|
. |
|
MARATHON DES SABLES 2006 |
|
TEAM ODYSSEY |
|
Race Diary |
|
THE MARATHON DES SABLES 2006 – TEAM ODYSSEY
A RACE DIARY
As the members of Team Odyssey, Michael Rudd (No. 467), Paul Davies (No. 465) and George Mantzoros (No. 466), arrived at Gatwick at 0930hrs on 6th April it was not hard to spot the other MDS competitors, the vast majority sporting the same blue and yellow rucksack and pensive look. We had been preparing for a long time but if we were honest the three of us knew that we had not done enough training; injury and work commitments getting in the way. However, we were spurred on by the reasonable amount of money we had raised for our two charities, Tommy’s and Hospice Care, particularly after a generous donation from Mike’s Uncle, Paul O’Grady and the New Paul O’Grady Show. He announced our efforts on his show, but punctuated that with the firm belief that “…the vultures would be picking the remaining flesh from our bleached bones by day three…”. Such faith!!
After a final pint of Guinness (for medicinal purposes of course!) we boarded the impossibly cramped Monarch jet to Ouarzazate, Morocco. A small town lying 300km south of Marrakech Monarch must have been under the impression that all MDS competitors had inside leg measurements of less than 25 inches, but the flight was mercifully quick at 3 ½ hours. At immigration control on arrival we joined what was to be the first of many lengthy queues over the next three days. Queuing to check in at the hotel, to get the coaches to the desert, to get food, the list and queues go on and on and on!
|
|
After spending the night of our arrival in the 5 star Berbere Palace Hotel in Ouarzazate we were transported out to the desert in a fleet of “comfortable” coaches. The four hour, 220km bus ride to Tazzarine was dramatic as we climbed up through dry gorges of twisted brown rock covered in sand. The road had been washed away in parts and wound up and down around the mountains like a discarded ribbon of black tarmac. It was on the bus that the “Road Book” was issued. The MDS route is a secret until the last minute, and the Road book is our ‘bible’. It sets out how long each stage is, the terrain, bearings and where the checkpoints are. The route is different every year but always around 240km (150 miles) split across 6 days. As we checked each day, it soon became obvious that this year, the route had been radically redesigned. Usually, there is a ‘Dunes’ day on Stage 3 and a ‘Long Day’ on Stage 4. This year, they had merged the two into Stage 4 so that the last 24 miles of the 54 mile slog were over dunes. However, the organisers had decided to lengthen Stage 1, throw in some mountains and include dunes on Stages 2, 4, 5 and 6. Word soon spread around the bus from MdS veterans that this would be a ‘killer’ course to complete.
Everyone was drinking lots of mineral water which was relieved at a toilet stop. Our first visit to the “out-door toilet”. Men to the right, women to the left and everyone went as far away as possible. As the week drew on the distance people walked away to do their business decreased exponentially. At the start line on the final day one girl from the next door tent, and some of you know who I am talking about, “coped a squat” two feet behind Brian and I!! A packed lunch was handed to us in the 36ºC sunshine containing a huge collection of goodies, some unidentifiable but some most certainly identifiable, such as the ubiquitous Laughing Cow Cheese!!
When the coaches could go no further just outside a small village called Ait-Saadane we were unceremoniously discharged onto the roadside and bundled with our kit into a fleet of open backed ex-US Army lorries for a hair raising charge across the desert to our first camp, Bivouac 1. This would be our home for the next two days. The Camp consisted of a series of neat, white, clean and secure organisers’ tents and 100 tatty Berber “Tents” laid out in two large rings for the competitors. These were little more than old carpet bags pinned together at various points and stretched precariously over a couple of wooden poles. Team Odyssey found themselves in Tent 86 together with five other individuals, including both the youngest (Ed Holliday, Student -19) and oldest (Brian Page, Law Costs Draughtsman - 63) British competitors. Also in Tent 86 with Team Odyssey were Fergal McCarthy a 36 year old IT Consultant originally from Cork (we all have our crosses to bear!), Shem Banbury, a 27 year old teacher from New Zealand and Mahmood Mortazavi a 56 year old Accounts Manager from Romford, though originally hailing from Persia. About 750 people from over 30 nations take part in the event each year and this year this included Jack Osbourne, son of Ozzy, as part of his Adrenalin Junkie program. Apparently, Johnny Lee Miller was also due to take part but withdrew at the last minute after being “ambushed” by filming commitments. There was also a rumour that Prince William taking part, but that’s all it proved to be.
