It's long and about a lot more than just the race but I'm too lazy to write something specific for you guys. I found old write ups incredibly helpful so...questions, comments?
My $0.02
If you're not in the lottery, you're wrong.
If you haven't done it, you're not prepared.
Good luck.
The Old Road:
I made the joke as late as the morning of the race, "Of course this is the year I get in." The past 12 months have been…a lot. All good, but a lot nonetheless. After years of declining hip health I had surgery for an FAI impingement and labral tear(s) in September. I also became a Dad in March. Also built a house, sold another, moved my Mother-in-law in with us, and so on and so forth. In short, life happened, but I had received a coveted spot on the start line for Norseman after 5 years in the lottery.
For context: Norseman is generally considered the hardest full/iron distance triathlon in the world. It was the original Xtreme triathlon, and is now the crowned jewel of the Xtri World Tour. Each year thousands enter the lottery and roughly 250 get in. There are some specific allocations to be met but when it's all said and done typically 10-20 Americans get in. There are no deferrals.
"The Draw" occurred on November 12th. A week prior I began a running protocol after having a bump on the neck of my femur shaved down and 3 tears to my labrum repaired. My surgeon described the labrum as "shredded" yet was confident I would fully recover and in time be able to resume any and all activity. At my 3 month post-op I asked him if attempting Norseman was realistic, and he told me as long as my expectations were in line (finish, not race) that it would actually be a great goal.
Then on the morning of March 22nd I held my daughter, Jessie, for the first time. As cliché as it sounds…everything changed in a moment. I no longer had any interest in training for a race and began considering giving up my spot. My wife, Caroline, encouraged me to continue training and suggested I didn't make a decision then but rather wait and see how things went. So I continued training but began executing workouts in the most efficient manner I could. No (very) long rides or runs, no trips to the mountains to climb, no open water swimming. I was unwilling to miss time with my daughter and wanted to support Caroline however I could in regard to Jessie and also in her postpartum return to fitness - seeing as how I would want her to accompany me during the final ascent.
As summer came I was very encouraged by the progression of my recovery from hip surgery. Swimming was the one sport I could train sufficiently and I was swimming the best I had since my youth. Cycling had mostly come back, with my FTP at 90% of prior year power. I did little to no suprathreshold work, playing it safe with my recovery, so I figured 90% was a very encouraging mark given the training inputs. Most rides were around 75 minutes, some 2-3 hour rides, and a longest ride of 4 hours. Unfortunately, running did not come around as well as cycling and I realized that I had underestimated just how much my base deteriorated. So I ran often but short, frequently off the bike, simply trying to get volume in my legs
More context: At Norseman, the first 16 miles of the marathon are undulating and conclude at the base of Zombie Hill. Zombie Hill is a series of switchbacks that take you from the valley floor to the ski resort on the mountain. At the top is the 32.5km checkpoint where only the first 160 are allowed to continue towards the top of Gaustatoppen. The final 5k are largely a rocky scramble to the finish where athletes must be accompanied and carry a backpack with supplies in case of inclimate weather. The final 10 miles average 10% grade (the fact that people run this section is something I'm still unable to comprehend.)
A month before the race I had begun my final training build. I felt good and I was performing well across all 3 disciplines. Then on an evening run I experienced excruciating pain across my lower leg. Seemingly out of nowhere, I had developed tibialis anterior tendinitis for which there is a single remedy…rest. I began wearing a walking boot and did little to no training for the next 2 weeks as even pushing off the wall in the pool was painful. My orthopedist was hopeful initially, then optimistic at my 2 week follow-up that I would be able to race as Norseman, but warned that I needed to continue wearing the walking boot and to do as little impact exercise as possible.
So, that is why my "long" workouts weren't so long, and my overall volume was actually quite low. Surprisingly, I took the injury largely in stride - It was what it was, and I was confident I had done enough to complete the race. I chalked it up to "Of course this is the year I get in" and thought "At least I won't be overtrained."
