This is part II of my Ironman France race report series - for part I please click here:
As mentioned in Part I, there’s a sudden calm before the storm. After leaving the remains of my kit with Dad and Brother Matthew I made my way to the start area. Ironman Nice is a rolling start, which means that you seed yourself into start times based on your expected swim team; the quickest swimmers go off first, followed by the next wave. This is to avoid a mass start and accompanying carnage thereafter, which was welcome, but even the first few hundred meters on a rolling start can still only be described as a proverbial washing machine.
I didn’t know quite where to place myself in terms of expected swim time. I’d completed a half distance swim in an actual event, and several times I’d completed 4.8km open-water swims – I did have something to estimate by but didn’t know how the busy start might impact this. In the end, I opted to go with the 1.30-1.45 pen – I debated going in the group behind, but I didn’t want to be too far back and I was hoping I’d be pulled along by the others in the group.
After entering the starting pen, there was about 15 minutes to kill before the gun sounded. This felt like an eternity; there was a palpable level of nervousness that seemed to spread throughout the athletes. I remember looking around me, some were spending a last few moments by themselves getting into the zone, others nervously chatting with anyone and everyone around them.
As it was, I heard an English accent behind me and turned around and start chatting with a man from Kent. It too was his first Ironman after deferring last year so we bonded over the shared trepidation we were experiencing in that moment. Conversing for a few minutes before the start helped immeasurably and absolutely took a weight off my shoulders – others were feeling the same! We’re even mates on Instagram now!
We trudged forwards slowly and made our way onto the red carpet that was laid across the stones at the start line. I remember, just before taking a right turn and running down into the sea, turning to my left to look back towards the crowd who were lining the promenade gazing down towards the beach and the start. To my right, the crystal clear Mediterranean water about to be disturbed by 1,000 other swimmers.
I wish I could recount absolutely how I was feeling in that moment, but I can’t. A million and one thoughts were probably racing through my head at that point, but I do remember trying to stay focused on my plan: don’t go out too fast, find a nice rhythm, find some clean water as soon as possible.
This nearly went out of the window at the first moment. The holding pens are adjacent to the beach, so when you are called forward you must first walk parallel to the sea before turning right, crossing the start line and then rushing into the sea. Because of where I was situated in the pen, on the left-hand side, it meant that I was on the ‘inside’ of the course. Although strictly the shortest line, it’s also the busiest, and definitely not where I wanted to find myself right off the bat. At the last moment, right before entering the froth, I jumped back across to the other side of the line and dived into the sea.
For the first few hundred metres or so I did have other swimmers around me. Fortunately, we were all roughly travelling at the same speed ( a win for the rolling start) which helped. The water was warm (certainly compared to the Royal Docks in London) and the conditions were good, which meant that I was able to settle into a comfortable position early on. The Nice swim course was effectively two out-and-backs around 2 buoys spaced about 1km off-shore. I made it to the first marker feeling comfortable and pressed on, still in a nice rhythm.
There really isn’t a whole lot to mention about the swim course, it’s my weakest discipline so I was pleased to get out of the water without incident and in a decent-enough time of just over 90 minutes. By the time I was on my way back to shore, waves had started to build up so it was a little bit choppy, but they had people on hand to help pull you out of the water which was certainly welcome.
Out of the water and making my way up to the first transition - pulling the top of my wetsuit off on the way. I found my bag without much incident (tip: use landmarks so you know roughly where your things are) and started pulling the rest of my wetsuit off. I shoved down half a banana and a heavily concentrated electrolyte drink and was on my way to collect my bike after sticking my helmet and sunglasses on.
It was a bit harder to find my bike (there are many of them in the bike park) but managed it eventually. You have to run with it through the rest of the park before you get to the mount line at which point you are permitted to jump aboard your noble steed for the day.
Endurance activities such as this are largely an exercise in effective problem solving. My first problem of the day occurred almost instantly; my bike computer seemingly unable to acquire any satellites. Fortunately, after a few km’s it kicked into life and started giving an accurate output.
