the race (04/08/2017) :
1 - Distances
Swimming: 204,1km
Cycling: 6'446,2km
Running: 1'598,1 km
2- Elevation
Swimming: 2m (yes, yes, several upstream trainings :-D )
Cycling: 72'000m
Running: 18’000m
3- Long sessions (i.e. more than 3,5km swimming, more than 130km cycling and more than 21 km running)
Swimming: 3 (3,8km ; 4km et 4,2km)
Cycling: 6 (162km, 160km, 137km, 146km, 155km et 154km)
Running: 5 (34km, 26km, 21km, 21km et 24km)
4- In total, three cold water swimming sessions
December, Brittany, Atlantic Ocean, once 1 km, once 2km, water temperature 11°
April, Luxembourg, Remerschen lake, 2,5km, water temperature 13°
May, Geneva, Lake Geneva, 1km without wetsuit, water temperature 17°
5 – Miscellaneous: no training camp, or rather: a planned 7-day training camp in May that ended up in a… 2-day training camp due to gastro-enteritis.
But before starting with the training programme, the priority is to find an accommodation for the days prior to the race (and the night after). Just after receiving the « registration » e-mail, I pay the subscription fee, and I start to search for an appartment or a hotel in the vicinity of Eidfjord. Some people have been more clever than me and made reservations even before the lottery. It seems that only a minority of the unlucky participants cancel their reservations rapidly; that’s why I at first only found a room in Granvin, 25min by car from Eidfjord. I made a reservation but decided to keep on searching, and I saw there was a camping in Eidfjord. During my first trip in Norway in 2008, I had seen that many campings rent huts and appartments. I called Kjaertveit camping, expecting to hear that there was nothing available, but to my surprise, the guy replied that he still had an appartment available.
That’s how I got one of the closest apartments to T1, across the river, 3 minutes by foot. Ideal for those who want to sleep as much as possible the night before the race.
Logistics are essential in this race, it takes time and energy to anticipate the needs in terms of nutrition or clothing, among other things. Unlike many triathlons, it is not conceivable to use only a trisuit for the whole race: you have to change clothes several times depending on the weather.
Having thought it over during a couple of months, I finally decided to go to Norway by car. I was first considering to take the plane, but I think it was good for my nerves and those of my wife, who accompanied me, to drive instead: several competitors had to wait for their bikes or luggage at the airport because it was lost during stop overs.
Just to warn people who think it’s possible to do this with a small car : I have a leisure activity vehicle, which allowed us to carry a lot of things without worrying about the space. Bike, gear, food, everything fitted inside and we still had some room left, just in case.
The trip was as follows: Luxembourg-Bonn on Saturday (seven days before the race), Bonn-Kiel on Sunday, Kiel-Oslo by ferry from Monday to Tuesday, Oslo-Rjukan (close to the Gaustatoppen) on Tuesday.
On Tuesday afternoon, a 2 hour bike session allows me to discover the first 25km of the marathon. You can read here and there that these 25km are « fairly flat» - well, the « fairly » is probably used because the rest of the marathon is terribly steep.
The same evening, we drive the rest of the 25k-37k by car. I’m superstitious, but after the « t-shirt split » I decide to check only the black-t-shirt part, hoping to be part of the first 160 triathletes… That evening, the summit remains in the clouds, and we’re showered by a heavy rain on Zombie Hill…
On Wednesday morning, we head towards Eidfjord, discovering the bike route but in the other direction. We check the best places to stop during the race and write them down on the map we have printed out ourselves (30 pages, approx. 5 km per page). No rain on the plateau, but 7°C and a mean wind. I’m glad we see this because I wasn’t expecting it. First-timers who arrive directly in Eidfjord via Bergen and who have underestimated the temperature difference must be surprised (and chilled to the bone) on race day when they arrive on their bike in Dyranut, warmed up by a 30km-long climb.
Short stop at Voringfossen, which is not only the official start of the zone where support is authorized, but also a famous touristic place, due to its spectacular waterfall.
We finally arrive in Eidfjord. After the check-in we go to the grocery stores (2 small ones in Eidfjord). If you’re used to eat local and organic food, make sure to bring everything with you, because there’s not much there. As said before, that’s what we have done. For those who don’t have this possibility, we would recommend to go as soon as you arrive in Eidfjord because the longer you wait, the more athletes you will see rushing both stores… I bet the shop keepers could sell a banana for 20 EUR the day before the race. But they don’t.