~
We landed in Oslo, Norway midday Monday and stayed at a hotel halfway between the airport and the city - Moxy. I call out the hotel specifically for any future competitors as they have a luggage room where I was able to stash the Bike Box Alan I had borrowed. That evening we ventured out to Aker Brygge found a great place for a meal and then spent a bit of time exploring the city. Afterwards we headed back to the hotel and called it a night.
No SUV's in Norway:
The next morning I built up the bike, loaded the car (an awesome diesel Volvo wagon), and started the trek to Austbygde from where we would drive the bike course in reverse. First was the descent from Imingfjell where it was easy to see how one could come into the first switchback with too much speed. Then the false flat of Imingfjell which was covered by such thick fog that I could only see 20ft in front of the car. Finally down the climb to Imingfjell…which I just couldn't fathom riding up on race day. Then we drove Vasstulan, Dagali, and Kikut which individually would be fine but sandwiched in a 20 mile stretch are daunting. We would stop in Geilo for lunch and groceries and then drive the first 90km of the bike course…never flat, never straight, and the temperature was plummeting. Crossing the Hardangervidda the temperature got as low as 42F/6C and I was very, very happy I had kit options for race day.
View walking up the driveway:
We arrived at our AirBnb in Eidfjord that evening and after getting settled Caroline and I headed out for my first run in 2 weeks. We ran by T1, around the host hotel, to the site for the social swims, and back along the river. What Eidfjord lacks in size it certainly makes up for in natural beauty - the fjord and mountains were unlike anything I'd ever seen before. After a couple miles we headed back and called it a night.
Wednesday social swim:
The next morning I joined a few other early arrivals for a social swim in the fjord. Despite uncharacteristically warm temperatures the turn buoy recorded a temperature of 51f/11c overnight. Overall, the water was cool, but there were pockets that were so cold it hurt my face. Again, I was very happy to have cold water swimming gear if needed.
Dag giving the Aquathlon prerace briefing:
The rest of the week was purposely uneventful - checking in, another social swim and run, a couple short, easy bike rides, and a trip to Geilo to scout the course a little more and buy some food and race nutrition. More than anything I wanted to spend the time with Caroline and Jessie and just enjoy the setting. I was so happy to support Caroline in the Suunto Eidfjord Xpress Aquathlon which featured a swim in the fjord and run up a mini Zombie Hill. On Friday our friend Chase arrived from California, rounding out my support crew and adding another experienced endurance athlete to the mix.
Considering these were the days leading up to the most challenging athletic endeavor I'd ever undertaken…I was as relaxed as could be.
Norway is beautiful, fyi - Voringsfossen:
~
Calm before the storm:
After a couple hours of sleep I woke at 2:30am, ate, and showered. I headed to transition with Caroline and Chase where our wonderful AirBnb host, Heidi, checked my helmet, vest, and lights and I was guided to a great spot in T1. I set up my space and reviewed the plan with my crew - computer and lights on, sleeves up, socks on, jacket zipped and vest secured, and finally helmet with clear visor affixed. We then headed towards the ferry as I pulled my wetsuit up - it was a bit surreal to be preparing to board the infamous ferry I'd seen in so many videos and pictures. After saying goodbye to my support crew I boarded and headed to the balcony upstairs where I stood so I could watch the sun as it was coming up over the mountains during the ride out. I didn't bring anything with me, only wetsuit, cap, and goggles - in hindsight I should have brought at least socks as it was a bit cool out in the fjord. Once the ferry stopped I headed inside since we still had the better part of half an hour before we'd enter the water. Eventually, I'd make my way downstairs to be sprayed, and finally…jump.
Ruined for swims from now on:
The water was cool, but not cold. I had purposely waited knowing most would head towards the shore, and I was going to line up away from the shore and try to swim a straight line to the outcropping or merge into a group as they came left. I lined up in the front row just inside the 2nd kayak and waited just a couple minutes until the race start. At the sound of the horn I went…HARD. For just a minute or two I really pushed but quickly settled into a half ironman like effort. While breathing I looked right, and then left…there was no one on either hip and a group forming far to my right.