The rest of the day was spent in the bivi, relaxing, acclimatising, and being hammered by constant sand storms whipped up by Force 5 winds. Bedding down for our first night in the desert, eight excited and nervous runners in a row, it wasn’t long before the thunderous roar of Paul’s snoring rent the air. I had the foresight to take earplugs, but not the industrial ones that it became clear I would need. I also failed to have the foresight to position my sleeping mat as far from Paul as possible, rather I positioned it next to him, ever the martyr. Oh! what a night. Now I understand why Tess, Paul’s wife surreptitiously placed a bottle of Snore-eze in Paul’s bag, not that he would ever use it. I lay there longing for the sun to rise and the morning to come. Over the coming days waking hours were to be dictated by daylight (and Paul’s snoring), waking at five thirty going to bed at nine in the evening, unprecedented
The following day was the check-in and administration day. The morning was spent packing and re-packing our rucksacks, making sure we had everything we might need over the next seven days whilst trying to keep weight to a sensible and manageable level, something that was proving to be impossible. To make matters worse the sand storms continued, blowing down organisers’ tents, administration tents and competitors’ tents. At 1300hrs on Saturday 8th April Team Odyssey staggered over to the Administration Tent. Here we handed over all the kit we didn’t want to carry, which was then taken back to Ouarzazate, we then received our race numbers, distress flares and salt tablets. Our kit was checked to ensure we had the compulsory items and the minimum of 2000 calories in food per day. It was beginning to become a little more real. However, one final hurdle remained, the medicals.
We had all had medicals before leaving the UK and were clutching certificates and “normal” ECG’s, all except me that was. I had only been signed off the evening before departure by a very expensive private cardiologist (the only person I could find to do it!) and was carrying an “abnormal” ECG. It was quite possible that all my preparations would be in vane. I approached the medical desk with some trepidation and with shaky hand passed my certificate, ECG, chest x-ray and letters over to the impossibly young French doctor. He scrutinised them (I wasn’t convinced he could read English) and then started to ask some fairly harsh and searching questions. His brow furrowed, he started whispering in French to his colleague, oh how I wished I’d paid more attention in my French Classes at the Catholic High, he looked at me and said “…bon,….ok…have fun…”. The waves of relief washed over me and I quickly made my way to join the other two members of Team Odyssey outside the tent before the doctor changed his mind. We were finally on our way! We were to find out later that 760 competitors entered the check in and 29 were rejected based on their ECG.
From this point on, apart from that evenings meal, we were on our own and self sufficient. The organisers would only be providing us with water, which was severely rationed at each Checkpoint, medical assistance where needed and the previously mentioned Berber Tents. We provided and carried our own food for the duration of the event which generally comprised freeze dried vacuum packed Pot Noodle type products, pepperami, Power Bars, Complan and a mixture of Skittles, Jelly Babies and Midget Gems. Good for energy levels bad for constitution. (Tip – do not take Jelly Babies, they melt at around 40 degrees and stick everything else together!!)
Over the coming days we were anticipating temperatures of up to 50 degrees centigrade, humidity of around 5% and occasional winds. How wrong we, and the organizers would prove to be. Another huge challenge was simply to avoid getting sand in our shoes. The combination of sweat and sand making a great abrasive. To try and prevent this we had gaiters made out of parachute silk (Thanks Anna) that we glued to our shoes. Remarkably, they were to prove successful.
The remainder of Saturday was a nervous time, everyone packing and repacking their rucksacks, everyone concerned about the amount of food they had brought and the frightening weight of the packs. On top of all this we were subjected to frequent and violent sand storms whipped up by the Force 5 winds. Each time a storm thundered into camp we jumped out of the tent desperately seeking rocks, stones, boulders and anything else we could find to help keep the tent erect and on the ground and to try to minimise the amount of sand driving through our tent and our belongings. We soon realised this was a futile and impossible task, after all this was the desert and sand was bound to get everywhere!
Stage 1 (9th Apr) – 28km Everyone was up early after another disturbed night, Brian joining in the Snoring Chorus. We had no choice about getting up as a bunch of very loud and unsympathetic Berbers tore our tent down at 0600hrs. With 100 tents to take down, move to the next location and erect before the competitors arrived they had to get a move on. Once again sacks were unpacked, packed, unpacked and repacked. However we packed them they were still outrageously heavy. After a breakfast of cold oats mixed in a bag with a carefully pre-weighed amount of milk powder, sugar and water, together with a cold energy drink we wondered eagerly over to the start line. Bob Dylan was thundering out over the PA. There followed a series of long dull speeches and announcements which included welcoming all competing nations, except the Welsh, who were clearly, according to the French organisers, included under the English banner. There was also what was to become the obligatory singing of Happy Birthday, and then we were off!!
