The Accelerace Norseman 2008 trip probably didn’t have the most auspicious start. Having agreed to fly SAS after Chris confidently assured us that they didn’t charge extra to take bikes, an hour before takeoff we nevertheless found ourselves performing a complicated kit redistribution procedure on the floor of the check in hall at Gatwick in order to meet the stringent weight requirements that were quite probably made up on the spot by the woman behind the SAS check in desk. Quite why Chris thought it necessary to bring the suspension pump for his mountain bike I’m still not sure, but after being forced to pay £44 each to check in our bikes, we were allowed through the gates to departures.
One late call to the flight and a last minute seat reshuffle for reasons of ballast later, we finally left London, arriving at Bergen sometime after midnight where we met Ross’s parents. They had already hired a car and were waiting to take us to Lone camping, which is about 12 miles from Bergen’s fishmarket, the centre of orientation for the entire of south west Norway. I think the plan was to drive to the camp site with five people, two bike boxes and a bike bag, but on equating this with the Lovell’s pea green Ford Fiesta we were forced to rethink, and Chris followed with the bikes in the second most expensive taxi ride ever taken. It’s probably worth mentioning at this point that Norway may be stunningly beautiful, but is not a cheap holiday destination, although if it’s a £9 punnet of cherries that you’re after you may not have a problem.
We woke up on Thursday morning to be greeted by one of the four and a half hours of sunshine that we were to enjoy over the course of the trip. After a brief inspection of the lake outside the chalet we were staying in, and an experimental testing of the children’s play facilities, we headed into Bergen to pick up our own hire car (a Ford estate that was quite large enough to fulfil the needs of the average 5 person family but seemed hilariously inadequate for the quantity of kit that we had between us) and to get some new tyres for Ross’s Cannondale. The afternoon was passed back at the campsite as we tried to establish which bike parts had survived the flight (all of them), what we would need to take on to Eidfjord with us (25 packets of jelly babies), and what could be left behind at the campsite (Chris’s bizarrely extensive collection of tarpaulins). The day was concluded by a brief return to the airport to collect Pikey who, along with the Lovells, was entirely responsible for making the Norseman possible for us.
All six of us headed for Eidfjord early on Friday morning in order to make the 2pm registration for the race, and to save ourselves a space for our night in the Tricamp (the Eidfjord community sports hall). After a brief inspection drive up the hill straight out of Eidfjord to the spectacular waterfall at Voringfossen, which was about half way up the first climb, we came back to the Tricamp for the pre-race briefing. I think I should probably add here that the Norseman was my first ironman distance triathlon and, despite six months worth of reassuring words from a very tolerant Chris, I was very intimidated by the rows of wiry Norwegian men sitting cross legged in the sports hall. The fact that they were listening rapturously to a girl playing folk tunes on a fiddle did little to quell my rising fear that I had bitten off way more than I could chew. After all, 3.8km in a fjord is not the same as 1500m in Dorney lake. Nevertheless we listened to the briefing, noting where the course might change if the weather changed (which seemed unlikely at the time as we were by then enjoying hour number two of sunshine), and what we would need to have in our mountain bags before being allowed up to the summit of Gaustatoppen. I have to admit that I was by then almost wondering if I could persuade someone to break my leg so that I would have a legitimate reason to pull out, and this feeling became somewhat overwhelming as we were told that of all the female entrants in the history of the race (there were 18 this year) there had been no DNFs. However I am not a DNF-er by nature (although the Col du Galibier of La Marmotte earlier in the year nearly pushed me to the limit…) and so with probably wholly unconvincing bravado I joined the others in the car park to put our bikes together.
It was amazing how quickly we could turn a nice piece of grass verge into something resembling a jumble sale as the contents of the cars were turned out to put together our bikes and various bags for transition. Triathlon is probably one of the most kit-intensive sports that it is possible to participate in, and this became obvious as between the three of us we could probably have restocked the average sports store. Once assembled I gave my (relatively) new Felt F55 a short test ride and any fears I had about the race were completely dispelled – it’s so quick that even the slowest of cyclists couldn’t fail to have a great ride (which, incidentally, is probably why I like it so much). Sarah and Peter very kindly kept us supplied with a constant source of carbohydrate (and Fab lollies, recommended pre-race nutrition…), whilst they and Pikey read and re-read the map to work out the best places to meet us along the route. Because of the differences in speed between Ross, Chris and me, the support was logistically quite complicated, and I therefore could not be more grateful that for us as competitors, it was totally seamless and Peter and Sarah always magically appeared at exactly the points at which I was most thirsty or hungry.
After stashing our bags and bikes back at the Tricamp we made our way down to the edge of the fjord to watch the mini-Norseman, a quick sprint tri in which the competitors ranged from a 30 year old on a ridiculously high spec Pinarello to a 12 year old on a mountain bike, which put us in just the right mood for the pasta buffet at the hotel before retiring to ‘bed’ at about 9.30pm.
