Race 5. Triathlon Noirmoutier en L’ile. May 21 2009

One of the hardest parts of this race was getting into the race itself. It was Thursday and a public holiday in France so everyone wanted in, but with only 220 spots up for grabs there was going to be tears. I was very lucky and gained a spot at the very last minute. The island of Noirmoutier is pretty amazing in itself (not that having a triathlon there is meant to blow peoples mind away), as it has the spectacular ‘passage du Gois’. For people that spend 3 weeks of the year glued to the couch, with a tv remote in one hand and errr … your pump in the other hand listening to Phil Ligget and Paul Sherwan, you will remember the tour de France passed here in 1999, and the race was possibly decided by a big crash that held up all but 70 or so riders. At high tide the passage is a few meters under water, and for a few hours at low tide the 4.5km section can be crossed on foot, by car or doing a handstand (anything is possible). There is also a famous running race where they invite some super fast African runners and pit them against the best French guys. To tip the scales in favor of the Frenchies, the run is ‘contre la mer’ (against the sea), where the runners complete most of the race in shin deep water, as the tide speeds in. If you are too slow then you may need to swim the last bit, and the Kenyans arnt the best swimmers! The passage is slippery with mud and algae, and you can imagine running with heavy wet shoes, yet I saw the winners time on the news somewhere under 12mins for 4.5km!! Check this link for more info http://www.lesfouleesdugois.com/ Having built up all this background of the passage, I must say, we didn’t race over it, so forget about everything I have just told you and refocus on this…. The race site was slap bang in the middle of down town Noirmoutier. Well when I say down town, its not New York but with an overabundance of one way streets, lack of parking places and a few too many disgruntled locals driving their 1946 Renault at 14km/hr between their salt farm and potato shop, it was pretty congested! It was actually a really good atmosphere as parts of the course passed the café strip where a delicate blend of posh latte sippers and groggy fishermen could critique the passing of wet, semi clad, lycra adorned bodies, from the comfort of their alfresco settings. The swim was a straight line affair into the outgoing current followed by a climb out the canal by means of one of three ladders, strapped to the canal wall at the top and driven into the bottomless mud at the bottom. Great for spectators as they could walk along and watch the fight just 20 or so meters away. It must be said that it could be a little discouraging for competitors too, as watching an old lady with a walking frame gliding along effortlessly next to you, could make on feel a little inadequate in the water. The bike was 2 laps of 11km with a mix of wide straight roads on flat, narrow winding roads through the salt marshes and dangerous, technical cobblestone sections through the center of town. Ella was lucky enough to see a few stacks, including one where an unfortunate gentleman abandoned his bike and buried himself waist deep in a flower pot. Thankfully his pants stayed on otherwise his impersonation of a banana tree would have taken all of the attention off the race itself! The run was a 5km loop, where the last kilometer leads you along the swim canal to the finish arch. As for my race, I swam pretty much alone after the first 100m, trying in vane to catch one guy who had shot into the lead. I got to the ladder about 10 seconds behind him but passed him in transition and headed out on the bike in the lead. Before the race I had asked a number of people where the course through the center of the village actually goes. Saying it goes up, around and back, or follow someone else was not cutting it and everyone had a different interpretation of the course. I had warm up around all the streets but there were barriers everywhere and no arrows. So as I headed up the hill and around the little castle thing I was prepared to turn left or right and was even willing to go straight on. Thankfully the marshals kept me on track and I got around the real course without becoming lost (I do hope the guy that tol d me (and kept insisting he was right) to go the wrong way up the wrong road, followed his own directions, and is still riding looking for the turn around). I went hard on the bike hoping to get a big space between myself and last years winner, David Gandon. This happened and by the end of the bike leg I had close to 1 minute of a lead. Having been thrashed more than once in the past two weeks and also loosing races in disappointing circumstances, I decided to run hard and leave nothing to chance. I crossed the line close to two minutes in front with people saying “ah facile” Easy? No it was not!

Here is the swim start. I hung onto the pole just left of the bouy and got a flyer!

A special thank you must go to Elise for not only lending us her car but also giving us tickets to a Sound garden/ Lenny Kravitz concert the night before. What a girl! And dam that Laurent Suppi for stealing my secret girlfriend!