Thursday, D-2, last bike ride, 1 hour 30 « easy ». I decide to ride along the fjord in the direction of Hardangerbrua, so that I can see a bit of the vicinity, and not only the race course.
After a few minutes, I hear a noise coming from the crankset. There was already a bit of a noise the previous weeks, but nothing serious, and only when the chain was on the big ring. Now it’s there even when the chain is on the small one… (NB: for the race, I changed from 53-39 to 52-36; I always use 11-28 cassettes).
I stop at the bridge to check what’s going on. I tip the big ring a bit and I see that it’s moving sidewards: its bolts are loose. I’m not panicking but I can’t say I’m happy to discover this. I go back to the appartment, using only the small ring in order not to make things worse. There, I check more thouroughly and I notice that one of the four bolts is… gone.
Before I can do anything, my wife (rather stressed the couple of days before the race, as she wasn’t sure whether she would be able to cope, being all alone to support me on race day) tells me to go directly to the mechanic who is available at the race village. Same logic as for the supermarkets: « the more you wait, the more other people will need him ». I follow her advice, and indeed, I don’t have to wait too long: Andreas (first name of the mechanic) finishes to help John (BIB 232) with the battery on his Di2, and then it’s my turn. Andreas takes a look at the bike, tells me that I won’t find a replacement bolt anywhere closer than Bergen (more than a 2 hour drive to get there), and even there, I wouldn’t be sure to find it. But he tells me that three bolts should be enough, and he tightens them well. Before letting me leave, he thinks aloud: « Wait. The missing bolt is the one right where you put the most power. I will take the one from the « dead zone » here, where you don’t put that much power, and move it to the « power zone ». After doing this, he reminds me that I must be careful when shifting the gears, but that everything should be ok. Having prostrated myself at his feet, sobbing like a toddler, I go back to the apartment. Well, in fact, I just thank him enthusiastically, as he saved my race. This was my last ride before the race. Imagine I had noticed the issue only on race day…
It’s the beginning of the afternoon now, the sky is low and dark, it has started to rain. A foretaste of the race? In any case, it won’t stop raining until the evening. Nevertheless, I have to take a swim in the fjord, just to get a glimpse of what is awaiting us on Saturday. At 18:30, I swim a mere 300m, close to where the seaplane is moored. The water is much colder than I expected, and there’s plenty of jellyfish! I will realize during the race that I did this test precisely where the water is the coldest.
Friday, D-1, bike test-ride of 10 minutes to see if what Andreas did works. It does. This time, I only ride a couple of kilometers north-eastwards – the view is beautiful.
After breakfast, my wife and I sit down to decide exactly where she will stop during the bike course. This seems to lift quite some pressure off my wife’s shoulders. Maybe is it due to the fact that the start is getting very close.
I finally decide to use my triathlon shorts because I think I will waste too much time at T1 and T2 if I use bike shorts. The only problem is that I can’t find the triathlon shorts I thought I had brought with me. I have no other choice than to buy one at the Huub shop, at the race village. I only see an XXL model on the rack, but one of the sellers rummages in a cardboard box and hands me out a S and a M version. He tells me to try them on in the hotel’s restroom. I am not sure there are many countries where a seller will let you go out of his sight with two shorts of 125 EUR each. One of the shorts fits perfectly, so I buy it. I know one should never wear new clothes on a race, but the short run of the afternoon will have to do: 30 minutes in Eidfjord after the race briefing, above the church and along the fjord.
The briefing is very well organized: we first all receive our GPS transmitter and gather in the village’s sportshall, watching first two young dancers and a violinist who show us a sample of local folklore. Their performance is much appreciated by the audience. So will be 2016’s Norseman movie and the rest of the briefing. Afterwards, several volunteers are available for questions, in the following languages: Norwegian, English, French, German and Spanish. The French and English corners are crowded, so we go to the German one, where the girl has an extensive answer to our last few questions. She even knew the capital city of Uganda.
