INTO THE BLACK
A pitch-black swim. A ride through Europe’s deepest canyon. A marathon run with more climbing than most bike legs can muster. Montenegro’s Blacklake Xtreme is one of tri’s toughest tests. Seb Zimmermann was one of 26 athletes to brave it in 2019. Here’s h
Beep, beep. 1:50am. Click! Beep, beep. 1:55am. My eyes open and my deep breath tastes the cold morning air charged with the smell of the fire that heated our mountain cabin. I get up and open the door to the living room where my coach, Vladimir Savic, is sleeping. A routine follows of breakfast, coffee, bathroom, ginger tea, more breakfast, electrolytes, bathroom again, packing the car and listening to my race playlist.
We can see our breath in the car as we drive down empty roads at 3:45am. We meet only a few other cars and some wild dogs on our way to the Blacklake Xtreme Triathlon in northern Montenegro, a 227km Xtri World Championship race. The supporters of the 26 starting athletes are filling up the car park. It’s just above freezing. A torch-lit path leads us down to the swallowing darkness of Black Lake. Lights on the shore reveal the icy deep ahead. The race rules are read in a language foreign to my ears.
After a few steps into the cold water my feet sink into the soft, muddy ground. We wait for the signal to begin the 3.8km swim. I can hear all the people behind me yelling. Is that the signal? I hesitate. The guys next to me jump forward. Then I leap. The icy water bites my skin and I can feel the blood pumping through my veins.
I can’t see anyone in front of me. I look left. Nobody there. Right? Nothing. I follow a vague bright spot in front of me. How could I lose them? The bright spot in front of me grows. Emerging out of the water I’m blinded by the brightness as I’m greeted by euphoric volunteers. ‘Where are all the others?’ I ask them. “You’re the first!”
I run into the second lake for part two of the swim. They flash a bluish light to point me in the right direction. I’m so grateful. It’s the only sign that I’m not completely alone. I corner the last buoy and push forward onto the last stretch. Left, right, left, right, left. The swim exit comes into view. The volunteers, supporters and my team – Ivan, Zoran, Vlada and Coach – cheer as I step out of the water with wobbly legs. I step on a stone, tumble and fall. After the darkness of the Black Lake, everything now feels bright. I run up the rocky path in Coach’s Crocs. He removes each glove with one determined pull. I can’t remember the last time I was dressed by someone else.
A LEARNING CURVE
I mount my bike at the last breath of night in full armour: tri-suit, legwarmers, arm-warmers, long socks, insulating vest, race jacket, scarf, gloves and helmet. I leave the highway just as the red dawn paints the Durmitor mountain peaks against the sky. Despite a few small houses with ascending pillars of smoke from the fires within, the land is mostly untouched.
I close in on a bright red spot – the eventual race winner Petr Vabroušek’s backlight. He’s faster in the corners and on the soft ascents. I need to push hard to stay in sight of him. The road surface isn’t what I’m used to but, having cycled around Belgrade, it’s no trouble. I’ve never experienced such corners, though, especially at speeds of 50km/h. I decide against overtaking Petr. I want to read his line and follow his movement. It works. I improve curve by curve.
After every corner a new stunning view awaits us, but also a new ascent and a new technical focus on the descent. I’m already feeling my legs. I find Petr taking a break and I sense how much stronger he is. I pass, fully confident that he’ll pick me up in a few minutes. He does, earlier than I’d hoped, because an old Volvo is blocking my way!
There’s a rhythm to it already, of gripping onto my aerobars, avoiding warps in the road, bunny-hopping over potholes at 60km/h and anticipating what might be waiting around the next corner. I’ve a huge rocky wall on my left, while the course is winding its way up. Up somewhere. I try to keep going. The traffic is picking up and most drivers are close when overtaking me. The tunnels have been short so far, but now they’re getting longer. It’s perfectly dark apart from the beam of my light and all my focus is on riding in a straight line.
“It’s just above freezing. A torch-lit path leads us down to the swallowing darkness of Black Lake”
Suddenly I can see the famous Tara Bridge and hear the noise of the crowd. My wheels roar down to the bridge, but I’m soon climbing again. I wonder how much the total ascent of the bike leg is. I’m deep in denial. I’m ready to accept any lie, thinking it must be 2,700m but maybe it’s more? The numbers on my Garmin climb even slower than I feel possible. After every hundred metres covered I make a new estimate of what the total ascent must be. I want to believe I’m close to the top. A soft descent and I get some of my power back, before the last ascent towards Zabljak starts and my euphoria turns into disbelief. Yet I’m closing in on T2. I pass wild horses and, after 187km and 7:14:13 of riding, reach the ski centre of Savin Kuk that is T2.
COACH HAS A PLAN
Zoran runs with me at an easy pace. The road curves over a few hills and a cold headwind blows into my smiling face. I’m euphoric. I’m in third place in a race that’s succeeding all of my wildest expectations. Nothing will stop me now. Little do we know what’s waiting ahead of us…
My watch has a hiccup so I pace myself without all the metrics. Zoran is pushing the pace beyond what feels comfortable to me. It’s a race, of course it hurts. How it hurts!
I tell Zoran, ‘Please let us not aim for a faster pace than a 7min/km!’ He answers, “No problem, so far we are doing well. We have a 5:30 average!” And he keeps running without a change in pace. What did I miss here? But I’m too weak to argue. It must be Coach. Coach must have told him what pace to run. Coach has a plan. So… trust Coach. And with that, the topic is closed.
The wind turns itself up and brings snowflakes down from the grey sky. I’m freezing. Zoran is ahead. I have to yell as I need to put on more clothing. I use a short break to recover. I inhale the surreal landscape.
My team drives by shortly before arriving at the mountain entry checkpoint. I think they’re worried as I’m not looking great and feeling worse. I asked for oranges when they passed by and, of course, they have oranges for me. They work like a charm, my second secret weapon right after my ginger green tea to reset my taste buds.
I’m in a deep hole but somehow I feel happy. I’m lucky to be here and fortunate to be guarded by my brothers. We’re armed to the teeth, all flasks and hydration systems are full and charged with carbs, another layer of clothing, first aid kit, head torches and whistles. We’re ready to request the mountain’s consent to less us pass.
“I pass wild horses and, after 187km and 7:14:13 of riding, reach the ski centre of Savin Kuk that is T2”