Race across Paris 2024
Friday, April 26, 2024 - I take the train at 7:30 AM to go to Chantilly, a small town north of Paris which is the starting point of the Race across Paris 2024, my first race of the 2024 season. Normally, I would have gone to the starting location a day before the race began, but since this was a secondary objective and the start was on Friday evening, I decided to go on the same day. In retrospect, I think this was a poor decision that caused avoidable stress in the hours leading up to the race. After a rather long journey of 6-7 hours, I arrive in Chantilly around 3 PM, only 6 hours before the race start. And 6 hours go by really quickly, especially when you have to reassemble your bike, prepare your gear, eat, attend the briefing, review the course one last time... In short, too many things to manage before the start of a race. It doesn't really leave time to soak in the atmosphere or to prepare mentally and physically for the race. Nothing too serious though, it's a shorter race than usual and the result is only of secondary importance in my mind.
Arriving at the Chantilly base camp, the race headquarters, I find many familiar faces, both among the organizers and competitors, notably Fabien Dauge who had just finished the 1000km race in 9th place, a great performance! I met Fabien at the Race across Paris 2023 where we shared the difficult final kilometers of the 500km together during a freezing night in April 2023. Fabien will also participate in the Race across France 2500km, it will be an opportunity to see him again! We took advantage of the occasion to plan a small 3-day bikepacking trip in the Vosges at the end of May to test the equipment for the Race across France, which promises to be quite nice. Seeing the familiar faces of the organization is also pleasant, I must say that after 4 participations in their events now, I'm starting to know them well.
After greeting everyone, I prepare my bike and equipment for the race. As usual, a few last-minute questions arise: What clothing? One more layer? One less? If it rains, do I really have everything I need? Do I really have the right amount of food? The usual concerns. The uncertain weather doesn't make things easier, but it seems certain that there will be at least a few showers. After a good hour or two of preparation and questioning, my bike is ready and the plan is clear. I then go through accreditation to have my bike and mandatory equipment checked. And that's when the first big problem arises... I've been registered as French! So it's with a superb tricolor flag on my frame plate that I'll have to cross the Paris region. This year, the organizers have added an emergency whistle to the list of mandatory equipment. A detail I had overlooked... fortunately, Fabien lends me his. It would have been silly not to be able to start because of a whistle...
Then comes the race briefing where the schedule, course, rules, and all relevant information are communicated. The organizer confirms that there will indeed be rain, but that it should be limited to a few showers at the beginning of the race. The briefing is followed by the traditional Pasta Party, an opportunity to chat and exchange with other competitors. There are nearly 250 people taking the start of the 300km. Most of the participants in the 300km are novices, people who are discovering ultra-distance for the first time. It must be admitted that the format is ideal for discovering the discipline as it allows you to spend an entire night on the bike in a race environment. There are relatively few experienced riders taking the start of this distance; I seem to be a bit of an exception. For most, about 200 people, it's their first time. It's nice to see the discipline grow and attract more and more people.
There are 4 categories: Solo, Duo, and Quartet. Generally, solo riders are faster than those in Duo or Quartet, mainly because in a group, you almost always move at the pace of the slowest person and the good moments of one or the other rarely occur at the same time. When you're in a group, you usually stop more often and for longer, but most importantly, you have to manage a social dimension when often you're already struggling to manage yourself. Although companionship can help in difficult moments, in ultra-distance events, you often go faster alone. The longer the race, the truer this is. However, for a 300km race, participating in a team can be a real advantage because extreme fatigue doesn't set in and the number of stops is quite minimal. I'm curious to see if the teams will be faster or not. In any case, the objective is clear: to win!
The first participants will start at 9:00 PM, then there will be a start every 30 seconds. My start is scheduled for 9:46 PM, I take advantage of the two hours I have left to lie down and close my eyes, and join the start area about thirty minutes before the time. There's a great atmosphere, everyone is encouraging each other and there's a mix of anxiety and excitement in the air. I must say that for this, night starts are quite nice. The time comes and it's time for me to head to the starting line. 9:46 PM, the announcer does the countdown, and off we go for 314km.
Being one of the last to start in the solo category, there are about a hundred people in front of me and only about ten solo runners behind. All the duos and quartets also started after me. My coach, Loic, told me to aim for between 280 and 300 Watts and to hold this as long as possible, knowing that the effort should naturally decrease during the last hours. My training record is 270 Watts for 8 hours. I think I can maintain the indicated pace for more or less 8 hours before being forced to see my Watts drop for the last hours of the race. For now, it's not raining, I set off with determination and enthusiasm for what promises to be a long night.