For some of the participants, this possibility to hear instructions and answers in their own language is very important, for example for some of my compatriots (NB : French, even though I subscribed under my second nationality, the Luxembourgish one). We overheard several attempts of translation during the main briefing where the essence of the message was missing. My wife also noted during the race that several supports had not understood the SMS that the organization sent them when the athletes were on the ferry, saying that the fluorescent jacket was compulsory until Geilo. Apparently no one was caught by a race marshalI, but it would be a pity to get a penalty only for this kind of misunderstanding…
After the short run, I go back to the race village as we’ve been told during the briefing that we can participate in scientific research. I know it’s sometimes difficult for scientists to find human Guinea pigs, so I subscribe to the three tests : Omega 3, breath capacity and body temperature. For the latter, I (and 25 other athletes) have to swallow a pill that contains a transmitter. The crew will then hold a receiver close to me on the boat, on T1, and at the finish. We just have to pray that we won’t get injured: as we swallowed metal, we wear a wristband saying we can’t get an MRI.
It’s 20:00 when I arrive back home. We planned to go to sleep at around 21:30 - 22:00, because the alarm clock is set at 02:00 the next morning. The bike park is only open between 03:00 and 03:45, and all athletes have to be in the ferry before 04:00.
We’re in bed at 22:30. I am rather calm, I have the feeling I will fall asleep fast, but some SMS from Luxembourg (the last one at 23:30) keep me awake. I’ve left the volume at the maximum to make sure I will hear the alarm clock… All in all, I think I slept two hours, but I’ve read several race reports of previous years telling about sleepless nights…
And when the alarm clock rings, the adrenaline makes sure that we’re not sleepy.
Breakfast with marmalade and herb-tea from home, local bread and buckwheat crackers (magic potion for my Breton blood), and then it’s time to take the bike to T1.
Upon leaving the apartment, my wife hears a loud « F*** » from upstairs, where Tu (BIB101), -second-timer- and his wife are staying. We chatted a bit the days before, and during the briefing. When we see him outside a few minutes later, he shows us what’s wrong: he has torn his wetsuit when putting it on. The Norseman is exactly the race where you don’t want this to happen. I haven’t seen Tu after the race, but I know he finished, which means he must have found a solution with the duct tape he was holding when we last talked. In any case, respect for swimming with an « open » wetsuit in Eidfjord.
We’re waiting in line before entering the bike park, surrounded by flickering bike lights in the night. The volunteers check lights (min 100 lumen, and they have to last the whole bike leg), helmets and fluorescent jackets. Just in front of us, a guy’s jacket gets refused. Fortunately he has another one, which is accepted.
Next to us, Harek (BIB50), participating for the ninth time, tells us: « We’re lucky, it’s not raining ! » Short addendum about Harek: when Bent, one of the organizers, read my race report on the 2017 Norseman athletes zone on Facebook, he told be that Harek is... the inventor of the race. It explains the fact he participated that often, and also the privilege to get BIB 50: he turned 50 in 2017.
Five minutes later, it starts to rain, and it won’t stop (at least for me) until Dyranut, i.e. 3h30 later. Some 2017 reports, written by athletes who came out of the water after me and were a bit slower on the bike, mention rain from T1 all the way to T2.
Small problem in the bike park: the person with BIB 182 has put his bike on the wrong side of the rack. The volunteer who’s standing there doesn’t want to move the bike to the right place, but tells me I can do so. Now both bikes are at the right place, the guy will maybe lose 5 seconds before he realises his bike is on the left and not on the right, but our bikes are exactly next to the path that separate two racks, three steps and he’s on the other side, with more space than if his bike had stayed where it was initially.
It’s time to go to the ferry, walking along the dock. Small kiss, and there I go, welcome aboard. I stay on the cars deck, the lounges are full. The ferry takes us to the start. Last stop at the toilet, with Allan (BIB2, winner in 2014 and 2015), waiting like any other athlete, just in front of me. I decide that it’s not the moment to behave like a groupie; saying things like « your son has got the same first name as I » or « if Oscar Freire were next to me during a bike ride, I would recognize him ». Not mentioning the fact that during a bike ride Freire would be kilometers ahead of me.
Bent offers us a shower with a fire hose, I put on my neoprene socks, my titanium diving hood (very thin, but very efficient), a neoprene swimcap and the Norseman yellow swimcap.