The plan worked well, as I merged into the lead group as we approached the outcropping. I didn't see anyone off the front at this point but it wouldn't be long before the group fell apart…including myself. I had been hanging on for dear life and after I let a gap open and burning a couple matches trying to get back on I was caught by the next group. I'd swim with this group until nearly the turn buoy, getting dropped again, and after swimming with another athlete who had trouble swimming straight after turning left I'd hug the pier, round the final turn, and put feet down well under 1hr.
Not me, but the beautiful Hardangerfjord"
In a stupor, I watched my Garmin hit 57 as I stopped it, however my official swim time was 57:30 and placing was 23rd. I was pleased that all my swimming seemingly paid off, so much so that as Caroline joined me in T1 I exclaimed, "How's that for a fucking swim!"
Video of swim exit: [url=https://flic.kr/p/2h3LnJS]
Important things in T1:
I took my time in transition - eating a bit, putting a jacket on, and kissing Jessie before I left. Once I left transition, I began moving with purpose; for the sake of my support crew I wanted to get out in front of the masses. I held my placing leaving Eidfjord but once we started climbing seemingly everyone began to pass me. Thankfully, I was in a good place mentally and stuck to my plan, spinning in 39 x 32, and keeping power around 75% unless terrain called forced me to produce more (happened many, many times). By the time we reached Mabotunnelen it had become apparent that I was too warm wearing a jacket as I was sweating profusely. Even leaving the tunnels and passing Voringsfossen I was still too warm, and began drinking more and ate gel earlier than planned to compensate.
1 of 2 complete stops during the ride:
Smiling because I'm almost done with the initial climb:
2 hours and 4k feet of elevation later I reached Dyranut…in 72nd place. The temperature had fallen such that I was now very glad I was wearing a jacket and actually put on gloves and stopped to put on the toe warmers I had forgotten in T1 (many were in trisuit only, and seemed ok). From Dyranut (35k) to Geilo (90k) is rolling terrain with a net loss and no extended climbs so I went to work. I passed A LOT of people especially on downhills and turns, and arrived to Geilo in 54th. For future competitors - I spun out of 53 x 11 several times.
Finally, down in the bars working:
Dyranut to Geilo is rolling and twisty:
Shortly after Geilo I met up with my crew (for more than a handoff) and hopped off the bike to pee while they swapped bottles, gave me gel, and changed my front light. After a few minutes I was back on the bike and settling in for the climb at Kikut. It was here, sitting up and spinning that I realized my right leg was lacking in power production (via Pioneer dual leg power meter). This wasn't a total surprise as I was nearing 4 hours of ride time, the same as my longest ride. I tried a few things - higher and lower cadence, standing, spinning in circles…but it seemed that the imbalance was there to stay.
So much climbing it's hard to recall where this is:
I'd lose 11 spots on the climb but gain 5 back on the descent. On the next climb, near Skurdalen, there was a shift…I began passing people while climbing. At this point the race had spread out considerably and it seemed I was putting in enough time on people close to me on descents to stay ahead on the climbs. I'd lose 9 spots, but then hold that position through the 3rd climb, from Dagali to Vasstulan, and gain a few more before beginning the climb to Imingfjell. The climb would take me 43 minutes and come with a cost of 12 spots. Imingfjell had nearly broken me - I seriously considered stopping when I encountered my crew near the top…but there was Caroline, holding Jessie, with a bottle hand up ready to go. While I felt terrible it was precisely what I needed at that moment.
This moment saved my race:
I'd begun the false flat after the climb in 78th and admittedly, hurting. My power balance was now 60/40 at best and my lower back and neck were starting to bother me. After a very long, and unpleasant 20 minutes I was done with the false flat and it was essentially all downhill from there…
So, I let it rip.
I drove up this section but coming down at speed was a different animal. I made it through the first switchbacks without issue, but I carried so much speed into the 2nd set that I actually unclipped in preparation of…whatever was about to happen. Somehow I slowed enough to make it through unscathed and carried on wondering how much brake heat was too much for latex tubes and cursing Quintana Roo's penchant for horizontal dropouts.
Despite getting caught behind an RV I made up 20 spots during the descent to T2. According to my Pioneer HU I topped out at 55mph however I would later learn that my 33:16 for this section was 2 seconds off the fastest time in the Norseman race and only 1:18 off Allan Hovda's time from the NXTri WC race.