To say I had a bad night’s sleep would be the understatement of the century. I thought that a little Sigur Ros (for the Scandinavian connection, of course…) on the iPod might help matters but after listening to Hoppipolla for the 40th time and realising that we had to get up in about 45 minutes, I just had to remember that most people sleep badly before races, and hope for the best.
A quick jam sandwich or two, a last minute check of tyre pressure, fervent prayers, spare inners, energy gels, and we padded down to the fjord to rack our bikes in T1. We had our numbers written on our upper arms and calves (in case any of my colleagues were in any doubt as to where I had been for my holiday, this did not come off until late in the following week), our brakes checked, and were led to our designated rack. By this time it was raining so I abandoned any attempt to set my stuff out, instead just leaving it in a bin bag by my bike before donning the wetsuit and getting on the ferry. Despite the fact that the low cloud was incredibly dramatic, Chris, Ross and I took a seat inside the bowels of the ferry, where I spent the next hour in complete denial about what lay ahead. Far too soon, an announcement was made and we all shuffled upstairs. Here I have to confess that owing to some kind of weird mental block caused by the sensation of swimming in a wetsuit (I hate it) I opted to climb out of the side door rather than jump off the back of the ferry. Sensible at the time. A lot less cool.
Five minutes later the ship’s horn blew, and we were off! The first part of the swim took us from the middle of the fjord to a point on the shore, after which we were to follow the shore around to the finish. This first part seemed to go on for ever. We were swimming against a strong current, but I was pleased to note early on that there were plenty of swimmers behind me, and that I could easily keep up my place in what I guessed to be about two thirds of the way through the field. Despite being riled by Chris in the days previous to the race about how deep the fjord was and how the whales and jellyfish were exceptionally friendly, the swim was actually good (if long) and it was with not too much relief that I eventually rounded the pontoon and staggered into T1 after 1:48:56 which was about 20 minutes slower than I was hoping but seemed to be in line with the increase in times caused by the current. I gathered Chris had come in almost exactly 10 minutes earlier and Ross followed me within 30 seconds.
Ross was, however, out of T1 before me and I didn’t see him again for another 15 or so hours. Knowing that I had a long way to go, I didn’t hurry too much but took it relatively easy for the 7km of flat that precede the climb up to Dyranut. Having completed La Marmotte with Chris earlier in the summer (see his moderately traumatic race report), I had had a good practice session over some pretty fearsome climbs, so nothing in the Norseman bike section presented any serious problems. That’s not to say that the climbs aren’t sizeable, but they aren’t ever more than 8% (I would guess), and the scenery provides plenty of diversion. The climb to Dyranut winds up the mountain road, circumventing the new roads through tunnels, instead taking the old roads which are steeper but much more picturesque. I was passed by several competitors at this stage (which initially gave me some pleasure as it indicated that I had had a quicker swim, until I remembered Chris and Ross saying that Norwegians are famously bad swimmers), which didn’t bother me at all as, for me, the Norseman endeavour was more about finishing before the cut-off than making any more competitive time. After Voringfossen (at the 20km mark) the road flattens out somewhat over a Lord of the Rings-esque plateau complete with little ponies and weird stunted trees. It then wound steadily on over a saddle until I was greeted by the smiling faces of Sarah, Peter, Pikey and a malt loaf at the car park at Dyranut (at 40km). By this stage the weather had come in and although it wasn’t raining it was very cold and I was very glad to put on a long sleeve over the short sleeve jersey and arm warmers that I had been wearing.
After Dyranut, the course was either flat or downhill until Geilo which was roughly the half way point. I had a great cycle over this section, with some very loud music (just audible over the hollowing side wind), and some fairly hectic downhills. I saw hardly any other cyclists although did manage to make friends with some Norwegian men in a caravan who seemed to be supporting someone who was always just behind me but who I never actually saw. They became some sort of two man cheer team mainly because I grinned idiotically at them whenever I saw them (I don’t think they ever realised I didn’t speak Norwegian…). By the time I reached Geilo, we had a glimpse of hour three of sunshine, and I was very glad to meet Peter and Sarah for a quick fix of malt loaf (this became something of a running theme in my race nutrition), some more energy drink, and to leave my extra layer with them so that I could really work on my T-shirt and short sun tan lines. Shortly after this point I stopped briefly to check my phone and whilst standing on the side of the road one of the race marshalls (it actually turned out to be Kim, the race director) passed me and stopped to make sure I was ok. This was typical of the Norseman experience – although the organisers kept a low profile on the course, where you needed them most they were there to provide assiduously polite assistance in perfect English (and always a liberal dose of the incredibly dry Scandinavian sense of humour).
After Geilo there are a series of 3 short hills followed by the last climb of the course at Imingfjell. All were perfectly manageable, and once I reached the top of Imingfjell I knew that there was only downhill to go to T2. This 20km of downhill was strangely probably the only boring section of the course – it was by this time very hot and the road was either very smooth or very bumpy which meant concentration was required. It was, however, also very fast, and I arrived in T2 in the time of 8:15:06 which I was very happy with.