The swim (3,8 km)
The clouds hang low, hiding the top of the hills surrounding the fjord, it’s dawn… and time to jump. 200 m until the start, a virtual line behind the kayaks, not far off the shore. Everyone has found his/her place in the line, the atmosphere is calm. Tôôôôôôtt! The horn of the ferry honks and we all start swimming as one man. It’s far from the worse mass-start that I experienced, a couple of elbow hits here and there, but nothing bad. After 500 m, I am right behind a guy who is just a bit faster than me, and I manage to stay in his wake until the curve, where the bonfire burns. This means I have been able to draft for about 3 km of the swim, right behind Fernando (BIB 229, I lifted my head while swimming and saw his BIB on his swimming cap).
After the curve, I lose him but we’re almost at T1, and I’m happy to see the village getting closer because the water is colder here. We swim along the dock and behind it, and we get out of the water onto a small beach that was levelled by a caterpillar the day before (some « second timers » had reported slippery stones at the water exit in previous years, so it seems this is the first year this levelling was done). NB: unlike during the swim test, I haven’t seen any jellyfish. Maybe they overslept.
I get out of the water after 1h07 and run past the group of official supports in their white t-shirts. My wife wasn’t expecting me that early (me neither, to be honest), she runs after me and helps me to change. While I’m preparing for the bike ride, one of the scientists testing body temperature stands close to me (but without disturbing) with his receiver: he tells me that my body temperature has remained the same as on the boat 1h30 ago (37,2°C).
Target time 1h30 (I thought the cold and the swell would be worse), effective time 1h07
Target time at T1: 10min, effective time 8 min.
The bike (180 km)
I came out of the water in 64th position but as usual, I lost (wasted?) time during T1 and some competitors passed me. It’s raining and there is quite a lot of traffic, as the cars of the support teams are starting to leave Eidfjord. Immediately before the first tunnel, the athletes leave the road and take the old one (much more beautiful), which winds along the Eidfjordvatnet (« Eidfjord lake »), under several arches dug into the rocks. We have to be careful as there are a number of potholes and some stones that probably fell from the cliffs: this road is not open to traffic anymore. At Ovre Eidfjord, we turn back on the main road. Directly after the village the road becomes steeper: it is the real start of the climb that will take us 29 km further (and more than 1000 m higher), to Dyranut.
I pass several competitors; Florian (BIB 246), who will finish the race 10 minutes before me, passes me. In the narrow curves of the old road, I hear a noise that makes me fear a mechanical problem, again at the crankset. In retrospect, there was nothing wrong (I now think that the noise was simply due to soil in the chain, as it was raining during the climb and the old road was rather dirty at some places).
Just before Voringfossen (km 20, where the support teams may start to give clothes/food/kisses to their athletes), another noise appears. This time however, it’s not coming from my bike but from another bike behind me, getting closer. The cyclist is a woman, I think the noise comes from her rear brake that is in contact with the rim. Either she repaired the problem quickly or she’s Wonder Woman, because I realized after the race that it was Anne Nevin (BIB 68), the winner of the ladies’ race. She probably did repair her brakes, but she IS a wonderwoman: she won although this was her very first long distance triathlon.
At that point of the race, I am a bit worried: I feel I’m overdressed, it was 13°C down in Eidfjord but it’s not getting colder as fast as I expected it would. I’m sweating a lot, I’m afraid of paying the tribute when I will arrive on the plateau, where it’s only 7 or 8°C, with much more wind.
I take my first stop at the place we agreed upon with my wife the day before, after Maurset, under the dam of Sysenvatnet. One minute, just what it takes to exchange an empty water bottle against a full one and to tell my wife I will put on warmer clothes a few hundred meters before Dyranut. I think this second stop, only 8 km later, has changed my race: right before, I am feeling down, I have lost four places during my first stop (even if I stopped only shortly), and although the road is rather steep (which normally plays in my favour), I have only caught up with two of them again before this second « let’s put on the merino underlayer and the winter jacket » break. It takes me three minutes to change, and I realize something that is actually self-evident: the others are also taking breaks! And indeed, I won’t see the guys who passed me at Maurset again: they probably stopped longer than me in Dyranut.
The desolated parking of Dyranut Turisthytta has probably been the beginning of a nightmare for a lot of competitors since the creation of Norseman. For me it is (almost) exactly the opposite: tailwind gives me power on the plateau, in addition to frozen feet (thanks to Luxembourg’s winters I’m used to that) and knees (this is a discovery, however), that I will start to feel again only 100 kilometres later. I am not overtaking many athletes, but I’m gaining field on the ones that are following me. Only Morten (BIB 100) passes me like a bullet in a descending false-flat - two months later my ears still feel the breeze - but I will pass him again 10 km into the marathon. My wife stops regularly but I keep on saying that everything is fine. Anyway, as I knew things would be difficult for her as my sole support, I have taken all the food with me, so I only have to stop for water and to change clothes.