Race 4. Triathlon of Mayenne 17 May 2009

The first thing I must note about this race is that it is almost identical to the race of Laval. It is swam in the same river, just 30km away. Has a hilly two lap bike course and finishes with a 3 lap run around the river. I must say there is a very sharp and quite long hill to drag yourself up each lap on the run, the only key feature to separate the two races. A small group of us Cessonais traveled down to try our luck, which included Erwan, in his second ever Olympic distance race, Elise, who did a 130km bike race the day before, and Jerome who also did the race but also rode there and back, giving him 210km for the day. Ella was there to take photos and get cold and I was just hoping not to get lost. I had heard this course was hilly and with the addition of the chilly wind and cold water, it made for a tough race. With the water temperature just cracking 14 degrees, mine and everyone else’s swim warm up consisted of head up breastroke, some bubble blowing and a lot of “putains” being yelled. This was all performed in the direction of the start line. When 40% of the field was semi ready the gun was fired and the battle to fully submerge your head began. I had opted to swim close to the wall, hoping to dodge a bit of current, but it became clear from early on that the middle was just as good. Three guys in the middle set the pace, I passed one on the way back, but by the time I got out of the water two were well in front. One (Greg Boutier of Les Sables) I would never see again! (that’s not entirely true but I am going for effect here! I caught the guy in second, a man from Redon tri who had lead the swim and stayed with him for the remainder of the first bike lap. I knew the pace was not terrific but, as I had no idea where the course went and I wanted to save my skinny legs a little I was content to follow him around the Mayenne countryside and through its little surrounding villages. A few time checks put Greg a fair bit up the road…Ok, quite a way, alright, alright, he had around 3 minutes. On the second lap I passed my helper and set off in a blistering attempt to cut down this astronomical defecate. I had felt the wind all of the first lap (how could I not it was about 50km/hr) and knew there were some sections of crosswind that were too dangerous to stay on tri bars, but I hoped Greg, who was on full TT bike with disc and aero helmet was having the same, if not worse problems. After around 5km of solid riding the wind really got to me. I got to a small rise that felt like the Hillary step of Mount Everest and while trying to summit at around 12km/hr, turned to see the Redon guy passing me with playful ease. I knew it was time to eat a gel (little too late but oh well) and I watched the guy I had cruised behind for the whole first lap, take off into the sunset, as I dribbled sugary goo down my freshly ironed Cesson suit. The last 15km were a real battle. I was really tired for the distance I had ridden, the hills were extra tough as even slight rises were knocking me, and I was battling to keep second place in sight (forget about where first was). I came into transition alone in 3rd with around 30 seconds to make up to second, and just 8 DAYS behind the Greg (who I will refer to as that bastard (he is actually a real nice guy but that ruins the story)) who had left transition ran out of sight and had probably had time to do a spot of fishing with the local wankers that yelled witty and sophisticated remarks at every competitor as we passed. I racked my bike, happy the ordeal was over but with dreaded apprehension as my lifeless legs still needed to transport me 10km to the finish and assist me up the wall of a hill on each lap. Running to begin with felt ok, and I felt the real pain and suffering was just to come. I moved into second with little fight and actually felt pretty good. After a lap and a bit I was 1 minute in front of third and feeling a lot more chipper. On each lap I could see third getting further behind and out of my hair. I would also cross ‘bastard Greg’, on an out and back section which, aside from the fact it confirmed just how far out of the race I was, also gave me feed back on how I was gaining on him. My new race goal was not to finish 5 minutes behind him, not the most encouraging goal, but I ran with that in mind for the remainder of the run leg. I even heard the commentator saying something French to the effect “here comes McCartney, chasing the win …but…well…..there you go” Hmmmm, should I just stop now??? But he was just being realistic. So in the end I was second. Even knowing its early days training wise couldn’t dampen the disappointment of such a bad ride. I shook Greg’s hand, studied his legs to work out how they had hurt me so much, then complimented him on his catch of fish!! I must add that on our return to Rennes and while pushing my bike back into our apartment I noticed the rear brake pressed against my wheel. Bugger. It explains a few things, like bad braking performance and scraping noises all ride (am I a little slow on the clues??) and makes me think perhaps Greg would have only beaten me by 50 minutes!!!!!!!

Race 3. Saint gilles Croix de vie. Sunday 10th may 2009

After copping a battering on Saturday in Saint cyr, then hitting the Poitiers

discothèque with Charlotte and her team till 5 in the morning, I was starting to question the intelligence of my decision to race the Sunday in Sanit Gilles croix de vie. It had been my suggestion to Laurent Suppi that persuaded him to race there also and when Charlotte woke us up in her caravan on the Sunday morning, we looked more like senile sloths with chronic fatigue, than guys that needed to race in a few hours. It was doing a warm-up ride with Laurent, that I remembered vowing last year, I would not race this race again. With a bike course that better resembles a star pattern on a patchwork of gravel and bitumen surfaces, as black rain clouds consumed the sky, my eagerness to hit the course flat out was lacking at best.