This is my excited face:
Arriving to T2 in 56th place…I had done it. I wasn't sure how bad my run would be but I was confident that I'd be able to hobble my way to Zombie Hill without being passed by 100 people. I felt great mentally, physically (aside from my hip), and in regard to nutrition. I took my time in transition again, having a mini celebration of sorts with my crew. Eventually I set off for the run carrying a water bottle and employing a run walk strategy. For a race that could be brutally cold it was HOT.
I actually took this during the race - the first time I saw Gaustatoppen:
The first 10 miles were tough. While I felt fine, the lack of run volume was apparent and to make matters worse the tendinitis flared up within the first few miles. My crew was phenomenal - they continuously leapfrogged me so that I saw them every 20-30 minutes and except for once were ready and waiting with coke and water. Around mile 10 you round a bend and get a glimpse of Gaustatoppen for the first time…and at that moment I cried. Much like the ferry, I'd seen this in video and photographs and it was something I'd wanted for a long, long time. Not only that, but even though I'd dropped to 100th by this point it was clear I'd be heading to the top for my black shirt.
The whole crew:
I'd eventually make it to the base of Zombie hill in 117th where Chase joined me. The company and conversation was nice, and having someone else do the mental math of placing was much appreciated. We both marveled at the fact that anyone actually ran this section, and that just kept going. Nearly 90 minutes later I made it to the 32.5km checkpoint where race director Torill Pedersen shook my hand, informed me I was in 128th, and directed me onward. The whole crew joined me for a few moments to celebrate that I was now headed to the black shirt finish at the top of Gaustatoppen.
The "trail":
I'd reach the trail head another 60 minutes later and promptly sat down while my crew made all the necessary changes so that Caroline could accompany me up the final few miles. Then plan was for Caroline and I to finish the race while Chase took Jessie and accompanied my MIL to the funicular and waited for us at the top of the mountain. What we didn't account for was just how hard the final few miles are, and how long it would take us. "Trail" is misleading. At least half of the last section is effectively a scramble up mostly loose rocks. Not so much that it would be difficult to hike…but as the finale of a very challenging iron/full distance triathlon was certainly extreme.
Very close and still very far:
Taking a moment:
I felt fine, but was exhausted - even so I couldn’t help but appreciate the natural beauty as we climbed higher and higher. A beautiful lake. Mountains as far as I could see. At this point I could see the finish and couldn't help but start thinking about the journey. That I'd cross the finish with Caroline. That Chase flew in from California at the last minute to help. That my daughter was along for the entire thing. I also had my wonderful MIL waiting at the finish and I couldn't believe all the calls, texts, and messages of encouragement that had been relayed throughout the day.
Just steps away from the finish:
After 15 hours and 33 minutes I crossed the Norseman finish line on top of Gaustatoppen holding Caroline's hand. We cried, hugged, posed for a few pictures, and then headed inside where Jessie was waiting for us. We would regroup, and eventually make our way down the mountain and to our AirBnb. The next day my single goal was achieved…I received my black Norseman Xtreme Triathlon finishers shirt.
I still haven't quite reconciled all the emotions associated with that day and find myself on the verge of tears typing this. In the summer of 2018 I was told by an MD that running just wasn't in the cards for me. Several months later, another would successfully repair what he called a "shredded" labrum. Two months post-op I ran without pain for the first time in 4 years. By spring, I finally began to see myself as the athlete I self-identify as. I was training and actually gaining fitness for the first time in ages. I lost 30lbs+ and finally started liking the guy looking back in the mirror. I started sleeping better. I was happier. I was a better partner and Dad.
I no longer say "Of course this is the year I get in." Norseman is so much bigger than a race - it's a life event. While my particular situation greatly influenced the experience I wouldn't have it any other way. I proved a lot to myself, overcame more than enough, and did it with family and friends by my side. I'm doubtful that anything will ever compare to Norseman.
Video of the finish: [url=https://flic.kr/p/2h3K7JC]
Finally...the black shirt (video): [url=https://flic.kr/p/2h3KSpZ]
I don't often feel "proud" of races, but:
My $0.02
If you're not in the lottery, you're wrong.