At my next stop, after Ustaoset, I only want to take off my fluorescent jacket; however, my wife reminds me that the jacket is compulsory until Geilo. I have not been concentrated enough: she told me this a few hours ago, after receiving an SMS from the Norseman crew. Which means a stop for nothing, but only one minute or so lost. Two kilometres after Geilo, I finally remove the fluo jacket and change into lighter clothes, that I will wear until T2.
From Geilo on, there are still four climbs, and I start a Wagnerian ride: being in 61st position in Geilo, I reach the top of the last climb, at Immingfjell, as the 42nd athlete. At that moment, however, I have no clue of my ranking: my wife doesn’t have a smartphone and therefore cannot check the temporary classification on the Norseman website.
Last stop to catch a water bottle at Immingfjell.
Still four of five kilometres slightly uphill before the point where the « no support zone » starts again, i.e. at 30 km from T2. These last 30 km are a rather fast part, starting with a downhill where one has to be careful of the potholes (there was a warning at the race briefing, plus I made a mental note of the biggest ones during our outward journey by car), followed by a slight downhill where you can enjoy speeding up. I am overtaken by Solve Magnus (BIB 239), and I do not pass anyone myself, my average speed being lowered by an urgent need to void… During the last thirty minutes of the bike ride, I cross a zone of pouring rain. These are the last precipitations of the day, for me. It is not that unpleasant, as the more I descend, the warmer it gets.
It is fortunate that I lose some time in this last part, because when I arrive at T2, my wife is there since no more than five minutes (she expected to have more time to prepare the second transition). When we watch the race video afterwards (T2 is one of the few moments where we are filmed), we can see that when she arrives at T2, she takes her time to choose the right place (there are only 20 bike racks, as there’s no chance that all athletes arrive at the same time at T2) as if she still has 15 minutes or so. Retroactively, we laugh, of course, but maybe we would have been less amused if I had arrived at T2 with no one waiting for me and nothing ready to start the run.
Target time 7h, effective time 6h30
Target time at T2: 10min, effective time 4 min.
Target aggregate time leaving T2: 8h50, effective time 7h45min
The run (42 km)
Initially, I considered running the whole marathon with a camelback, but as I see at T2 that my wife is managing the support part like a pro, not any longer showing any sign of stress, I think it would be reasonable not to carry unnecessary weight. Hence I decide to take only a few gels with me. I put on a base layer and my triathlon club’s top, my shoes, and off I go. When I leave T2, there’s a lady holding a binder in the air, who shows me the page she just turned, revealing: « 43 ». I can’t believe it, so I ask her if that’s really my position. She answers « yes » with a big smile, and I smile back: « Much better than expected! » Indeed, during the previous months, I have more than once estimated (obviously not so accurately) how fast I will have to be in order to obtain a black t-shirt. Only in my wildest forecasts I finished 90th...
My left foot has become numb. This worries me a bit, since I still have 42kms to run, but, first of all, learning that I’m 43nd has given me wings, second, 120 people will now have to pass me in order to kick me out of the black t-shirt group, and third, when I’m looking over my shoulder at the end of long straight lines, I can’t see anyone behind me. Even better, I am closing the gap with the runners I can see ahead of me.
My feet start to get warmer (probably the cold caused the numbness) and I keep running at a 4min50/km pace. I feel I could run a bit faster because my heart rate is rather low, but there is still a long way to go and I don’t want to jeopardize the end of my race.
I pass a couple of runners, and I’m passed only by Andreas (BIB 211), who will have the 8th best running time and will finish 17th overall. After Miland, 20 km into the marathon, I can see for the first time Gaustatoppen towering ahead, which gives a mixed feeling of « Yes, I can see the finish » and « Uh, it is that high »…
2 km further there’s a slight uphill, nothing serious in the light of what still has to come, but enough to slow me down a bit: my pace is at around 4min55s/km now. I pass Kjell Magnus (BIB 6), 5th of the 2016 edition (6th in 2015). Obviously he has had a problem on the marathon (he left T2 in fourth position), as he will arrive at the top in 49th position - but with a big smile on his face. Nice to see a top athlete showing that much respect for the other participants and for the race.