T2 was a little field on the edge of another fjord (by this time I had no idea where I was except somewhere considerably east of where we had started). Pikey, like some sort of angel in disguise, was waiting armed with my trainers and a T shirt, and after a quick drink and change I set off, slightly wobbly, on the flat road around the fjord. By now it was about 3pm and the sun was quite strong. I was very glad that Pikey had made me take a bottle of water with me (I normally wouldn’t run with anything in my hands) because it was hot and the other runners around me were meeting their support vehicles every couple of miles. I ran for about 13 miles at a very slow pace (probably averaging just under 6mph), surrounded by other runners who I overtook and who overtook me at alternate miles. I don’t mind admitting that by this stage I was finding it quite tough going (having had a fairly easy race so far), and the temperature didn’t help matters. I also knew that at any moment Gaustatoppen would appear in front of me, and when it did, I had a moment of panic. Without wanting to appear over-dramatic (although by this stage I was feeling very over-dramatic) I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to scale the Everest looming ahead. But once again, trusty malt loaf sprang to the rescue, with Pete appearing at the 25km mark to provide water and food, and to tell me that Chris had passed the mountain checkpoint and Ross was about half an hour ahead of me up what is rather ominously dubbed ‘Zombie Hill’.
I was by this stage feeling much better, and started the walk up Zombie Hill feeling very fresh, passing quite a few groups of competitors and their support on the way up. Constantly in my mind was the fear that I wouldn’t make the mountain checkpoint by the cut off time of 8.15pm, but after meeting Pikey a couple of kilometres off the checkpoint, he assured me that I would comfortably make the cut off (and I did, by about 45 minutes). Having made the checkpoint I then transformed into some kind of Olympic speed walker, and even managed a few hundred metres of an awkward jog/trot in my effort to overtake other competitors on the road ahead. I re-met Pikey at the point on the mountain at which the race goes off road. It is here that we had to don our mountain rucksacks. Mine was a Camelbak into which I had put some leggings, a shell and some energy gel which I had absolutely no intention of consuming. Mercifully I had also included one of Chris’s Cat Eye bike lights at the last minute which was to come in extremely useful (inasmuch as an LED light can illuminate an entire mountain) later on in the evening. Pikey and I started off on the final 5km of the race very quickly. The terrain was difficult but climbing the boulders became quite rhythmic after a while, and it was easy going. However after about an hour and half it felt like we were no nearer the finish and, to make matters worse, we were now being met by finishers coming down. Each one who passed urged us to keep on going as we were ‘nearly there’, but this was said with a glint in the eye that we both knew meant that we actually had a long slog ahead of us. However, Pikey to the rescue again – as I became more and more tired, Pikey’s TA background came to the fore, and the last hour of climb was done to the sound of every motivational cliché that has ever been used. Together we were the embodiment of a No Fear poster.
Approximately 17 hours and 12 minutes after beginning the swim, I crossed the finish line with a rather unceremonious stumble. Although I maintain I felt quite fresh (to the extent that the woman in the café at the top of the mountain almost charged me for a drink because she didn’t think that I had just competed) I did still walk into the café and accidentally greet a table full of people I didn’t actually know, so it is quite possible that the race had taken its toll on my mental faculties…
After a brief drink and a bite to eat, we assembled for the walk down (as the mountain lift was non-functional). Unfortunately someone had accidentally taken Chris’s trainers so he had to make the 5km descent in his socks. This was an object of complete hilarity for Ross, Pikey and me, although I imagine Chris had less fun. In fact I think none of the other competitors descending with us had any fun either, primarily because of the constant stream of narrative that we kept up on the way down. This was useful mainly in that it kept us awake – necessary as by the time we got back down to road level, it was about 2am. I even had a chance on the way down to tell the occasional competitor still going up, with a glint in my eye, that they were ‘nearly there’.
A quick sleep later in the YHA and we awoke on Sunday morning in time for a large buffet breakfast of herring in its many forms, and the award ceremony, which was a fitting end to an excellent experience. I think this is one of the aspects that made the Norseman for me – there was none of the skulking off once the race was over that there is with so many races in the UK. Instead all the competitors joined together to celebrate their joint achievement (although given the remoteness of the location I guess we were something of a captive audience). After lots of photos of the Accelerace team in the black T shirts, including Rob, we departed for Bergen.
Needless to say the following day was characterised by apocalyptic rainfall, so we took apart the bikes and tidied up the chalet, before taking a late flight back to the UK, leaving the Lovells to enjoy two more days in Norway without the pervading smell of wet kit and/or Eccles cake.
The Norseman was a fantastic experience. I have definitely fulfilled one of my ambitions for 2008 (probably to the detriment of my legal career but you can’t have everything…), and it has without doubt been an excellent first point on the road to increasingly far-flung and inspiring endurance events.