I was unable to do a swim warm-up. Not for the usual reasons of it being un allowed or missing the time, but because the water was so dam cold and, still being haunted from the events 24 hours before, I exited the water just prior to groin depth, and commenced a rigorous star jump and burpie routine on the sand. With everyone at the ready, the gun was fired and a few hundred Frenchies and me sprinted down the beach to get into the 14 degree water. It was after my initial duck dive and further flailing dolphining attempts, that I became acutely aware of the cold water. How could I not? It felt like I had left my head in the car door with nana continuously trying to close it as she crackles “in my day car doors always closed, they don’t make them like they use to”. I think for certain it was the first time I thought my eyeballs would fall out (except for a race I did once in Les Sables where there were a lot of topless girls on the beach…but lets just keep on track). I never felt very great on the swim and had the sensation my pace was slowly deteriorating, but I was able to get a little wave to shore and ran into transition in 4th. A group of 4 was able to form consisting of Benoit Buchard (Les Sables), Nicolas Alloit (Saint jean de monts), Pierre Le Corre (Les Sables), and me (Cesson, fluro Cesson). Beniot and I pushed the pace and with each lap were told the gap to the chase bunch of ten or so guys was getting bigger. With one lap to go our lead was 50 seconds and I was happy enough to stop taking risks to gain anymore time, but not Benoit. If the corners were not dangerous enough, the constant stream of lapped riders certainly were. We were presented many times by scatterings of riders taking up all the road and not even the presence of he lead motorbike, whistles, or me yelling “putain, rester a gauche” (you will have to look that one up!) was going to distract them from their 30km/hr joyrides. We lost Benoit at one point as he shot through the middle of a disorganized looking pack, in the middle of a traffic island, while we hit the skids behind, and it was left to me to get him back. Somehow we all came into transition together. Nicholas was the first to drop, which was of no surprise, as he has been injured and unable to run for a while. Benoit set the tempo and I went along for the ride, unaware Pierre was doing the same, some 5 meters back. I passed Benoit in the last half of the last lap and knowing I was not in great shape made my move for the win with a little more that a km to go. Dam, he lifted and went with me!! So now we were running hard and closing in on a sprint finish, just the two of us, or so I thought. We rounded the final right hand corner and lined up the finishline. Between us was around 300m of the most slippery tiles in France, or possibly the world. I had watched people in the earlier race slipping over on them and now here I was trying to sprint on them. I ran hard, Beniot ran harder, I tried a new technique that gained me nothing in speed but gave me the appearance of an epileptic baboon, in desperate need to go to the toilet. Benoit drew level with me, and then I heard it. Someone in the crowd yelled “aller Pierre” Oh god, he was right there!! Beniot took off like he had stolen something and Pierre passed me like he was chasing someone that had stolen something. I succumb to the pain in my legs and checked over my shoulder for anymore unpleasant surprises. I crossed the line at a walk, 4 seconds behind the two team mates that had gone one/two in a glorious sporting moment, and sat down on the seawall, to think over how I had gone from first to third in 50 meters

Race 2. Grand prix round 1 Saint cyr.....and the rain 12th May 2009

This was without a doubt the coldest race I have ever had the pleasure of participating in. The water was 16 degrees. Not too bad, and after a few minutes of warm-up it felt fine. It actually was not the lake that made me feel like I was in Antarctica. It was the constant rain and chilly wind, coupled with the obligation to ride in 1 layer of soaking wet lycra, and propel yourself down hills, while the riders wheels in front sprayed a pleasant mix of puddles and mud in your face, that sent me to near hypothermia. After having a fairly clean swim (for grand prix standards) and getting out of transition quick enough to see the lead group forming at a very attainable distance, I climbed the first hill content with how my race was unfolding. This was the last time I would be happy about any facet of this race.

I had noticed it being cold when I was getting my shoes on for the bike, but thought little of it. We had around 700m of straight road before a sharp turn left and the start of the hill. Plenty of time to slip on shoes, yet I still found myself at the lower part of the slope, fumbling with my feat. Towards the top of the climb I could see the pack with Nick (my UK teammate) in it but Max Toin just hanging off the back. When I got to him I started to push him, thinking if I can get him in there it will be 3 Cesson in the front pack, and that is the perfect race situation. Well the intention was good but my legs were not coming to the party and I had to stop pushing. I rode hard for a little then waited a little for Max to get on my wheel, but he was still hurting too much, and I was now 50 or more meters behind the front group on the flat. Things were going bad. I spent 2 or 3 kilometers on my own tantalizingly close to the bunch, but without the legs to get there. I decided to save some energy and wait for the second pack, that would have lots of strong guys, and would probably get to the leaders anyway. With the pace slowed and by myself in the French country side I soon felt just how cold I was. The second bunch caught me around a minute later and by the end of the first lap had tacked onto the front group. I was not going great at all. I didn’t feel like I had any strength to pass anyone and improve my position and with every kilometer slipped further towards the back of the pack, that contained around 50 riders. The hills were fine and the corners at low speed were appreciated, but the descents were hurting me.