Just before Rjukan, at km 25, I turn right, cross the bridge, and then the road suddenly rises: I am at the foot of the greatly feared Zombie Hill: a 7,2 km climb with an average elevation of 9,3 %.
At that moment, I’m in 36th position. I still feel good and I keep on running, albeit at a much slower pace, of course (a bit less than 7min/km). I run 3 km like this, passing a couple of teams (athletes may be accompanied as from the 25th km, so many athletes with a support team of more than one do have company – one man (woman) support teams can also run with their athlete from km 25 onwards, but then he/she will have to walk much longer to pick up the car afterwards…), but after the third curve, I start to have trouble breathing. I keep on running for about three hundred meters, but it doesn’t get better. Then I think « I’m in position thirty-something now, but who will remember in three months’ time if I finished 20th or 50th? Let’s simply make sure I make it to the top ». Thus I start to walk, my average pace slows down to more than 10min/km, but I breathe more easily.
Rune (BIB 88) and his sister, who I passed a few hundred meters earlier, catch up. We start to chat (it’s their second time; the first time, he ran and walked on Zombie Hill but then realized another guy was faster than him while only walking), I try to keep up with them but they are a bit faster than me, so I slow down a bit.
When I finally arrive at km 32,5, a race marshal congratulates me and tells me I can drink and eat something. I take a plastic cup full of crisps and I stay there standing - after all, I expect there to be a medical check or something like that. But in fact, there’s no medical check, or I look fit enough not to be controlled… After a minute or two, I ask the ladies behind the table whether I can continue, to which they reply « Of course!». This reveals a cultural difference that my wife and I already noticed during previous trips in Scandinavia (Norway and Sweden): the locals tend to let you make a mistake instead of telling you that you’re making one. For example, while seeing us starting up a corridor in the basement of a building, a guard there did not tell us it was a dead end; and a lady working in a tearoom didn’t say that it was closing time when we came in and sat down, instead she just started to switch off the lights five minutes later… It seems easier to say « Sorry, we’ll close in five minutes » or « What are you waiting for, you can continue until the Gaustatoppen » when they see a guy who woke up at 2 in the morning to swim 3,8 km in a chilly fjord, ride 180 km through their hilly (and beautiful) region, and who, after 32 km running, is 36th out of 245 athletes but remains standing there looking at them, chomping potato crisps.
Anyway, this small break has no significant impact on my race. From that point on, having parked the car, my wife walks besides me (we do a bit of running at km 35-36). We both carry the compulsory backpack with content (i.e. warm clothes, windbreaker, flashlight or headlight, phone, cash, wool cap, gloves, water and food). Until km 37,5, where the trail part starts and where the backpacks are checked, my wife carries some more than I; we divide everything between our backpacks right before the checkpoint.
My break at km 32,5 allows Magnus (BIB 277), a young Norwegian, and the friend that walks with him, to catch up with us. We chat a bit, but they turn out to be much faster than us on the trail.
On the rocky path, we don’t run anymore. We start out in 33nd position, but my wife is not very comfortable with this kind of hikes (although she’s a very good runner), and we drop several places during the climb. During the 1h20 that it takes us to arrive at the top, we overtake Marcus (BIB 11), winner of the Ironman of Kalmar in 2016. Finally, in the steeper last 500m, we lose another 3 places.
10 meters and only a few steps left before the finish. I let Trude (BIB32), fifth lady this year, pass me, because I want to finish together with my wife, who takes such a big part in this achievement, and whom I have outran a bit due to my enthusiasm. We pass the line in 12h53min, cheered by the volunteers. One of them immediately gives me a plaid, another one hands me the famous cup of soup…
After enjoying the moment on the stairs for ten minutes, we enter the « hytta » because I have to go and see the researchers for the medical tests. The tests are the same as the day before, except the one for the body temperature, for which I have to hold a receiver in front of my belly during 15 minutes, to transfer all the data that the transmitter I swallowed registered during the race.
The girl of the « breath test » tells me my breathing capacities have worsened since the day before. I am not surprised, considering the problems I encountered on Zombie Hill. One of the other athletes, also having executed this test, feels bad. She suffers from digestive problems and is finally evacuated. Fortunately, at the t-shirt ceremony the next morning, she looks in a good shape.