A start every 30 seconds means there's a person roughly every 250m, I can see a long trail of red light in front of me. This always provides a goal, but it also presents a danger as it's easy to get caught up in constantly chasing the person in front of you and burning yourself out in the process. I try to stick to the coach's instructions, 300 Watts, max 320 Watts. After 15 minutes of racing, during a descent, I lose a water bottle that flies off after hitting a big speed bump. I had decided to start with 2.5L of water, enough to last 4.5 hours. I have planned 2 short stops during this race: the first after 123 kilometers (+-4h) and the second at kilometer 213 (+- 8h30). I tell myself that even with one less bottle, I should be able to make it to km 123 without problems and decide not to stop to avoid breaking the rhythm and losing time, a rather silly rookie mistake that I'll pay for later.
At this pace, I quickly start overtaking many riders. I pass about fifteen people in the first half hour. That's when the rain starts, "just a passing shower" I tell myself, remembering the race briefing. I quickly realize that the rain is here to stay and that it will probably accompany me for the long journey through Paris, not a very exciting prospect.
I enter the Parisian suburbs after a little over an hour of racing, there isn't too much traffic for now and I'm with a group of 2-3 runners. It's always stressful to cross a city during a race. Although we're supposed to respect traffic laws, we're still inclined not to, simply seeing a competitor run a red light encourages you to do the same. Fortunately, there isn't too much traffic. The crossing of Paris extends for about 70km, mainly following the Seine. In the pouring rain, I distance myself from the group I was with and catch up shortly after with Pierre Yves, a local Parisian in his forties who is participating in this race to prepare for an Ironman. Crossing the city with a local proves to be an asset: he knows all the tricks. He knows when to bend the rules a bit, when to overtake a car, when to stop, or when to be careful. A reassuring presence, especially with this rain and ever-increasing traffic as we approach the city center. Once, as I slow down while catching up to a car, he yells from behind, "What are you doing?! This isn't Switzerland, overtake on the left!" It makes me laugh.
Shortly after, we pass the Eiffel Tower and I end up dropping Pierre Yves who stops for reasons I'm not sure about, so I continue crossing the French metropolis alone. After about twenty more kilometers, the worst seems to be over. Traffic is becoming increasingly rare and I feel that I'm gradually leaving the urban environment to finally reach the countryside. At this point, I've been on the road for a little over 3 hours. The rain picks up again and I have no idea where I stand in the rankings.
That's when, exiting the bike path, I slip and fall quite violently. A silly lapse of attention on my part. Fortunately, it was on a small path, there was no traffic. I get up quickly, retrieve my bike, put the chain back on, and set off immediately. Once back on the bike, I do a quick assessment and quickly conclude that, apart from some pain and minor scrapes, I have nothing serious and I'm able to continue the race. The bike, for its part, seems to be functioning normally. I'm annoyed at the stupid mistake but tell myself I'm lucky to get away with it like this. I quickly forget about the fall and the pain to continue at the same pace.
The intensity of the rain reaches its peak as I leave Paris. I'm soaked to the bone. I can't say I'm enjoying it much, but apart from that, everything is going well and I feel fit. After 100km of racing, Paris is finally nothing more than a bad memory and I receive information that there are already only two riders in front of me. This surprises me because it doesn't seem like I've passed more than 90 people so far, I assume many have stopped to shelter from the worst of the rain.
My first stop is planned at kilometer 123 to fill my water bottles in a cemetery spotted on a map beforehand. In France, cemeteries are generally a reliable landmark because there's always a tap for watering. Following the loss of my water bottle earlier in the race, I have not a drop of water at this point and I'm really counting on this cemetery to refill. But no luck, there is indeed a tap, but it doesn't work! I leave with empty bottles after a completely useless 2-3 minute stop. I don't have much of a Plan B, I decide to continue and stop at the first fountain. I ride for nearly 2 hours before finally finding a fountain. It's a non-potable water fountain, but never mind, I need to drink and I don't want to waste more time. I tell myself that at worst I'll be sick the next day, not very smart, I know. During these two hours, I caught up with two of the three participants still ahead of me, there's only one left who has about a fifteen-minute lead. It's important to remember here that having started among the last, I actually have a comfortable lead over the participant in front of me. After 6 hours of racing, around 4 AM, I'm in the lead with an advantage of more or less 20 minutes. The other good news is that the rain starts to decrease until it stops completely. It's about time!
