Val de Reuil Triathlon, 16 September 2007 (3km/83km/21km)

[Rich] It was something of a last-minute decision, the long-distance triathlon at Val de Reuil in Normandy. As a rule, last-minute decisions are not best taken when they result in a 3km swim followed by a 83km bike ride, and then, just for good measure, finishing it all off with a half-marathon run. However, I still had pretty good form from the previous month’s Wensleydale Triathlon, and, in spite of some recent back pains, I felt fairly confident that I had the requisite amount of training for such an event. Also competing were my two teammates, Philippe and Ignacio, who were both coming to Normandy on the back of Ironman races. Ignacio had completed Nice back in June, while Philippe had conquered the unfeasibly gruelling Norseman in August.

Val de Reuil has its two transition zones at separate sites, which poses the usual problem of how to organise oneself in terms of transport. We opted for the solution recommended by the organisers: park the car by T2 (also the finish area), leave running clobber, and then cycle the handful of kilometres to the lake with swimming gear packed in a rucksack. My first problem began even before the race start: one of my handlebar end caps had popped out, and the race officials wouldn’t let me enter the bike park with an open tube. I was told the race referees would have spare bungs, although these actually turned out to be plastic water bottle tops. Once I’d found someone with a roll of sellotape, I was back in business – even if my trusty steed had lost a good deal of its professional glean. That said, my Giant TCR3.0 was never going to stand comparison with the sleek, disc-wheeled, carbon-frame machines being brandished by fellow competitors, whose glossy (triathlete) look was completed by a nice aerodynamic helmet and combined visor number.

Léry-Poses lake: a fine spot for a swim/jostle with 300 neoprene-clad triathletes (l) Philippe surveys the water with trepedation (r)

During our preparations, the cold morning mist had lifted, leaving clear blue skies and a sun that glistened enticingly on the expansive Léry-Poses lake. Given that the 3km swim was the longest I’d tackled in competition, I was happy to have crammed in a couple of long pool sessions in the preceding fortnight. Val de Reuil would also be my first experience of what the French puzzlingly call a “sortie à l’australienne”: coming out of the water at the half-way point, running round a fixed point on the shore and then diving back in to complete another lap of the 1.5km course. A 5-minute warm-up in the temperate lake was just about enough to give me the confidence I so desperately need in these mass open-water starts. There was some faffing, as the starter insisted we all form a straight line in the water. And then we were off.

I had a good start. No panic, no stress, just a steady rhythm. Not that this stopped me getting elbowed, kicked and generally whacked all over. But then I probably gave as good as I got. The water was remarkably clear, making navigation that bit easier, and I chose to linger at the edge of the main pack to avoid yet more bodily bruising. At the first buoy, there was an inevitable jostling for position, but not long after, gaps started opening and swimming became a whole lot more pleasant. The first lap completed, I burst out of the water and glimpsed back to see my progress. Not bad! There was an elongated stream of swimmers still spread out in the water behind me. Allez, run round the tree (on the thankfully sandy shoreline), and plunge back in. Oooff, this exiting, running and diving back in lark was exhausting. It took me a short while to get my breath back and settle back into my rhythm. About two-thirds of the way in, I suddenly (and somewhat belatedly) remembered that drafting was a considerable advantage in the swim leg. A guy had been threatening to overtake me for a while, so I let him go and then positioned myself nicely in his slipstream for the rest of the swim. On exiting the water, I learned from a fellow competitor that we’d been going just 47 minutes. Wow! That was good going for me (163rd out of 326 participants, as it turned out).

Ignacio, Rich, then Philippe stride out of the water

Into T1, I managed to remove my wetsuit with astounding ease. I threw the swimming gear into the large plastic bag that the organisers would transport to the finish, and rapidly donned my GPS watch, helmet, gloves… wow, this was a record speed for transition. Just needed my shades and I’d be on the road. My shades… where had I put my sunglasses? Oh bugger, they were in the inside pocket of the rucksack, which was in the large plastic bag, underneath my wetsuit… A couple of minutes later, I had my shades – and my T1 time was back to its usual lacklustre standard.

The bike leg at Val de Reuil consists of three laps (well, two and a slightly truncated third lap) of a 28km circuit, which is dead flat apart from a relatively challenging 1.5km hill. Given that I’m more at home on hillier routes, I didn’t expect to shine on this course. I also wanted to pace myself better than I had done at July’s Dijon triathlon, where a super-speedy 85km bike ride had caused me considerable cramps in the 20km run. Nonetheless, I set off at a healthy pace, overtaking a handful of guys (while also being overtaken by those disc-wheeled pros).

I knew my back was going to give me some strife on the ride, and I was right. Still, the slight pain, coupled with occasional pauses (on the move) to get out of the saddle and stretch, at least made me calm my pace. The hill comes just after the mid-point of the circuit and, for me, it was an absolute joy. After kilometres of being passed by powerful guys with thighs the size of my waist, I finally had a chance to exercise my revenge. What’s more, it was a climb just as I like ‘em: steep, twisty and lined with crowds (well, a fair few people had stepped out of their nearby homes, at any rate). My heart raced up to over 170bpm, my back pain dissolved, and I darted up the slopes, overtaking the powerhouses who had sped past me on the flatlands. This pattern was more or less repeated with each lap, meaning I essentially held my overall position on the ride (in fact I gained 20 places with the 143rd best ride).

