Veronika Bracke is reporting on Ironman 70.3 World Championships Nice
I qualified for the Ironman 70.3 World Championships back in November, which meant
there was plenty of time to prepare. And so I did what I do best and can control: I
trained, working on the big gains.
I joined the Sported crew whenever I could, followed David’s training plan, trusted the
process and, as the race got closer, increased the weekly training hours significantly.
The nice thing was that I was feeling good, and when the feeling for training is there, the
coach tends to respond accordingly. Looking back, that extra training was probably
more important than I realized at the time, because it allowed me to keep going even
after what already felt like a very long race.
But before there was a race, there was Nice. And before there was Nice, there was
Wednesday.
Nice: beautiful city, rather tense athlete
We arrived from Dubai a few days early to enjoy some time in Nice. At least, that was
the plan. A leisurely stroll through the city? Coffee somewhere? Taking in the
atmosphere? Not really. I was far too tense for that, so instead I did my race
preparation, tried to keep things calm and familiar, and reminded myself that I had
actually come here to race.
Then came the Swim Baie des Anges organised by Ironman. Technically it was a race
simulation, except it had all the ingredients of a real race: the exact course, a huge
crowd, dedicated swim caps, timing chips, the whole thing. And it was devastating. After
about 500 metres, I was breathless, could barely keep swimming and eventually
finished doing breaststroke because I simply could not get my head into the water
properly. I felt incredibly weak. My mind immediately went to the obvious place: Is my
heart playing up again? And with that, the whole vicious circle started.
I went to the medics on the beach and, half an hour later, they cleared me. All my vitals
were perfectly fine. So physically, there was nothing wrong. Mentally, however, I was in
a completely different race. I spent the rest of the day in bed, shivering, with red burning
eyes, questioning whether I was mentally capable of racing at all. Had I bitten off more
than I could chew?
Quite a lot of coach messaging followed. My husband stepped into full caring mode.
There was breath work, an impressive amount of ginger tea and, most importantly, a
change in perspective. I had heard the sentences before: It’s just another race. Enjoy it.
You’ve done the training. But somehow, I had never really absorbed them. This time, I
did, and once I did, something shifted completely. I realized where I was standing, what
this race actually meant and also what it did not mean. It was a race, not a verdict.
And thank goodness that little mental drama happened on Wednesday and not on race
day, because the start line is different, the water is different and the nerves are different.
Back in the water
David’s advice was simple: get back into the water the next day, and the day after that.
Just swim at your pace, as you feel. So I did, and it was amazing. Beautiful blue water,
a few waves, one stroke after another, no pressure. The confidence came back, and the
next day I was a little faster. From that moment on, I knew: I could do this.
Apparently everyone else was a World Champion
My next little wobble came at the race briefing. Wow. Suddenly it felt as if everyone
knew exactly what they were doing: Kona caps everywhere, previous World
Championship backpacks, Ironman bottles and serious-looking athletes who clearly had
done this before. I looked around and thought: Did I really earn my place here? Or had I
just been lucky? I also had that uncomfortable feeling that everyone else had somehow
earned their spot more than I had.
I decided to stay positive, do my own race and not get distracted by what everyone else
was wearing, carrying or apparently capable of. And there was plenty of distraction
available. Race preparation in Nice meant running along the Promenade des Anglais
surrounded by thousands of other athletes doing exactly the same thing: men and
women, young and old, impressive sprints, easy jogs, cycling, swimming, stretching.
The cycle path along the coast was basically the most expensive bike exhibition in
Europe, with the latest bikes, aero helmets, team kits and national colours from clubs
everywhere. You could probably learn a lot about the global triathlon industry just by
standing there for ten minutes.
Keep it simple
Check-in was refreshingly unspectacular: quick, two transitions, nothing complicated.
The ways in and out were long, but with around 3,000 athletes, that was hardly
surprising, and everything was clearly structured. At that point I thought: These
transitions are going to be easy as a piece of cake.
Ha. Things always look different on race day, don't they?
We stayed in an apartment, which turned out to be a great decision. We could cook, eat
regularly and keep things simple. French supermarkets never disappoint, so I focused
on eating enough and eating clean throughout the week.
Race morning
The start was at 8:20, which meant I could get into transition fairly late. Bottles onto the
bike, bento box filled, everything checked, and then off to the beach to enjoy the
pre-race atmosphere. And that was fun: great music, thousands of athletes and so
many women in their respective coloured swim caps. Surprisingly, I was chilled. I
walked towards my wave feeling confident, chatted to some of the other women in my
age group and warmed up a little. There were so many athletes and spectators that it
should have felt intimidating, but it didn't.
Then came the Dancing Queen warm-up. Kudos left and right to the fellow ladies.
Honestly, whoever came up with that understood the assignment perfectly. It made
everyone smile and relaxed us just when we needed it. While waiting, I sipped on my
race mix and had a banana. Breakfast was already three hours behind me, and then we
danced our way to the start, with huge smiles. When they asked who was racing their
first World Championship, only a few arms went up. Mine was one of them, which was
not a problem anymore.