If you haven't done it, you're not prepared.
Good luck.
The Old Road:
I made the joke as late as the morning of the race, "Of course this is the year I get in." The past 12 months have been…a lot. All good, but a lot nonetheless. After years of declining hip health I had surgery for an FAI impingement and labral tear(s) in September. I also became a Dad in March. Also built a house, sold another, moved my Mother-in-law in with us, and so on and so forth. In short, life happened, but I had received a coveted spot on the start line for Norseman after 5 years in the lottery.
For context: Norseman is generally considered the hardest full/iron distance triathlon in the world. It was the original Xtreme triathlon, and is now the crowned jewel of the Xtri World Tour. Each year thousands enter the lottery and roughly 250 get in. There are some specific allocations to be met but when it's all said and done typically 10-20 Americans get in. There are no deferrals.
"The Draw" occurred on November 12th. A week prior I began a running protocol after having a bump on the neck of my femur shaved down and 3 tears to my labrum repaired. My surgeon described the labrum as "shredded" yet was confident I would fully recover and in time be able to resume any and all activity. At my 3 month post-op I asked him if attempting Norseman was realistic, and he told me as long as my expectations were in line (finish, not race) that it would actually be a great goal.
Then on the morning of March 22nd I held my daughter, Jessie, for the first time. As cliché as it sounds…everything changed in a moment. I no longer had any interest in training for a race and began considering giving up my spot. My wife, Caroline, encouraged me to continue training and suggested I didn't make a decision then but rather wait and see how things went. So I continued training but began executing workouts in the most efficient manner I could. No (very) long rides or runs, no trips to the mountains to climb, no open water swimming. I was unwilling to miss time with my daughter and wanted to support Caroline however I could in regard to Jessie and also in her postpartum return to fitness - seeing as how I would want her to accompany me during the final ascent.
As summer came I was very encouraged by the progression of my recovery from hip surgery. Swimming was the one sport I could train sufficiently and I was swimming the best I had since my youth. Cycling had mostly come back, with my FTP at 90% of prior year power. I did little to no suprathreshold work, playing it safe with my recovery, so I figured 90% was a very encouraging mark given the training inputs. Most rides were around 75 minutes, some 2-3 hour rides, and a longest ride of 4 hours. Unfortunately, running did not come around as well as cycling and I realized that I had underestimated just how much my base deteriorated. So I ran often but short, frequently off the bike, simply trying to get volume in my legs
More context: At Norseman, the first 16 miles of the marathon are undulating and conclude at the base of Zombie Hill. Zombie Hill is a series of switchbacks that take you from the valley floor to the ski resort on the mountain. At the top is the 32.5km checkpoint where only the first 160 are allowed to continue towards the top of Gaustatoppen. The final 5k are largely a rocky scramble to the finish where athletes must be accompanied and carry a backpack with supplies in case of inclimate weather. The final 10 miles average 10% grade (the fact that people run this section is something I'm still unable to comprehend.)
A month before the race I had begun my final training build. I felt good and I was performing well across all 3 disciplines. Then on an evening run I experienced excruciating pain across my lower leg. Seemingly out of nowhere, I had developed tibialis anterior tendinitis for which there is a single remedy…rest. I began wearing a walking boot and did little to no training for the next 2 weeks as even pushing off the wall in the pool was painful. My orthopedist was hopeful initially, then optimistic at my 2 week follow-up that I would be able to race as Norseman, but warned that I needed to continue wearing the walking boot and to do as little impact exercise as possible.
So, that is why my "long" workouts weren't so long, and my overall volume was actually quite low. Surprisingly, I took the injury largely in stride - It was what it was, and I was confident I had done enough to complete the race. I chalked it up to "Of course this is the year I get in" and thought "At least I won't be overtrained."
~
We landed in Oslo, Norway midday Monday and stayed at a hotel halfway between the airport and the city - Moxy. I call out the hotel specifically for any future competitors as they have a luggage room where I was able to stash the Bike Box Alan I had borrowed. That evening we ventured out to Aker Brygge found a great place for a meal and then spent a bit of time exploring the city. Afterwards we headed back to the hotel and called it a night.
