Phil: I finally got the email I had been waiting for, “Phil, this is for you!”. I had finally made it into Norseman, the Xtri World Championships, after 5 years of trying. After briefly taking in the moment, and re-reading the race manual I quickly realised just how gargantuan a challenge this was, particularly for someone with no long-course triathlon experience. Luckily, Mike agreed to guide me through the training, with my goal being just to cross the finish line of this epic race.

Mentally I prepared myself to make a few sacrifices in training, but Mike was fantastic at adapting my training plan so I didn’t completely lose my social life or career, and I was fortunate enough to do some training in some fantastic places with relentless climbs, that you just can’t find in the UK. Forgive the pun, but there were plenty of highs but also plenty of lows, which I used to help develop some mental fortitude I presumed I might need during the race.

I also realised that Norseman was designed to be almost like a team race, with mandatory support crew, for which my girlfriend Connie, and dad Steve graciously agreed to be a part of this journey. Some of the major roles of support was to run with me for some of it, provide my nutrition, and assist in transitions. Mike adapted my training plan to incorporate Connie and how she could best prepare to make sure I made it across the finish line. Mike and I had set a few goals of varying levels for myself, which certainly helped contextualise my efforts during training and for the race. The first was to simply complete the course; the second was to get the black t-shirt (being in the top 160 to reach the 37.5km in the run); the third, based on my faster than expected training times, finish in the top 100.

Connie: As extreme triathlon newbies, I started the year in complete trepidation of what Phil’s training would bring - before I realised his race success was going to be dependent on my skills as support crew and running partner! Mike’s thoughtful coaching and sage advice was our anchor through months of hard training and preparation. It’s true that the race is really just a victory lap - I was in awe of the amount of dedication and grit Phil showed through countless intense sessions, often twice daily, huge stresses on his body and mind, and the mammoth amount of preparation required.

Phil: The training period flew by, and before I knew it Dad and I were flying out the weekend before the race. We wanted to soak up the stunning beauty of the fjords and have plenty of time to sample the local pastries. After arriving in Eidfjord a few days before most other athletes it was amazing to see people arriving over the week from all over the world. I met people from Taiwan, Venezuela, US, Canada and it really struck me just how local this event felt despite the global appeal, with a warmth that seemed to emanate from the athletes’ (and supports’) palpable excitement, to just be at the start line. There were also some bizarre, but rousing, pre-race performances from a Hardangaviolinist, and the Norwegian PM (not together), before setting my alarm for 2am and getting an early night.

Connie: And just like that - the months of preparation were over in a flash. Arriving in Eidfjord was awe-inspiring but also intimidating - everyone looked much more professional and better kitted out than us! I knew it was my job to make sure Phil was calm and prepared, so I kept that thought to myself, and stayed focussed on how lucky we were to be there and the task at hand.

The Swim

Phil: It was a calm, dark morning, and after checking in my bike in a wilderness of flashing white and red lights I boarded the ferry just before 4am. There was a palpable sense of nervousness and excitement on the ferry as various people sat and stood on the car deck either catching up on sleep, deep in concentration or limbering up to shake off the nerves. I was the latter. All of a sudden a huge gush of water from a fireman’s hose burst onto the car deck, for people to acclimatise. This was the epic ritual I had seen on the hype videos, and I couldn’t resist a go in the surprisingly powerful spray.

Eventually the mouth of the ferry opened like an enormous whale and the shouts began for everyone to start jumping into the brackish waters below. After jumping in and having to do a little readjustment of my goggles I swam to the start and before I was even able to set my Garmin up the ferry horn sounded the start of the race!

I tried to hit a steady pace and not get too close to the banks as the tide was against us. I found myself in a no man’s land with no one to draft, but eventually managed to make out a pod to my left which I headed for (and actually appeared in the drone footage from the Norseman video about Seb Kienle). There I managed to find an easy rhythm and rest slightly before deciding they were too slow and to go it on my own again.

As dawn was breaking I could make out the bonfire guiding us into Eidfjord and eventually rounded the buoy after a brief stop to clear my goggles that were like fish bowls. Some lucky sod had drafted me all the way to the turning buoy, but I found a really good line to the exit point, passing close by the pontoon with the supporters and onlookers tiredly cheering on the arrivals. As I exited they called out my number and from nowhere Connie popped out the crowd like a protestor. I was coming into T1 and there looked to be plenty of bikes, all seemed to be going well. I found out after the race that I was 12th out the water.

Connie: After having watched it so many times on the official films, watching the ferry chug out into the night loaded with hundreds of athletes, including Phil, felt like a bizarre dream. All Steve and I could do was wait and listen for the starting horn - and they were off. I saw Phil emerge from the water before his name was called - 12th! - and off we ran for the first transition we had practised so many times on Hove Lawns.

The bike

Phil: After stripping unnervingly close to spectators, T1 went very smoothly; the well oiled machine Connie and I had practised. The Cycle started off really well as well, with a stunning climb out the fjord on old mountain roads and through tunnels, bringing me out on the Hardangavida plateau. I even managed to overtake people on the hill, but the flat however is where the stronger cyclists and TT bikes came into their own and they began to pass me for the next couple of hours.