Rich, in blue helmet, settles down on the rolling roads of the bike leg (l) Phillipe powers round a bend (r)

The hill was followed by a dead straight, extremely steep plummet, where my cycle computer registered close to 70kph. Near the beginning of the second lap, I was extremely surprised to glimpse Ignacio just ahead of me. Ignacio is a much better swimmer than me, and had logically exited the water many minutes before me. And while he suffers on hilly bike rides, he is the King of fast, powerful cycling. For months, I’d suffered in his wheel as he pounded his pedals (and me) to mercy at 45kph on the many long, flat stretches we somehow always seemed to encounter in training. Yet, here I was catching him on a flat portion – and at a ‘mere’ 35kph. He explained (while, of course, keeping the regulatory distance apart) that he was pacing himself. After all, he reasoned, we were heading for a highly respectable 33kph average – which was true enough. We rode side by side or within ten metres of each other for a good while (along with a number of other riders, as the narrow roads and multi-lap format meant the race never really got that spread out). The wind was picking up now, so it was good to at least have a teammate as a marker to keep in sight. Then came the hill, where Ignacio dropped back and I couldn’t help but forge ahead.

Coming up a final uphill drag into T2, I felt my leg muscles getting heavy, and wondered if I shouldn’t have stuck to Ignacio’s more cautious pace. Too late now. Anyway, I definitely felt fresher than at Dijon, so I had at least made some progress in dosing my effort.

T2 was situated by the side of a sports stadium, with the two-lap run beginning and finishing on an athletics track. The first kilometre was, predictably, too fast – well under 4mins/km pace. I slowed down – but not too much. I felt good, and, as usual, was making some serious headway in winning back places over the run leg. About three ks in, I picked up a guy in red who stuck to me. Ever the competitive fool, I accelerated slightly to lose him, but he clung tight. OK, he could stay there! He would at least be motivation not to slow down. We carried on together, over bridges, onto a grassy canal path, and back onto tarmac. The surface sure was varied on this run course – which served to break both the monotony and my rhythm.

After a while, my companion took the lead, and I was soon to appreciate his pace-setting. Maybe I’d gone a bit too hard at the start. But it was new for me to start the run of a long-distance tri relatively fresh, and I wanted to make the most of it. I managed to take the lead again briefly, before realising that my new partner was probably a better judge of pace than me. All the while, we continued to overtake our fellow competitors with chuffing regularity.

From 8k, I began to struggle with my companion’s pace - and only by mustering a maximum of mental strength did I manage to stick with him until the end of lap 1 (10.5km). From there, though, I had to let him go – otherwise, I'd face blowing up seriously by the end. As it was, my pace was already significantly slower than one lap previously.

Nonetheless, I was still making good progress - and, as I had done since the beginning of the run, I sought motivation by counting the number of triathletes I’d overtaken. Progressively, though, my oxygen-addled brain was having more and more difficulty recalling what number I was up to – and even doing the simple maths! What's more, the full afternoon sun was starting to get to me. And, as if that wasn't already enough, some bored local kids took to throwing stones at me (and other passing runners). I shouted at them to stop. Predictably, their answer took the form of verbal abuse – and another handful of pebbles lobbed over in my direction.

By now, muscle ache was only a minor concern; my general physical deterioration was the primary source of worry. The last kilometre couldn’t come too quickly. And when it finally did appear, I somehow managed a slight acceleration over the grassy lawns and 400m asphalt track that lead to the finish line. I’d clocked the 32nd fastest time on the run leg, to win back 60 places and finish 83rd overall in a time of 5h01’55”.

Knackered but delighted to finish: Rich's face says it all (l) The soft grass does little to relieve Ignacio's pain (r)

After swigging considerable quantities of water and chomping on the regional Normandy food (camembert, apple tart) on offer, I felt rejuvenated. This was the freshest I’d finshed any triathlon over such distances. And even if my post-race stretching triggered a painful cramp spasm, it was a novelty to be able to stretch at all after such an effort. Spurred on by this minor triumph, I subsequently signed up for my first ever Ironman race. Right now, I’m wondering: what HAVE I done? Guess I’ll find out in Nice on 22 June 2008…

Despite bloody feet, Ignacio smiles for the post-race photo with Rich

Ignacio came in half an hour later in a fairly lamentable state (with bleeding, blistered feet!). He’d believed his Ironman experience would serve to get him round Val de Reuil no probs. Finally, though, his post-Ironman celebrations had come at the cost of training. And even if Val de Reuil is no Ironman, it still requires some serious preparation. Philippe finished after 6 hours, happy enough with his first post-Ironman race. He’d suffered on the run, but found motivation by keeping pace with a handful of competitors from neighbouring clubs. Who says the triathlon is an individual effort?