No SUV's in Norway:
The next morning I built up the bike, loaded the car (an awesome diesel Volvo wagon), and started the trek to Austbygde from where we would drive the bike course in reverse. First was the descent from Imingfjell where it was easy to see how one could come into the first switchback with too much speed. Then the false flat of Imingfjell which was covered by such thick fog that I could only see 20ft in front of the car. Finally down the climb to Imingfjell…which I just couldn't fathom riding up on race day. Then we drove Vasstulan, Dagali, and Kikut which individually would be fine but sandwiched in a 20 mile stretch are daunting. We would stop in Geilo for lunch and groceries and then drive the first 90km of the bike course…never flat, never straight, and the temperature was plummeting. Crossing the Hardangervidda the temperature got as low as 42F/6C and I was very, very happy I had kit options for race day.
View walking up the driveway:
We arrived at our AirBnb in Eidfjord that evening and after getting settled Caroline and I headed out for my first run in 2 weeks. We ran by T1, around the host hotel, to the site for the social swims, and back along the river. What Eidfjord lacks in size it certainly makes up for in natural beauty - the fjord and mountains were unlike anything I'd ever seen before. After a couple miles we headed back and called it a night.
Wednesday social swim:
The next morning I joined a few other early arrivals for a social swim in the fjord. Despite uncharacteristically warm temperatures the turn buoy recorded a temperature of 51f/11c overnight. Overall, the water was cool, but there were pockets that were so cold it hurt my face. Again, I was very happy to have cold water swimming gear if needed.
Dag giving the Aquathlon prerace briefing:
The rest of the week was purposely uneventful - checking in, another social swim and run, a couple short, easy bike rides, and a trip to Geilo to scout the course a little more and buy some food and race nutrition. More than anything I wanted to spend the time with Caroline and Jessie and just enjoy the setting. I was so happy to support Caroline in the Suunto Eidfjord Xpress Aquathlon which featured a swim in the fjord and run up a mini Zombie Hill. On Friday our friend Chase arrived from California, rounding out my support crew and adding another experienced endurance athlete to the mix.
Considering these were the days leading up to the most challenging athletic endeavor I'd ever undertaken…I was as relaxed as could be.
Norway is beautiful, fyi - Voringsfossen:
~
Calm before the storm:
After a couple hours of sleep I woke at 2:30am, ate, and showered. I headed to transition with Caroline and Chase where our wonderful AirBnb host, Heidi, checked my helmet, vest, and lights and I was guided to a great spot in T1. I set up my space and reviewed the plan with my crew - computer and lights on, sleeves up, socks on, jacket zipped and vest secured, and finally helmet with clear visor affixed. We then headed towards the ferry as I pulled my wetsuit up - it was a bit surreal to be preparing to board the infamous ferry I'd seen in so many videos and pictures. After saying goodbye to my support crew I boarded and headed to the balcony upstairs where I stood so I could watch the sun as it was coming up over the mountains during the ride out. I didn't bring anything with me, only wetsuit, cap, and goggles - in hindsight I should have brought at least socks as it was a bit cool out in the fjord. Once the ferry stopped I headed inside since we still had the better part of half an hour before we'd enter the water. Eventually, I'd make my way downstairs to be sprayed, and finally…jump.
Ruined for swims from now on:
The water was cool, but not cold. I had purposely waited knowing most would head towards the shore, and I was going to line up away from the shore and try to swim a straight line to the outcropping or merge into a group as they came left. I lined up in the front row just inside the 2nd kayak and waited just a couple minutes until the race start. At the sound of the horn I went…HARD. For just a minute or two I really pushed but quickly settled into a half ironman like effort. While breathing I looked right, and then left…there was no one on either hip and a group forming far to my right.
The plan worked well, as I merged into the lead group as we approached the outcropping. I didn't see anyone off the front at this point but it wouldn't be long before the group fell apart…including myself. I had been hanging on for dear life and after I let a gap open and burning a couple matches trying to get back on I was caught by the next group. I'd swim with this group until nearly the turn buoy, getting dropped again, and after swimming with another athlete who had trouble swimming straight after turning left I'd hug the pier, round the final turn, and put feet down well under 1hr.