The bike course in Nice is a tough one. There’s over 8,000ft of elevation gain on the day, and records the steepest .5km, 1km, 5km and 10km of any Ironman event. After an initial 20km or so on the flat, the elevation suddenly ramps up with the first climb of the day. Although not too long, the going was steep and I needed to dig deep early. By now the sun was well and truly up and was beginning to beat down and was now becoming a factor. I had to continuously remind myself to drink often, alternating between water and electrolyte drinks. I’d created a nutrition plan for myself, a reminder of when and what to eat and drink to make sure I was fuelled up, and I had this taped to the top-tube of my bike. This came in handy. For a few kilometres, I was riding with another brit but parted ways at the first aid station to replenish my bottles, knowing what was to come.
The first aid station passed without incident and I only spent a few moments there – enough to drop 2 bottles into the recycling bin and pick up a new bottle of water a bottle of Gatorade. From there, the next 20km or so was rolling, with some nice gentle descents quickly following some short but difficult climbs. At this point, there were still a lot of riders, some quicker, some slower around so there was never a feeling of isolation and it was nice to chat to other athletes as we passed each other.
After 40km you get to the bottom of the first of two serious climbs, the Col de l’Ecre. This was a punishing climb of 20km averaging about 6% - it’s a classic alpine and all-told I was climbing just under 2 hours. The views were spectacular – for the first part of the climb you are emerging from the valley and as you get higher up, the views back towards Nice and the coast start to appear. I was grinding away in my lowest gear, just trying to keep the cog turning over and crawling onwards. The roads were still busy with other riders and it was some solace that they were going though just as much pain as I was.
By now, it was approximately 33 degrees Celsius and with no wind or air resistance, trying to stay cool was beginning to become quite a bit problem. At times I squirted water over my face and down the back of neck to try and cool off a little. A few kilometres from the top of the climb there was another aid station and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much carnage in my life. Riders were strewn across the floor and one was even being sick. I dumped a bottle of water over my head which provided some temporary relief, grabbed half a banana, and restocked my bottles in the cages and set out again. This aid station was well placed.
The last few kilometres to the summit were brutal switchbacks and I had to keep grinding away though knowing that the relief of some flat riding was approaching. I did have the cut-off time in mind at the beginning of the ride, but near the top of the ride I realised that I would be well inside the maximum time allowed. Eventually, I made it to the top, the single hardest period I’ve ever spent on a bike, and paused very briefly to catch my brief and let my heart rate settle momentarily before starting out again.
60km was now on the clock and the hardest part of the ride was over. In truth, mentally I was buzzing – I knew going in to the race, baring anything unforeseen, that if I could get to the top of the first Col I would be able to make it to the end. Physically, however, I was starting to exhibit symptoms of the tough opening few hours of the bike leg. At some point on the climb, I’d begun to become dehydrated and hadn’t managed to replenish liquids or salts quick enough despite refilling at every opportunity. This was going to have affect me for the rest of the day.
The next 20km was largely on the flat, or at worst, rolling, which meant that I was able to get down onto the aerobars and start to bring my average speed up. This was a fun part of the race and I enjoyed the cruise through the hinterland with some open road ahead of me. The effects of dehydration were starting to take effect though, and I started to experience quite a strong stomach ache, which meant that eating and drinking was becoming quite difficult. I knew that not doing either would be disastrous so I did try and force some fuel down but as we made our way into the personal needs station at 80km I wasn’t feeling in great shape, perhaps 5/10.
Personal needs is a god-send. You get given a bag before the rest to put anything you may need half way through the course and you get a chance to pick that stuff up here. I popped a couple of salt tablets and forced myself to drink a half bottle of Gatorade and consumed some pretzels as well, along with a few Percy Pigs and a few sips of Red Bull. It did make me feel a lot better and within 5 minutes I was back on my way, remembering to take with me a note I’d written myself reminding myself that the hard part was all done.
