HOW WAS I T FOR YOU?
A turquoise sea swim, a vertiginous bike route and a historic seafront run. Is Nice the greatest Ironman in Europe? Ian Thelwell and his Frome Triathlon clubmates find out in 2019’s heatwave edition
We’re riding like we’ve stolen our bike, overtaking many riders on the endless and speedy descents of the Provence-Alpes. The smooth tarmac roads cut into the mountain side, sweeping from side to side, with just enough visibility available to maintain full throttle. The grin factor is 120%. I’ve waited my whole life for a ride like this. The brakes on my carbon wheels are screaming and the smell of burning pads is evident. I hurtle into another hairpin bend too fast, and thoughts revert to ‘Please stop, please stop…’ as the huge perilous cliff edges await any failure.
Ironman France may be celebrating its 15th year in 2019, but a major long-distance triathlon has been held in Nice since 1982, with Mark Allen famously winning it 10 times in a row. The original Nice Tri distances of a 3km swim, 120km bike and 30km run distance are still regularly used at the ITU Long Distance Worlds and that debut race in 1982 had a major influence on the UK’s first-ever triathlon in Reading a year later.
The transition, start and finish line Holy Grail is set next to the beach on the Promenade des Anglais. Overlooking it is the iconic ‘#I Love Nice’ sign, which backs onto the hills that roll into the beautifully seductive ProvenceAlpes-Côte d’Azur region of France.
Yet race week of 2019 is experiencing a heat wave, with the Friday ahead of Sunday’s race reaching an astonishing 45°C, the hottest June day on record in France. My racing strategy now needs a desperate review; hitting the swim hard, full throttle up the mountain then recovery on the descent ready for a tempo run is no longer an option. Survival in the furnace will now be my priority for conquering Ironman France 2019.
IRON FIT
Around a year ago, the vortex of no event to look forward to after completing Ironman Wales was looming and the urge for another event became too strong to resist. For me, a long-distance triathlon race can only be an Ironman. The draw of hearing those immortal words ‘You are an Ironman’, the razzmatazz, support and glitz is unrivalled. Following a wet and windy Wales, I needed sunshine. My dear friends at Frome Triathlon Club had already entered France, and the attraction of the venue together with sharing the journey with my Fromies ensured that, after much deliberation (‘Can I really put myself through this again?’), I decided that a delicious turquoise sea swim, a bike ride with less climbing than Wales and a marathon along the promenade in the sunshine-blessed French Riviera would tick all the boxes.
Sticking to a training plan is essential for me to minimise illnesses and injuries. To this end, I religiously follow the training plan in a book titled Be Iron Fit. Race day still creeps up at a remarkable and stealthy pace. The Frome contingent travel together, enjoy most meals with each other and share the same trepidation of the scorching event in unison.
We enter the Parc Phoenix venue for the race briefing through tropical gardens; flamingos keeping an watchful eye over the hundreds of competitors passing through. Sat outside in beautifully-manicured landscape gardens, a banquet fit for a king awaits us. Yet, as the briefing progresses, a wave of disappointment sweeps across us. The governing authorities have insisted on reducing the event’s duration due to the health risks to athletes, marshals, supporters, and the increased workload on the emergency services. Negotiations conclude with a reduced bike leg of 152km from 180km and the run to 30km from 42.2km, as well as the cancellation of both the Iron Kids and Iron Girl events.
THE SOUND OF SIRENS
Race day arrives. Three alarm clocks set for 3:45am ring out needlessly as I’ve been awake for an eternity. Croissants with jam, bananas and coffee start the fuelling for this epic day. The sun is yet to rise, and the partygoers are making their way home along an eerily-quiet main
“There’s little space for overtaking and we’re shoulder to shoulder for much of the 3.8km sea swim”
street as I slowly drift towards transition. Final bike check completed, nutrition and computer loaded on the bike, and I’m now ready to race.
I stand with over 2,500 athletes on the stony beach, excited and nervous in equal measure but ready for the 6:30am start. I’m starting the race day with my Frome teammates John Maloney, Adrian Roddis and Nick Johnson. Our excitement and childish banter grows into a crescendo as we creep closer to the timing mat, which we soon pass over. This is it… go, go, go!