Not only was there a horrible mix of riders taking big risks and others over braking but the freezing wind was really starting to get to me. It was at the bottom of the last technical descent that I found myself off the back of the bunch, dropped. Shit. I was with a few other guys that I know fairly well and, although nothing was said (my jaw was not functioning anyway) we all had the look of frost bitten bewilderment. We kept the bunch well within sight and if anything or last 5 km little chase got some blood moving in my legs. We rode into transition about 10 seconds down and racked our bikes as the last guys from the front group that had been whittled down to 35 ran out. My feet were white and functionless, and felt too big for my shoes. It took for what seemed 75 minutes to get just two shoes on and then I started to run, with the sensation of golf balls at the end of my legs. The run course was all on dirt roads that, with the constant rain resembled the swim course. I stupidly spent a good part of the first kilometer dodging the puddles, but gave up this fruitless exercise when I realized in some parts the mud on the edge of the puddles was deeper than the puddles. It was for me like a war. I was frozen, not able to focus or see straight and totally energy less, just staggering to get home. If I was not in the first 3 of the team and counting for points, I would have surely stopped. I finished in 27th. Antoine was not far behind me but in the same state and Rod was just in front of me. To add insult to injury Pierre (our U23 athlete that cant count for points) had a great race and was the first of the team home, but with his points taken away the team slipped from 6th to 9th.

Race 1. The curse of the Cesson triathlon. 2nd May 2009

To get a real feel for this race please read my Cesson triathlon blog entries for 2006 and 2008 seasons. For the lazy readers…a brief run down of this race history goes like this; In 2006 it was my first race with the team Cesson Sevigne, and I ended up crashing. In 2008 it was Antoine le Soz who was the debut Cesson athlete and he stacked. Can you see where this story is going???… ok, read on. Big race this year and for the first time two starts to split up the field. Girls in the first wave and guys 5 minutes behind in the second wave. 40 girls and 380 guys….Anyone see a problem with this? With no fear of making an over exaggerated comment, the start line was crowded. Its not a great feeling standing waist deep in 14 degree water, being yelled at to get back, while your feet are getting stood on and 10 guys behind you are the thickness of a wetsuit away from being more than just competitors with you. Amazingly I was pretty calm. If I die I die, no point stressing about the almost certain drowning. Well I didn’t drown, got a fairly clean start spent a little time with someone swimming on my back, then the rest of the swim, swimming with some team mates, got out the water, trouble free and out of transition in 3rd. On the bike course a group of 4 of us formed the first pack. Benoit Buchard (Les Sables), Julien Leroy (Saint Jean de Monts), Nick Beer (English guy in his first race for Cesson….but don’t get ahead of me!) and of course me, cos its my story. We stayed away for 1 and a half of the two lap bike course, before getting absorbed into the first chase group, lead by you guessed it Mr Suppi. I am sure, had he not ridden 5 hours the day before, our little group would have be swept up in the first 10km, but lets not harp on these depressing facts. We were now a group of 12 or so, with all the pre race favorites looking at each other and protecting their legs for the run. It was at the finish of the bike leg, (where things always get a little hectic) that the curse of Cesson struck. For those that are switched on, yes, it was Nick. For reasons that escape us both, he fell to his right, where I was. I felt a sharp shunt from the left, and then saw the gutter, barriers and spectators rapidly approaching. I hit the gutter out of control, went through the barriers, and into the crowd, terminating my little adventure with someone falling completely on top of me. I rushed back for my bike, tried to keep riding with the chain off, realized the error of my ways and jumped off. I took of my bike shoes and ran like semi drunk emu carrying a suitcase or moldy oranges on an ice rink, back to transition. Nick had managed to head butt a small girl in the crowd, and scrape himself up pretty bad, but with little time for sorries, grabbed his bike and followed me. On my journey back I could hear the commentator yelling about a “chute spectacular”, which it was, and then he started to real off all the names of the guys running out of transition. This made me panic all the more and I took off out of transition way WAY too fast. The 5km run was certainly not the funest thing I have done in he last few weeks. After about 1.5km I thought I may well get back to the leaders (Suppi, Buchard and le Soz) but the lactic revenge of my early sprinting, and inability to remove myself off the couch to train, soon kicked in and I had to watch the race for podium positions unfold some 15 seconds in front of me. For full results click the title link Monster Suppi 55:18 Benoit Buchard 55:27 Antoine le Soz 55:32 Me 55:46 Max Toin 56:03