Swim: one stroke at a time
The entry into the water was not exactly elegant. Pebbles, and quite a lot of them. Plus,
the sun was just beginning to come out, and I knew immediately what that meant: after
the first turn, the buoys were going to become impossible to see. I accepted that before
I even started. The race plan was very simple: Stay calm. Find a rhythm. Don't panic.
I also told myself not to worry about the other swimmers, but honestly, seeing some
fellow age-groupers around me was reassuring. It meant I wasn't dead last, and that
was good enough. I just swam, one stroke after another. I did not try to prove anything.
Could I have swum faster? Yes, most probably. But this was exactly the swim I needed.
At the end I could sprint out of the water, thanks to the fantastic volunteers who helped
us over the pebbles, and I reached transition feeling good rather than destroyed. That
was already a win.
T1 and onto the bike
T1 went well. On the bike, I used the first 10 kilometres to warm up the legs and settle
into a nice rhythm.
The Nice bike course has been discussed a lot. Was I worried because I hadn't ridden it
beforehand? A little. Was the climb steep? Yes, in parts. Was it undoable? Absolutely
not. For me, though, the biggest challenge turned out to be something much simpler:
time.
After around 35 km, my watch already showed three hours of work, and I knew I still
had roughly 55 km to ride and then run another 21. The difficult descent was still ahead.
So the thing that became tiring was not one particular climb or technical section. It was
simply the amount of time spent on the bike.
And yet, the route was spectacular. I enjoyed it enormously on my road bike. The
women around me were impressively disciplined, and there were constant warnings
before corners and obstacles. The space was tight in places because the course was
packed, but generally everyone was respectful. Other athletes who had started later
were another matter: they flew past. Fine, let them. I had my own race to ride, and I
knew I was not ready to give everything yet.
Nutrition-wise, I had two bottles with Stealth Big'r Endurance mix and a rice bar for the
real food feeling and additional carbs, which I had prepared into handy little bite-sized
balls in my bento box. One bottle was swapped for a hydration bottle, partly for
hydration reasons and partly because I simply wanted to keep that race bottle as a
souvenir.
The descent: ten metres at a time
Then came the descent, and this was where I really had to focus. Again and again I
repeated it to myself: Focus.
I noticed how easily my thoughts wandered. I would suddenly catch myself looking at
someone else's trisuit, checking the brand, reading the logos, noticing something
completely irrelevant - anywhere except where I needed my attention to be. So I kept
bringing myself back: the next ten metres, then the next ten. Curves, bumps, potholes,
braking, bike handling.
My relatively conservative speed meant plenty of people overtook me, and that was
fine. I wasn't trying to win the descent. I was trying to get safely to the end of the bike.
The ride took me around four hours. Long? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely. I had come all the
way to Nice for this.
T2: apparently I forgot where I parked.
T2 was less elegant. I couldn't find the place where I was supposed to leave my bike. It
can happen, but it must not happen. I know.
And then came my favourite part.
The run: in my happy place.
For the run, I made one important decision - haha, no, it wasn't me who invented this,
as the seasoned Trisutto method scholar would know: ignore the watch. As much as
possible, anyway. Instead I was going to run by feel, and I think that worked really well. I
told myself that if I could run it, I should be just fine, and it just felt good. My legs weren't
heavy. I was running and in my happy place.
The weather also worked in my favour. It was hot by the time I joined the spectacle on
the Promenade des Anglais but, coming from Dubai, I had probably arrived with a
significant heat advantage. I did not need to cool down with ice. And I overtook a lot of
people, which honestly made me happy because, after all, it is a race.
The biggest thing slowing me down was the aid stations. I needed the hydration and
took water and electrolytes at every station, which became increasingly crowded. At
times it was more a traffic jam than an aid station. But I knew I needed it. I had my own
gels in my Nerd gel flask and continuously sipped whenever my watch beeped for
another km. That strategy worked beautifully for me. Around km 15, the gels were gone.
From there, it was water and Coke at the aid stations, and running through the showers.
Gosh, that water was cold.
At some point I realized: I am going to make it. I couldn't really pick up the pace
anymore, but I kept trying. And then there were the familiar faces. Seeing my husband
and our girls made such a difference. Suddenly Nice felt very welcoming.
My learning
Increasingly, I believe there is another discipline that deserves its own place: mental
strength.
For me, Nice was proof of that. The biggest battle happened on a Wednesday, in the
water, before the race had even started, and perhaps that was exactly what I needed.
Because once I had worked through that, race day became remarkably simple. Maybe
that is what finally made all the sentences I had heard before actually mean something:
It's just another race. Enjoy it. You've done the training. And yes, I did.
I raced in my Surpas Aero 4, which was incredibly comfortable, trusted my training,
trusted my plan and, most importantly, in the end trusted myself.
Nice was never going to be a piece of cake. It was something much better: a proper
challenge, and one I am very, very happy to have taken on. Grateful of having the
chance to participate.
I finished in just under 7 hours, but what does that even mean? In relation to my fellow
AG participants, I am around the middle of the field. For me, that is enough and more
than I would have ever expected. But my Half Marathon was really good, which made
me extremely happy.