Everyone ran through the start line and for a few hundred metres thereafter, but it didn’t last. The fittest, strongest and those with the lightest bags continued to run but the majority settled down to the “Sahara Shuffle”, a sort of half run half marching action. The Race Chopper was continuously thundering backwards and forwards over us filming every excited and eager face. The temperature was in the low forties. Checkpoint 1 arrived quickly (12.5km). A quick change of socks, restock the water bottles and off we go. We crossed a stony plateau for 4 kilometres only to be met with a very steep 15% climb up a “small jebel” (hill). It was a tough ascent and I just kept my head down until I reached the summit, from where there was a marvelous view across the endless stony valley below and the fault line ridge of Jebal Bou Lalhirh.
After a steep sandy descent, we followed the narrow track across the valley. Competitors were strung out for miles ahead. There was another sandy climb at 18km with the wind picking up on the ridge. There was a tricky 200m descent into a small stony valley in the middle of which lay Checkpoint 2 at 21km. A sandstorm had blown up and we didn’t hang around. After leaving the Checkpoint, there was another small stony hill to a summit followed by a relatively stony valley. Then another sandy hill to summit at 25km. The final 7kms were a struggle to battle the wind and sand and the finish line came as a relief after 6 hours. I crossed the finish line and was handed my water ration of 4 ½ litres. The day had been hot, surprisingly humid and the rucksacks were cutting into our backs.
I had cracked on ahead of Paul and George at Checkpoint 1 as they were not moving at a pace I found overly comfortable. It wasn’t a question of fitness, more a matter of stride length. I was becoming concerned when two hours after I had finished they were still not in sight, the deadline for the stage was fast approaching. As the sun was setting the other two members of Team Odyssey came into sight. They had got stuck at Checkpoint 2 in a sand storm and had taken the opportunity to catch 40 winks, outrageous!!
Everyone in Tent 86 was relieved to get the first day over with. The rest of the evening was spent tending to sore feet and cooking up our delightful freeze dried food, which wasn’t all that bad in the end!! Before bed the Bivouac Commissionaire, who was a short, heavy set very stern French woman, delivered the first of our emails from home. Everyone eagerly hunched over their messages and soaked in the much needed encouragement. Early to bed.
On the official website at Patrick Bauer, the Race Organiser wrote of Stage 1: “…It’s been a very unusual day. When you look at the statistics over the last few years, you see it’s the first time we’ve had this situation: 21 IVs and 8 retirements on the first day. We’ve never seen that before. It was 41°C today but with 18% hygrometry (humidity). Last year it was hotter (47°C) but the hygrometry level was only 6%. Competitors had trouble hydrating themselves adequately today. I saw very experienced runners, people that have done several MDS, in a real state. The strong winds also meant some competitors got dehydrated. So in view of the situation, we decided to give an extra 1.5 litres of water. We’ll do the same thing again if necessary. Today has shown us that the hygrometry is an important factor in managing your water intake… perhaps as important as the temperature itself…” We never received the additional water!!!
Stage 2 (10th Apr) – 35km Once again the Berbers ripped down the tent at an ungodly hour. Mahmood contributed to the now growing snoring chorus. Same breakfast again, although George was seen to cast his into the desert with an unprintable exclamation of disgust, settling instead for a Power Bar. Mahmood, a veteran of one previous MDS was becoming quite adept at making fire from the smallest amount of desert brush and we took the opportunity to brew up, the day always seems better after a cup of tea! When it is hot enough to make you start sweating at 0630hrs in the morning you know it is going to be a hot day.
Once again with weighty packs we strolled over to the start line for announcements and the singing of happy birthday. The Welsh were apologised to and welcomed and then we were off again.
The stage started off with a blisteringly difficult climb up a very sandy hillside, the towering Jebel Tibert. The early morning enthusiasm soon evaporating. Once again I started off a little bit quicker than Paul and George and when I got to the top of the hill at 2.3km I couldn’t see either of them. I cracked on thinking all would be well, how wrong I was, disaster was soon to strike. The rest of the route to Checkpoint 1 was uneventful, adopting the now customary shuffle across stony ground, crossing the Aatchana wadi and more sand and stones. At the Checkpoint socks were changed, Power Bar consumed and water stocks replenished with the ration I was allowed. I noticed Jack Osbourne at the Checkpoint, sitting under an awning looking distinctly unhappy. I then cracked on to Checkpoint 2 at the 23km point. Same routine at this Checkpoint and then we had our first taste of the dunes, about 4 ½ km of low, undulating strength sapping dunes, soft sand and strong winds. A “gentle” introduction and then on to the finish line.
