On most triathlete’s checklist, Challenge Roth is one of the longest running and best known iron-distance races in the World. World record times have repeatedly been set here, and the fast course attracts one of the strongest age group field outside of Kona, all in search of PBs. The event is huge, with over 3,500 athletes and 250,000 spectators descending on a small town in Bavaria, and the organisers are not shy in promoting it as “the home of triathlon”.
Knowing it was a fast course, I’d set myself the ambitious goal of going under nine hours – although sensing this was optimisitic I didn’t officially commit and tick the “sub-nine” box when signing up. My training had been going really well in advance, but I still estimated that on a good day I would be about five minutes over this target. However, with the adrenaline of race day and a good taper it wasn’t impossible – I’d have to be on the bike in under an hour, complete the bike course in under five hours and finish the run in around three. The last felt the most ambitious, with no form to suggest I could sustain that pace, but it would be good to have something to aim for…
Unfortunately, from my last bike and brick run session the weekend before racing, I ended up with an infected saddle sore. No photos for this part, or unnecessary detail, but it was severe enough to need a week of antibiotics right up until the race – far from ideal preparation, but a solid excuse in the bag.
We flew into Nuremberg, then drove to our accommodation in Wendelstein, around a 20 minute drive from Roth. Accommodation in Roth itself is in short supply and at a price premium but with different locations for T1, T2 and the finish line, a car is almost essential. Combined with huge amounts of parking at the swim start, staying away from Roth proved much easier.
After racking our bikes, I drove the course with my friend George. We were surprised by the rolling gradients, with plenty of small hills suggesting it wouldn’t be quite as effortless to set records as expected. I was looking forward to racing with someone I knew for the first time – especially as I knew we should be very evenly matched so we would likely see each other on the course, despite the thousands of other athletes.
As usual I was already awake after a nervous half-night’s sleep when my alarm went at 3am. Driving to the swim start, we knew 99% of the cars on the road at this time were all heading to the same place. It made a nice change to have a familiar face to talk to during the cold, nervous wait for the race to begin. The swim should have been very simple – straight up and down a canal with no navigation or current to worry about. The weather was beautiful and I was feeling good as we set off – swimming within myself to conserve energy for the day ahead.
Then, around three quarters of the way round, I started to feel twitching spasms in my legs. I’ve experienced calf cramps during swims before, but worryingly these were in both legs and also affecting my quads. I tried to focus on not kicking hard and keeping my legs completely relaxed but it was no use. With about five minutes to go, both calf muscles seized up with cramp, followed about one minute later by both quad muscles. With both legs in agony I had no choice but to stop swimming entirely, flip onto my back to be able to breathe, and just float whilst the grip released slightly. I suddenly hit my head, and realised my sea otter impression had seen me drift into the bank of the canal a good 20 metres off course – all in front of hundreds of spectators queued up on a bridge above. My heart sank as I not only abandoned any time goals, but resigned myself to the race being over. If my legs couldn’t get me round the swim – a distance I’d been completing routinely four times a week during training, how could they possibly do 112 miles of cycling and a marathon? Luckily, I was close enough to the end to at least haul myself to T1 – grimacing as my legs complained at standing and walking, and devastated my race seemed over before it had really begun.
I persevered onto the bike, with the mindset that whilst running seemed out of the question, if I could attack the cycle I’d at least get to experience the race and would get more satisfaction abandoning after a good bike ride. This might at least prove I’d come in with decent fitness and had a chance of a credible performance in different circumstances.
Attacking a 112 mile cycle isn’t usually the best strategy, let alone on broken legs. But fuelled by adrenaline and frustration I managed to set off at a fast pace. Looking at the time, I realised I must have had a fast swim despite my diversion and slow transition, and had achieved my first target of being on the bike in under an hour. This only made me more determined to bury myself on the bike, as hitting my targets in two out of three disciplines felt like it might give me some consolation when I inevitably fell apart on the run.
The bike course consists of two laps, with the gradual hills compensated by smooth roads and few technical sections. Unfortunately, we seemed to suffer some degree of headwind the whole way round (confirmed by other people, not just my negative mindset at the time!). George is a faster swimmer and more powerful cyclist than me, so I was surprised when I overtook him early in the cycle – almost certain evidence I was pushing too hard. Sure enough, after a period of exchanging the lead in our mini contest up and down a few hills, he pulled away into the distance.
Near the end of each lap, you climb the famous Solar Berg – a real “Tour de France” type experience with spectators filling the road, only splitting to let one rider through at the time. This had been built up as one of the great experiences in triathlon, and as the crowd shouted encouragement right in my face I roared back at them, standing on the pedals with a burst of acceleration and laughing hysterically. Unfortunately, the high only lastest a few seconds as I caught a slower climber but was unable to find any space to overtake. The brief emotional peak turned into another trough and I spent the remainder of the climb sulking and gesturing in vain for the mass of people to let me past. What had felt like a major hold up couldn’t have been too damaging though, as I completed the first lap in 2hrs 17mins – well on course to go sub 5 hours but already starting to tire.
By the second lap, I paid the price for a lack of pacing – well aware I was teaching myself a lesson as dozens of athletes coasted past me almost effortlessly. I had an unfamiliar sense of moving backwards as I faded more and more. By the last 20 miles my legs were shot, and despite not having any inclination to run, couldn’t wait for T2 to arrive. I eventually completed lap two in 2hrs 26 mins, a fair amount slower but not telling the full story of how much worse it had felt. Even with the extra out-and-back section to the lap start, this remarkably meant I’d hit my second goal of a sub-five hour bike-split. In theory, the sub nine hour race was still achievable if I could make the run around three hours.
The sun was now out in force so I decided to sacrifice a few seconds in T2 to applying suncream – whilst in theory the time was still possible, in reality I was more worried I could be stuck out on the run for some time. Although aching, the cramps had eased during the bike and miraculously legs that had been so broken at the end of the swim and bike seemed to be relishing a new discipline. I ran the first few miles slightly faster than three hour marathon pace and decided – again against better judgment – I might as well see how long I could sustain this pace. I caught up George around mile five and we ran together for about 15 minutes.
The first half of the run course is pan flat out-and-back along a canal. Whilst fast, it was also unshaded and a bit boring – with no variety or spectators. I was glad of George’s silent company, as the distance seemed to be passing very slowly. My pace was starting to drop and despite a pre-run immodium had some growing pain from “gastric distress”. Again, not a section for detail, but George disappeared into the distance as I was forced to familiarise myself with a few portaloos. By mile eight I’d hit my lowest point of any triathlon to date – hot, bored, isolated and running on empty. I consciously dropped my pace to a shuffle – the sub-nine was now long gone and I just wanted to reach the finish without a significant breakdown.
After a couple of miles at this speed, and a switch to drinking Coca-Cola at the aid stations, I started to rally. I was able to up the speed to a better, if not target, pace and as the course returned to Roth I felt even better – feeding off the energy of the crowds, relishing the sense of progress and even enjoying the slight up and downhill gradients to give different muscles a little rest. I overtook George with a few miles to go and was able to kick again in the last couple of miles for something resembling a sprint finish. The finish line was set up inside a temporary stadium and, although the raucous atmosphere for the end of the professional race had long-since passed, there were still a good number of supporters to welcome me back – who I applauded somewhat sheepishly, not feeling I could truly celebrate what had been a tough day.
I came across the line in 9hrs 18mins – which seemed unimportant given the emotional lows I’d experienced during the course. I felt proud to have suffered through the cramps, energy crashes and portaloo tours, to achieve a respectable finish. Looking back, I have very mixed feelings. It was an Ironman PB (one which is likely to stand for a while given I usually target slower, hilly courses) but also my worst executed race. I don’t know whether I can blame cramps or gastric issues on the antibiotics, but I definitely can blame myself for going into my first iron-distance race for 18 months without enough respect for the distance. Still, it was a lesson learned without disastrous consequences, a great event to have been part of, and all with Ironman Wales to look forward to in September with less pressure on time.