Not me, but the beautiful Hardangerfjord"
In a stupor, I watched my Garmin hit 57 as I stopped it, however my official swim time was 57:30 and placing was 23rd. I was pleased that all my swimming seemingly paid off, so much so that as Caroline joined me in T1 I exclaimed, "How's that for a fucking swim!"
Video of swim exit: [url=https://flic.kr/p/2h3LnJS]
Important things in T1:
I took my time in transition - eating a bit, putting a jacket on, and kissing Jessie before I left. Once I left transition, I began moving with purpose; for the sake of my support crew I wanted to get out in front of the masses. I held my placing leaving Eidfjord but once we started climbing seemingly everyone began to pass me. Thankfully, I was in a good place mentally and stuck to my plan, spinning in 39 x 32, and keeping power around 75% unless terrain called forced me to produce more (happened many, many times). By the time we reached Mabotunnelen it had become apparent that I was too warm wearing a jacket as I was sweating profusely. Even leaving the tunnels and passing Voringsfossen I was still too warm, and began drinking more and ate gel earlier than planned to compensate.
1 of 2 complete stops during the ride:
Smiling because I'm almost done with the initial climb:
2 hours and 4k feet of elevation later I reached Dyranut…in 72nd place. The temperature had fallen such that I was now very glad I was wearing a jacket and actually put on gloves and stopped to put on the toe warmers I had forgotten in T1 (many were in trisuit only, and seemed ok). From Dyranut (35k) to Geilo (90k) is rolling terrain with a net loss and no extended climbs so I went to work. I passed A LOT of people especially on downhills and turns, and arrived to Geilo in 54th. For future competitors - I spun out of 53 x 11 several times.
Finally, down in the bars working:
Dyranut to Geilo is rolling and twisty:
Shortly after Geilo I met up with my crew (for more than a handoff) and hopped off the bike to pee while they swapped bottles, gave me gel, and changed my front light. After a few minutes I was back on the bike and settling in for the climb at Kikut. It was here, sitting up and spinning that I realized my right leg was lacking in power production (via Pioneer dual leg power meter). This wasn't a total surprise as I was nearing 4 hours of ride time, the same as my longest ride. I tried a few things - higher and lower cadence, standing, spinning in circles…but it seemed that the imbalance was there to stay.
So much climbing it's hard to recall where this is:
I'd lose 11 spots on the climb but gain 5 back on the descent. On the next climb, near Skurdalen, there was a shift…I began passing people while climbing. At this point the race had spread out considerably and it seemed I was putting in enough time on people close to me on descents to stay ahead on the climbs. I'd lose 9 spots, but then hold that position through the 3rd climb, from Dagali to Vasstulan, and gain a few more before beginning the climb to Imingfjell. The climb would take me 43 minutes and come with a cost of 12 spots. Imingfjell had nearly broken me - I seriously considered stopping when I encountered my crew near the top…but there was Caroline, holding Jessie, with a bottle hand up ready to go. While I felt terrible it was precisely what I needed at that moment.
This moment saved my race:
I'd begun the false flat after the climb in 78th and admittedly, hurting. My power balance was now 60/40 at best and my lower back and neck were starting to bother me. After a very long, and unpleasant 20 minutes I was done with the false flat and it was essentially all downhill from there…
So, I let it rip.
I drove up this section but coming down at speed was a different animal. I made it through the first switchbacks without issue, but I carried so much speed into the 2nd set that I actually unclipped in preparation of…whatever was about to happen. Somehow I slowed enough to make it through unscathed and carried on wondering how much brake heat was too much for latex tubes and cursing Quintana Roo's penchant for horizontal dropouts.
Despite getting caught behind an RV I made up 20 spots during the descent to T2. According to my Pioneer HU I topped out at 55mph however I would later learn that my 33:16 for this section was 2 seconds off the fastest time in the Norseman race and only 1:18 off Allan Hovda's time from the NXTri WC race.