With my new found energy, the next 20km, despite being slightly uphill passed without incident, and I was able to continue drinking when needed, although my body by now had started to reject solid foods, though I did manage to force down a few sweets. There was a brief climb for a few kilometres which did nothing to aid the already-energy sapped legs before the fun really began at around 110km. The road opened up and we were on the side of a mountain with breath-taking views down on the valley beneath us – it reminded me of the final scene of the original Italian Job.
By now, the field had spaced out a lot more, meaning that you had a lot of the road to yourself. We raced down the mountain at speeds of up to 55mph, which on two wheels, and with a sheer drop a few feet away, is a scary experience. Despite my knuckles being white with fear, I safely negotiated the 10km descent through the sharp, twisting turns on the side of the mountain. Although gravity took care of my speed, I did remember to spin the pedals a few times every minute to make sure that I didn’t seize up and to ensure that I was shipping away as much lactate build up as possible.
I wish I could recall more of this part of the race but it flew by. The first part of the descent raced by, and it seemed no sooner had it started than we were back on the flat and preparing for the final climb of the day. When I’d driven this part of the course the day before, I hadn’t been worried, thinking at “only” 10km, it should be fairly comfortable. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Whereas the Col de l’Ecre struck fear into the hearts of each athlete, Coursegoules didn’t seem as challenging. After a kilometre of relative flat through Coursegoules village, the road suddenly ramped up again for a series of switchbacks. I went out hard (for some reason), spinning in a low gear but high cadence, and seemingly was slowly moving my way up the pack, certainly passing more riders than passed me. I do remember being extremely fatigued throughout the section, as one would expect, and I can explicitly remember counting down the remaining kilometres in my head until the summit. I rode in and amongst a smaller pack for several kilometres on the way up, but careful not to incur any drafting penalties I made sure not to get too involved. There was an aid station a kilometre or two from the top, and I made sure to top my bottles up, replenish some snacks, and generally give my pistons a rest for a moment or two. By now, I’d also managed to remember how to eat and drink, so some nourishment was welcome and much needed.
Shortly after the aid station, we were at the summit, which marked the final big ascent of the day. From there it was, quite literally, downhill, and my average speed improved remarkably. By now, I’d built some more confidence during the descent and I was certainly helped that this downhill section was not nearly as exposed as the first coming off the Col de l’Ecre which meant that we were shielded from the hideous crosswind that threatened to hurl me off the side of the cliff like the unfortunate Mini’s in 1967.
There’s not too much to mention about the final 50km of the ride - most of which was quick descent. The route was still technical, and I had to concentrate closely to ensure I was taking good lines and calculated risks. In fact, I think I was exposed descending. Whereas on the way up I’d overtaken a lot of riders, on the downhill, more riders overtook me. Next time I do a hilly course, this is definitely an area for improvement, and I would recommend to anyone who rides this course to ensure that their defending skills are up to scratch.
I do remember a couple of things. The field had thinned considerably by now, which meant that we were pretty much riding on ourselves. That meant when another rider came along, it was good to give a wave or some brief chat before continuing. I also saw several crashes: one looked particularly bad, a rider receiving treatment from paramedics after losing control of their steed and crashing into a wall. This rider, I believe, was later airlifted but OK. It did provide a reminder of how close the margin was when descending at such speed.
After the route levelled out, I declined any aid at the final station and rode the final 10km or so back into the town centre. By now, the day was getting on and it was still very hot but I was looking forward to swapping Excalibur for my running shoes. As I spun down the Promenade des Anglais, I could see the athletes who were already on the run going about their business on the other side of the road.
I rode up to transition and jumping off the bike, racked my steed and set about finding my running kit. My second transition was faster than my T1. I pulled on my running shoes, my new Hoka’s still gleaming, and swapped my helmet out for my running hat. That, plus a few bites of banana and a few sips of some electrolytes, I was heading out towards the transition exit and about to run a marathon.
My total bike time was 7 hours, 37 minutes. I’d gained 2,291 metres in elevation, and burned around 5,400 calories.