I passed through the finish line and was feeling exhausted at this point. The strong winds had blown all of the tent numbers away, as well as some of the tents! As I wondered down the line of tents trying to find Tent 86 I saw a face I knew but couldn’t place, it was that of Paul’s. His mouth was moving and the words “we’re out” seemed to be coming from it. I couldn’t believe it. It seems that on the initial climb Paul was having considerable stomach problems which obviously hindered his progress and when he and George reached Checkpoint 1 they were told that they had no chance of reaching Checkpoint 2 within the deadline and so they must pull out. I can only imaging how awful they felt, it had taken 18 months to reach this point. They were transported on to Bivouac 2 and were stripped on all their food. They were in good company as Jack Osbourne, Adrenalin Junkie and son of Ozzy, also dropped out at this Checkpoint, despite his accompanying team of Army PT Instructors and his own Personal Trainer.
It was a sombre evening in Tent 86. Every member of the tent felt Paul and George’s disappointment acutely. We all knew exactly what it had taken Paul and George to get to this point.
By the end of Stage 2, 68 competitors had dropped out of the event. The average number for the whole event was usually around 40. The humidity and windy conditions were ripping apart the field. Many competitors were complaining about a lack of water. I understand that some petitioned the organisers to get an extra bottle that evening. As far as I remember, the organisers said no. It was the ‘Marathon Des Sables’ It was supposed to be tough.
Stage 3 (11th Apr) – 38km This is the day that turned out to be one of the most disastrous in MDS history. By 0700hrs the temperature had reached 41 degrees centigrade and the humidity was already over 20%, something almost unheard of at this time of year. There had already been a record number of drop outs, mostly due to the high temperatures and exceptionally high humidity. As a result the organisers decided to offer an extra bottle of water the evening before. It still wasn’t enough. We were all drinking around 12 litres of water a day and still weren’t taking a pee. Dehydration was the order of the day. Same routine, tents down, breakfast forced down, announcements, happy birthday and we were off.
Very slow and uneventful progress to Checkpoint 1. We were all conscious that Day 4 was the long day and I felt the need to conserve energy. On top of that I was feeling very down and demotivated following the disintegration of Team Odyssey, it didn’t seem fair. Power Bar, dry socks and water at the Checkpoint and then off. It was at this point that things started to get very difficult. Temperature and humidity were climbing, the route initially took a long, slow drag up a very soft sandy incline. The gradient soon increased, and increased and increased. Water was being consumed at an incredible rate, temperatures had hit 50 degrees and humidity approaching 40%, it was approaching Midday. I could feel myself becoming ill, I was getting hotter and hotter and no matter how much I slowed down and how much water I took on board my condition was deteriorating. I saw people standing on a ridge line ahead and above of me. I guessed that this may be Checkpoint 2 but it seemed impossibly far ahead. The steadily increasing slope suddenly stopped and I was faced with what seemed an impossibly steep sand filled gully. As I climbed it I sank back one foot for every two foot of upward progress. I don’t know how I reached the top but once there I fell into Checkpoint 2, utterly exhausted. I seemed to be surrounded by many people in a very similar state. There were bodies lying everywhere, bleeding feet, people bent over vomiting and the medical tent looked like a scene from MASH.
After 30 minutes, dry socks and taking on more water I set off for Checkpoint 3, feeling a little better. I had 3 hours to cover the 11½ km, no problem I thought. I sent off along a stony ridge, down a steep incline, over a long seemingly endless rocky plain and then over the first of what I expected to be a series of three steep sandy bluffs, or Jebels around 200-300ft in height. Over the first one, water nearly gone, bound down the deep sand on the other side. Climb the second, bound down the other side again, one more to go and then I could replenish my water. I was starting to over heat again. The heat was stifling and I think I was becoming disorientated, finding it hard to determine how far I had walked. I struggled to the top of the third and final Jebel, water exhausted, temperature and humidity unbearable, the Checkpoint was no-where in sight. In fact what I could see was another steep sandy Jebel. I knew I was in difficulty.
I took the next bluff very gently, trying not to think of my dry throat and rapidly growing pounding headache. At the base of that bluff, which thankfully proved to be the final one, was a Medical Team tending to some very ill competitors. I counted at least seven people on intravenous drips. Apparently, each Competitor is allowed one drip before being withdrawn. I was told that the Checkpoint was still 2.7km away, across an open valley and I had no water. The winds were whipping up the sand with some ferocity, making the dehydration even worse. As I crossed the plain, every foot step a struggle, I saw a further four people lying by the side of the track on drips. I stumbled into the Checkpoint with 55 minutes to spare and was handed a one and a half litre bottle of water, I needed twice that! As I sat there in the early evening gentle sipping my meagre ration, knowing I still had 6 1/2km ahead of me I saw distress flare after distress flare arching into the sky. It was like a second Tet Offensive. The evening sky was red with the glow of distress flares. Something has gone terribly wrong.
|