The race has made me hungry, and I’ve read race reports of previous editions with lots of compliments about the food up in the hytta. So, after the tests, I try almost everything on the menu: the same soup again, two hot-dogs, and a waffle with marmalade. The reports told the truth. Small detail: cash is a compulsory item on the checklist for the backpack to be carried during the trail, but the vendors at the hytta tell us they prefer to be paid by card (they do accept cash, though).
Then we go down to Rjukan. I’ve made a reservation at the same camping where we stayed five days before on our journey north. As we both start to feel tired, we decide to skip the buffet at Gaustablikk hotel and order two pizzas instead. Our neighbours are also a « Norseman duo »: Robert (BIB180), who claims to quit triathlon, and one of his friends. They’re doing the same as we do: first pizza, then bed. Robert’s friend makes my wife laugh when he opens the trunk of his car (NB: when you’re alone to support a triathlete on such a distance, you don’t have time to tidy up, you just throw wet clothes, water bottles and gels into the car without paying attention). He stands there watching the disaster inside, and says in a tired voice: « And now we’re stuck with all this shit. »
The next morning there’s the T-shirt ceremony at Gaustablikk. A couple of tears appear on my wife’s face when I put on my black t-shirt. It’s a bit hers too, after all the efforts she made during the past months, and especially the last week. I’m not sure there are many athletes with a « single support » who outperformed us, by the way. Indeed, even though there’s only one official support (wearing the white support t-shirt), it is not forbidden to have several persons following one athlete. Many locals are accompanied by family members or friends: one person drives the car, another one takes care of food and clothes, a third one takes pictures… A single support must do everything at the same time. Moreover, he/she also wakes up at 2 in the morning, has to concentrate on the road and the health/well-being of his/her athlete, and then run the end of the marathon. As a reward, he/she can go back to the car by foot, as only athletes are allowed to take the funicular. NB: it is worth giving a try, though. If the funicular is not full, non-athletes may use it, but unlike the athletes they have to pay (250 NOK, i.e. 26 EUR at the current exchange rate: welcome to Norway, where everything is expensive even when you’re used to the prices of the Grand-Duchy) and wait in line (priority to athletes). Unfortunately, when I notice that this is possible, my wife has already started her descent since 10 minutes.
In short, she’s allowed to shed a tear when I put that t-shirt on! Then it’s time for the group picture…
After the shooting, someone hails: « Les Français! La photo! » Well, I did participate as a Luxembourger, but I haven’t waived my first nationality, so I get together with the other French. « Patriotic opportunism »: I’m the first Luxembourger to finish the Norseman, but I wouldn’t have been among the first three Frenchmen if I had subscribed as such (4th: chocolate medal). I don’t even win in the category of the Bretons: Vincent (BIB 90) finished 15 minutes before me.
Message that I posted on the facebook page reserved for the 2017 Norseman athletes:
A big THANK YOU to:
- The crazy guys who invented Norseman Extreme Triathlon.
- The volunteers, helping, smiling and often cheering, who make this triathlon into what it is.
- The Norwegians, for their enthusiast "Heja, heja!" in all the climbs (and there are a few).
- The competitors: maybe it's because participants are aware to be one of the 250 "happy few" that they are much friendlier than at other long-distance triathlons, but still: this is competition as I like it.
- Bent Olav Olsen, it was a pleasure to see that you enjoyed these couple of days as much as we did (constant smile on the ferry...).
- The fjord, for not being too cold this year.
- The wind for blowing eastwards. Exactly the direction we were heading in on the plateau. I don't want to imagine having to ride against it there.
- Andreas, the mechanic from Intersport, who saved my race... It assume I wouldn't have finished the bike ride in 41st position if I had been able to use only the small chainring (36) for 180km.
- The live broadcast and athlete tracking: I thought my friends would merely check the result on Saturday evening, like for any other race, but as it appears, quite a few people were literally glued to their screens.
- The medical researchers (body temperature, breath capacity, Omega3). I'm curious to see the results...
- The cook who made the soup.
I'm probably forgetting many people (NB: family and friends did receive direct messages...), but there will be a race report (because race reports helped me a lot to prepare the race; I'll try French + English) in a month or two. Did I say a couple of weeks?
PS: Zombie hill is not a hill. It's a mountain.
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The bike course profile
The marathon profile