This is my excited face:
Arriving to T2 in 56th place…I had done it. I wasn't sure how bad my run would be but I was confident that I'd be able to hobble my way to Zombie Hill without being passed by 100 people. I felt great mentally, physically (aside from my hip), and in regard to nutrition. I took my time in transition again, having a mini celebration of sorts with my crew. Eventually I set off for the run carrying a water bottle and employing a run walk strategy. For a race that could be brutally cold it was HOT.
I actually took this during the race - the first time I saw Gaustatoppen:
The first 10 miles were tough. While I felt fine, the lack of run volume was apparent and to make matters worse the tendinitis flared up within the first few miles. My crew was phenomenal - they continuously leapfrogged me so that I saw them every 20-30 minutes and except for once were ready and waiting with coke and water. Around mile 10 you round a bend and get a glimpse of Gaustatoppen for the first time…and at that moment I cried. Much like the ferry, I'd seen this in video and photographs and it was something I'd wanted for a long, long time. Not only that, but even though I'd dropped to 100th by this point it was clear I'd be heading to the top for my black shirt.
The whole crew:
I'd eventually make it to the base of Zombie hill in 117th where Chase joined me. The company and conversation was nice, and having someone else do the mental math of placing was much appreciated. We both marveled at the fact that anyone actually ran this section, and that just kept going. Nearly 90 minutes later I made it to the 32.5km checkpoint where race director Torill Pedersen shook my hand, informed me I was in 128th, and directed me onward. The whole crew joined me for a few moments to celebrate that I was now headed to the black shirt finish at the top of Gaustatoppen.
The "trail":
I'd reach the trail head another 60 minutes later and promptly sat down while my crew made all the necessary changes so that Caroline could accompany me up the final few miles. Then plan was for Caroline and I to finish the race while Chase took Jessie and accompanied my MIL to the funicular and waited for us at the top of the mountain. What we didn't account for was just how hard the final few miles are, and how long it would take us. "Trail" is misleading. At least half of the last section is effectively a scramble up mostly loose rocks. Not so much that it would be difficult to hike…but as the finale of a very challenging iron/full distance triathlon was certainly extreme.
Very close and still very far:
Taking a moment:
I felt fine, but was exhausted - even so I couldn’t help but appreciate the natural beauty as we climbed higher and higher. A beautiful lake. Mountains as far as I could see. At this point I could see the finish and couldn't help but start thinking about the journey. That I'd cross the finish with Caroline. That Chase flew in from California at the last minute to help. That my daughter was along for the entire thing. I also had my wonderful MIL waiting at the finish and I couldn't believe all the calls, texts, and messages of encouragement that had been relayed throughout the day.
Just steps away from the finish:
After 15 hours and 33 minutes I crossed the Norseman finish line on top of Gaustatoppen holding Caroline's hand. We cried, hugged, posed for a few pictures, and then headed inside where Jessie was waiting for us. We would regroup, and eventually make our way down the mountain and to our AirBnb. The next day my single goal was achieved…I received my black Norseman Xtreme Triathlon finishers shirt.
I still haven't quite reconciled all the emotions associated with that day and find myself on the verge of tears typing this. In the summer of 2018 I was told by an MD that running just wasn't in the cards for me. Several months later, another would successfully repair what he called a "shredded" labrum. Two months post-op I ran without pain for the first time in 4 years. By spring, I finally began to see myself as the athlete I self-identify as. I was training and actually gaining fitness for the first time in ages. I lost 30lbs+ and finally started liking the guy looking back in the mirror. I started sleeping better. I was happier. I was a better partner and Dad.
I no longer say "Of course this is the year I get in." Norseman is so much bigger than a race - it's a life event. While my particular situation greatly influenced the experience I wouldn't have it any other way. I proved a lot to myself, overcame more than enough, and did it with family and friends by my side. I'm doubtful that anything will ever compare to Norseman.
Video of the finish: [url=https://flic.kr/p/2h3K7JC]
Finally...the black shirt (video): [url=https://flic.kr/p/2h3KSpZ]
I don't often feel "proud" of races, but: