Phillipa le Roux of the Berkshire Tri Club reports on her recent trip to do the Norseman. Read, and prepare to be inspired!

This is claimed to be the toughest, point-to-point, ironman-distance triathlon in the world. Based in Western Norway, 3.8km swim, after jumping a few meters off the back of a ferry into the black waters of Hardanger fjord, followed by 180km of cycling over five major climbs, and lastly 42.2 km of running ending on the top of Gaustatoppen mountain at 1650m above sea level.

To make it more interesting, the race is almost totally unsupported. This means that each competitor has to have their own supporter to drive behind them, carry their kit, food and drink, and go ahead to prepare the transition zones. These people become your heroes.

Having done a few events which claim to be the toughest in the world, I thought "How bad can it be?..." but the Norwegians don’t overstate things… and the Norseman was no exception… We were in for one long day out.

Race briefing on the Friday afternoon brought a few surprises. We had been worried all week about the water temperature. Apparently if the water was colder than 15 degrees we wouldn’t be able to swim the full distance, if at all. The good news was that we were going ahead with the full swim. The bad news was, as a result, the cycle was 20km longer. Taking it to a whopping total of 200km. The water around Eidfjord, the start and traditional T1, was only 13 degrees. But by moving 20km down the fjord closer to the sea, the water was just warm enough at 15.2 degrees.

So our long day out was to go ahead as planned. Owen, Stu, Andy and I made sure we were in bed early, but I think between all of us, you could count the hours of sleep we had on one hand.

2am and the alarm clocks started going off in our little cabin. Our fantastic supporters jumped into action. Porridge and fresh coffee was put on the go for us. Owen showed his super keenness by eating his porridge already kitted out in his wetsuit, even though we were still three hours away from the swim start!

At 3:30am, we were dropped at the ferry which would take us out to the swim start in the middle of the fjord, leaving our supporters to take our bikes and kit down to T1, 20km down the fjord. The atmosphere on the ferry was pretty thick. Some bouncing around with nervous energy (ie me!) others trying to get another 40 winks before the day really started, and others sitting quietly contemplating the massive challenge ahead.

At 5am, with bright pink skies silhouetting the mountains around us, we walked up onto the car deck and inched toward the edge. A quick group hug and ‘good lucks’ and we were off. The jump into the dark water was like a mini roller coaster ride – where your heart is in your stomach and you know that this is great, but what lies ahead is terrifying you! Before I knew it the booming sound of the ferry horn was all around us and people started swimming. It was the first time I thought – ‘actually – the water is not too bad’. My hands, feet and nose were really cold – but the rest of my body was toasty.

For the first 1500m or so, our swim route was straight to shore. The Norseman crew had built a huge bonfire on the beach, which made spotting in the dawn light nice and easy. After 1500m, we had to exit the water, scramble over the huge boulders, run around the bonfire, and re-enter the water to complete the remaining 2300m, finishing further down the fjord. The break was a safety check, to make sure we weren’t hypothermic, and if you wanted to, you could grab a sip or two of hot tea to warm yourself up. I didn’t stop for the tea, which is very unusual for me, but was really enjoying the swim and the realisation that it was all actually happening… after 24 weeks of training, I was competing in the Norseman!

As I managed to find my legs and start running out the water, I glanced down at my watch. 48 minutes! What?! That’s crazy. I was hoping for an hour and five minutes at the least. That’s when I realised how strong the current must have been. A small blessing that would soon be outweighed by other elements of Mother Nature.

It was great running out the water at T1 with all the supporters cheering us on – wrapped up in their warm jackets. I had decided to do a complete change, get all my wet kit off and be totally dry for the start of the cycle. And good thing I did. 20km in I was already cold, even though I had a head scarf and a long sleeved top on. But the first climb was spectacular – taking us up Highway 7 out of Eidjford, 40km and 1300m of climbing alongside spectacular waterfalls and mountains.

We had only planned to meet our supporters at the top of the first climb, 60km in. After 40km, I was freezing. When my supporter, Karyn eventually pulled up next to me in the car, the relief was overwhelming. Leg warmers, and my lovely warm winter cycling jacket and I was as happy as larry again.

Well almost. This was when I got news that Owen wasn’t doing so well. I knew Andy was up ahead because he had passed me coming into Eidjford - cruising along as if he was on a Sunday ride – strong and steady as always. Stu, I knew, would be passing me at any moment but where was Owen. Karyn filled me in and said that he had had a really bad swim. His stomach wasn’t so good and he had had to stop on the first climb to be sick. Luckily Keith and Georgie, his supporters, were with him and making sure he was getting the right salts in and rehydrating properly. But for the next hour or so until I saw the supporters again and heard he was safely back on his bike, I was tense with worry. I had been the one who talked him into the race eight months ago... what would I tell his lovely fiancé if he didn’t pull through?! Owen is not someone who gives up that easily – so although he found himself behind us all on the cycle for the first time ever – he kept on going, slowly narrowing the gap with every km.

I settled nicely into the cycle, trying to eat every half an hour and remembering to take on water even though it was cold and I wasn’t feeling too thirsty. The landscape on the tops of the mountains was incredibly bleak and reminded me of the Scottish Highlands, windswept and snow patches dotted around.

I got to 100km in four and a half hours. Which was OK. But we had only climbed one of the five major climbs. The remaining four were all after 110km. So I just kept pedaling on, enjoying the amazing scenery. Norway is a stunning country. First climb came and went, as did the second. Not managing to climb at more than 10km per hour (I thought I was doing quite badly but afterwards the other three said that was pretty much their speed too)

Top of climb four and the feeling of ‘yay almost there’ was with me. Just an easy 10km or so along the plateau, then long descent back to about 600m above sea level before the last climb. But that 10 easy flat km was not going to happen. The wind had picked up and the air temperature at the top was chilly, to say the least. Just keeping my speed at 14km/h took all my strength. The road dipped before too long and I was back on my drops down the hill.

They definitely saved the best for last… climb five was the toughest of the second half. I managed to find a good rhythm and chugged away, switchback after switchback. There was a very friendly Norwegian who I started chatting to. That’s another thing about the Norseman – it can be a pretty lonely race. Because there are only 200 competitors spread over 224km you can quite easily spend hours not seeing another competitor. So when you do find yourself alongside someone – suddenly you have verbal diarrhoea! The cold was getting to me a bit. Being from sunny South Africa I definitely prefer the warmer climates. So asked this friendly Norwegian what on earth they did all winter with 24 hours of darkness and below freezing temperatures. He assured me that it wasn’t too bad – he said ‘we eat, and we have sex.’

Top of climb five and all that was left was 10km along the top of the plateau then an easy 30km descent into T2 – I’d be there in no time... But as we climbed the last few hundred metres we could see the road disappearing into a cloud. Visibility became about 5m, the wind was howling straight into our faces, and sleety stinging freezing drops of rain were attacking our face. The 10km across the plateau took me almost an hour to cover, even though my legs were still turning and feeling ok. If you stopped pedaling for a few minutes the wind would bring you to a dead stop.  It was pure madness.

On the 30km descent back into T2 I thought would be a good time to spin out and loosen up before the run. But it was so steep and cold that all the muscles in my back felt like stone, and my fingers could hardly pull the brakes. I got into T2 and for the first time ever I was grateful to get off my bike and start running… the bit I usually dread. Stu was just leaving T2 as I got it – bonus – a friend! His knees were killing him but he was still smiling and chirping as usual to keep us all motivated.

The first 25km were fairly flat following the edge of a lake. And I managed my usual shuffle. I knew I just had to keep running as much as possible until 25km because, after that, it was straight up and I knew I wouldn’t be running much then. Stu was about 3km in front of me, and all I wanted was to catch up with him so we could tackle the last climb together, but I only had one pace and you couldn’t call it fast.

From the race profile I knew that the last 17km were going to hurt, but I don’t think I fully comprehended exactly how much. I presumed I would run a minute, walk a minute and still make it in a fairly reasonable time. I didn’t for one second think it would take me three and a half hours! I got to a stage where any time goals were completely forgotten about and all I could think of was putting one foot in front of the other.

Karyn came back to me shortly after starting the climb and told me that they had closed the mountain. The weather was just too bad. So we would not be able to complete the traditional Norseman, finishing at the top of Gaustatoppen. This was what I had been dreading as I didn’t want to leave Norway with a feeling of unfinished business. But I actually felt guilty with relief. We would still complete the full 42.2 km run, but we would loop up the mountain on the tar road, then back down and take the turn to the hotel, 3km away.

I made the check point at 32km in good time, but by this stage I had had enough. The scenery was no longer inspiring me. Even the few rays of sun managing to sneak through the clouds, and Karyn singing ‘always look on the bright side of life’, didn’t change the single minded robot in me, just quietly making sure I kept trudging on. Karyn was amazing, patiently encouraging me along and keeping me as positive as possible throughout. I couldn’t have done it without her.

Crossing the finish line after 16 hours 42 minutes was pure relief. All I wanted was to sit down and forget about my sore muscles and blisters. There was no feeling of ‘YES, I FINISHED!’ There was no energy for that.

Only the next morning at the finisher’s ceremony did I start to realise what we had done the day before. Being surrounded by everyone in their black t-shirts, being told that every woman who had ever started the Norseman had finished it, being welcomed into the Norseman finisher’s family... that felt cool!

This is definitely one of those character building events. In fact maybe after this your character is totally built! I think it’s one to be attempted after a few ironman events. When you’re bored of your sub 11 hour and you’re looking for the next challenge. Perhaps not the wisest choice for our first ironman event! But we chose it because after all - ‘If the challenge doesn’t scare you... it’s not big enough!’