I am still determined to be the first to cross the finish line, so I continue pushing until daybreak when I finally catch up with the last participant around 6 AM. I have been racing for a little over 8 hours at this point, and my computer shows an average of 281 Watts, which I'm happy with. There are still about 90km to go, or a little less than 3 hours, and I currently have nearly 40 minutes lead over the second place. It's after catching up with the last participant that my pace starts to drop. I'm not sure if it's due to fatigue or a relaxation on my part. Probably both. In any case, this seems to be a recurring problem for me: my pace drops as soon as I feel the race is over. I should find ways to maintain my effort even though the result seems sealed. Proof of my relaxation is that I even decide to stop at a bakery to buy a Coke and a raspberry tart. A really unnecessary stop.
The last 50 kilometers are scattered with small roads and paths in deplorable conditions, surely due to the rain, and it takes me longer than expected to cover the final kilometers to reach the finish line. It's finally just before 9 AM and after 10 hours and 58 minutes of racing that I arrive in Chantilly. I finish first with nearly 45 minutes ahead of the second-place finisher. I also finish first in the overall standings, meaning ahead of all the duos and quartets. I have an 11-minute lead over the first pair. I'm satisfied with this result, but I'm even more pleased with the almost 270 Watts average over 11 hours, which shows a nice progression since last year. It's encouraging for the future!
Upon arriving, I assess my physical condition after a wet night on the bike. I'm pleased to find that I feel rather fresh, without major fatigue or signs of exhaustion. However, the 10 hours of riding completely soaked have left me with severe chafing to the point where it would have been difficult to continue in these conditions. This is a good learning experience because if this were to happen on a longer race, I would be in quite a predicament. I need to find solutions to be able to ride for long periods in the rain without damaging myself too much. If you have any advice, I'm all ears.
J'ai dormi quelques heures à la base de vie avant de démonter mon vélo, faire mon sac et me diriger vers la gare pour rentrer satisfait à la maison, impatient de reprendre la préparation pour la Race across Belgium 500km du 10 Mai.
I slept for a few hours at the base camp before dismantling my bike, packing my bag, and heading to the train station to return home satisfied, eager to resume preparation for the Race across Belgium 500km on May 10th.
But I quickly realize that the adventure is not over yet... After a rest day on Sunday, it's Monday evening when I decide to clean and reassemble my bike. Taking stock, I quickly notice that the bike has suffered a lot due to the rain. But that, I expected. It's when observing the frame more closely that I realize my fall had more consequences than I imagined. Indeed, I discover an ugly crack in the carbon underneath my frame. This crack seems to go through several layers of carbon and clearly compromises the integrity of the frame.
I tell myself that I was lucky to be able to ride 200 km like this without consequences. But at this moment, I'm mostly dejected because I realize that this is a problem that won't be easy to solve. I'm supposed to resume training the next day, but it's clear that will be impossible. With the Race Across Belgium in 10 days, I urgently need to find a solution to set up a bike as quickly as possible. I have a second bike, a Rose X-Lite 6, but it wasn't configured at all for ultras. I decide to combine the two bikes into one using the best parts at my disposal.
I undertake the long task of completely dismantling my two bikes and start rebuilding something. I quickly realize that this is going to be time-consuming and that, for compatibility reasons, I'll need to order quite a few parts. This story drives me crazy and hits my morale hard. This Race across Paris goes from a positive dimension to a negative one in the space of a few hours. I tell myself that the net result of this race is negative because it delays my preparation and costs me a lot of money and energy. I'm also dejected about breaking my beautiful bike.
In short, after 3 days and countless hours of tinkering, I finally finished assembling a bike. I come out with a bike of equivalent quality to the broken one. As soon as the bike was finished, I went for a Bike Fit with the great Benjamin Coty, alias Physio Bike, to adjust my position on this Frankenstein bike. Although I was able to mobilize and find a solution quickly, the whole thing leaves me with a bitter taste and puts me in a bad mood. I'm not at all in an ideal state of mind to resume preparation and do what's necessary before the Race across Belgium.
But, following a very interesting discussion with my psychologist, I realize that my pessimism and negative view of the facts are unwarranted. He helps me refocus and reconstruct the facts from a positive angle. It's a good learning experience on managing unexpected events and setbacks. I need to learn to welcome negative emotions, acknowledge them, and then be able to distance myself and detach from them. The key is to recognize the moment when these emotions occur. This would undoubtedly be a very useful asset in ultra races, where the flow of positive and negative emotions is constant. Something to work on!
I finally resume training with a beautiful bike and enthusiasm on Friday, May 3rd to prepare for the Race across Belgium 500km which will take place on May 10th.
The objective will be the same: to win!
Big hugs and thanks for the support!