There was an incredible amount of support on the bike leg, and it felt more like an adventure cycle than a race. The energy from my support, other support and the locals was phenomenal. But when it finally came to stopping to refuel my back was really hurting and I was looking forward to stretching. The stop went smoothly, all the new food and drink attached and off I went.

Unfortunately, my back only got worse from here and I was literally screaming in agony - this was the only moment I considered giving up, as it was so painful. But luckily the climbs were less painful and I had 4 mountain passes to do, so I tried to recall what Mike had mentioned about focussing on different things to make it more manageable, which for me was smooth circles with my legs from my hips not my back. I managed to even claw back a few people on some climbs and had a great battle on the final climb with a man called Jurgen, as I could see his name on his back.

We finally got to the final plateau and this is when the headwind hit with dramatic effect and it felt like I was cycling through treacle, and it also happened to be the coldest part of the race, around 5C. And the heavens opened, with torrential rain and booming thunder claps, just as the final 30km descent started, I thought it would pass, so didn’t make the necessary clothing adjustments, but it didn’t. I had to grit my teeth as I whizzed down the hill completely drenched, cold and shivering; which at points transferred to my bike. I had to recall cold water shock breathing methods to calm my body and temporarily quell the shakes. Despite thinking the hill would end quickly, it didn’t!

I eventually made it to T2 - a Mess! We had not prepared quite so thoroughly for this scenario in T2, but despite this it went well given the situation. I could not undo my helmet as my hands were frozen, I got cramp in both hamstrings whilst putting my new socks and shoes on, I was soaking wet all over and and opportunistic photographer got a shot of my agony. I still managed to make it out of T2 in 53rd position. I was also told at this point that due to extreme lightning that no one would be finishing at the top of Gaustatoppen, but I could still get my black t-shirt if I made the cut off in the top 160.

Connie: Steve and I settled into a rhythm on the bike leg - we’d drive past Phil, cover about 30km of breathtaking landscape, then wait for him to pass us (whooping and waving our Guernsey flag) - ready with anything he might need in case he decided to stop - then jump back in the car and drive past him again to wait at the next stopping point. The roads were chaotic - one car per athlete on the narrow winding roads made for some difficult driving and a few hairy moments for some cyclists (I was glad to be the passenger!). Phil looked like he was holding his own well, but the weather conditions were so erratic I was worried about the toll the cold and rain would be taking, plus the pain in his back.

At T2 he was in a very different place to T1 - despite all our scenario planning we hadn’t thought through how we’d manage if he was wet and cold during the transition, and all our careful preparation went out the window as I just followed his instructions about what he needed. As he ran off I was just hoping the clearing weather and his confidence running would see him through.

The Run

Phil: The Run was a bit ropey to start, with a rebellious shoelace and cramp to contend with in the first 5k, as well as realising I forgot my number in transition. Luckily this was all rectified fairly quickly and I began to find my stride. However, I could have sworn the km markers were counting backwards at times, and the route felt relentless. But, I managed a good pace with some sections of walking to recover every so often and the fueling plan going smoothly, which is good because I hadn’t eaten nearly enough on the bike.

When I eventually got to the bottom of zombie hill I was so relieved, seeing Connie and Dad gave me so much joy and I could start power walking up Zombie Hill. So I donned my headphones with my personalised playlist from Connie and began my ascent. About 5 mins into the playlist I heard Connie’s voice - she had not only curated me a playlist but also got friends and family to record messages for me, which played inbetween epic soundtracks. This really got me at points and eeked out a few tears.

Remarkably, the sun had come out and I felt so energised that the 10k of 10% hill flew by and I rounded Norwegian corner to see team B.O.B. cheering me on as I pretended to be a zombie for the camera, and then I was joined by Connie and Dad. After Dad returned to wait for us at the finish, the final slog felt sluggish but seeing that cutoff marker gave me an unbelievable sense of achievement, despite it not being the finish line.

And when I had a picture taken with my number (64th) you could see the gloriously sunny path to the mountain top, which it felt like a shame to not be heading up. It then felt like a victory lap back to the finish line where I crossed holding a Guernsey flag, and flanked by my amazing support crew.

Connie: It was a relief to see Phil back in his stride on the run and to see him start to power up the infamous incline of Zombie Hill, which I’d been having nightmares about. I’ll never forget joining him for the last 10km and run-walking together up to the 32km marker, with other athletes and their support coming back down - and everyone cheering each other on in both directions. Jogging the last few kilometres side-by-side in the sunshine was the cherry on top of one of the most inspirational and memorable days of my life. The whole experience made Phil stronger, but it also made us stronger as a team, and excited for whatever challenge we have in store for us next

Phil: I had done it! It felt surreal that the culmination of all that effort and support had ended. It didn’t feel like a 14hr race, more like a 7 month challenge. And I had done it, exceeding my own expectations.

The hours and days that followed my body was not particularly happy with what I had done, as I hobbled around like a weary old man, and I got to just soak it all in sharing stories of the race and reliving the moments that made it. Good and bad. After this race I had a real sense of achievement, not as an individual but as a team, of more than three as well. It included the support and encouragement of all those who had got me to that point.

Now…what next?