The swim start is a flow into the sea based on expected times. My goggles soon mist and visibility is minimal. Logic bounces in, with the hope that swimming parallel with other swimmers will keep me in the right direction. There’s little space for overtaking and we’re shoulder to shoulder for much of the 3.8km swim.
First lap completed, then bam! A thumping bang in the eye as I’ve veered into someone’s kicking zone. My goggles dislodge and start to leak. Every cloud has a silver lining, though, as I can now see through them. I turn the final buoy, glance at my watch and a rush of excitement strikes me. A PB is achievable, so I increase my effort for the remaining 400m. The swim is completed in 1:17:32… PB achieved! I whip off my wetsuit in the shower, then am kindly reminded by a marshal that I have to put it on up to my waist to avoid a DSQ.
The first few kilometres of the bike leg are flat and into a headwind, but after 10km I’m feeling tired. How could this be possible already? I decide the problem must be mechanical and inspect my bike, noting the back brake is rubbing. Cycling is pleasantly easier once the braking issues are resolved.
John catches up and shouts “BOO!” before I jump out of my skin. We chase each other like cat and mouse for the next 140km. A careful study of the race details for elevation, gradients and distance in no way prepares me for the epic climbing that awaits. The heat is suffocating, the continuous sound of ambulance sirens a haunting backdrop to the punishing climbing. As the day progresses, more athletes are seen in verges seeking respite or being attended to by medics.
INTO THE INFERNO
The first psychological goal is reaching the Col de l’Ecre at around 60km, where the aid station holds our special needs bags at the top of the Provence-Alpes. This arrives not a moment too soon, and I’m concerned heat stroke has started with dizziness, nausea, feeling cool and a lack of sweat. John and Nick also stop and we compare notes
“A careful study of the race details for elevation in no way prepares me for the epic climbing that awaits”
while rehydrating and fuelling. Some downhill riding awaits before the last big climb of the day to end the relentless punishment, although the stunning mountainous scenery compensates amply.
Payday soon arrives with 50km of downhill in front of us. Yet all good things must come to an end and, as sea level approaches, the heat quickly escalates. Contemplation of the run requires reprogramming my mindset. It’s set to be an inferno, which I’m not looking forward to, but the three-way cat and mouse ride with John and Nick sees us into T2 together. T2 is super slow for me. My left hand won’t work due to a suspected trapped nerve and I can’t even pick up a sock. The thoughts of stopping to have this checked are immediately rejected and a lovely marshal helps me put on running shoes and socks. Nick exits T2 first, followed by John and then myself.
Nick starts to walk as his painful blisters earned from flip flops the day before are the size of fried eggs. We agree that John and I will plod onwards, with race tactics realigned to survival and just finishing. We’ll stay together for better or worse. We segment the run into 5km splits, one out, one back, three times. How hard can it be? The heat and humidity are suffocating, so we scuttle to the showers and feed stations before venturing to the next sanctuary of water, fuel and shade.
The best part of the run is seeing our supporters and fellow athletes on the run course. Cheers and high fives work miracles to lift the spirits. The first high five goes to Keith Penny, who’s an absolute machine and is on his last lap as we’re on our first. Next is Natalie George, then Nick ‘Jo’jo’ Johnson, Adrian Roddis and Andrew Coomber. We’re all battle weary and finishing an Ironman with my team mates has made this event the most fun, sociable and memorable for me.
UNBREAKABLE BONDS
As we approach the finish line, I hear the immortal words ‘You are an Ironman’, my favourite phrase in history. The finishing shoot is packed with smiling faces, cheering, high fives everywhere, and myself and John enjoy the red carpet welcome. We started this together and we’re finishing it together.
Wives and friends have found pole position at the finish line. We stop, ecstatically enjoy seeing them all and pose for photos, then shoulder to shoulder we jump over the finish line. We’ve had identical race times of 12:52:08. It’s not a time for me to get excited about, but today was about survival, not a PB.
After further photos we make our way to the recovery area. All strength in my left hand is gone and my feet look like a failed science experiment as I’ve run the final discipline with soaking feet. We meet up with our fellow Fromies and find a restaurant for a well-earned beer and meal. We celebrate our successes, challenges and bad luck as a group. And my lasting memory is the group. Ironman France 2019 has built many unbreakable bonds for Team Frome.