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MARATHON DES SABLES 2006 |
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TEAM ODYSSEY |
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Race Diary |
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THE MARATHON DES SABLES 2006 – TEAM ODYSSEY
A RACE DIARY—CONTINUED
I pushed on to the finish line along the picturesque verdant El Maharch gorge, stopping briefly at the site of a solar pump, financed by the MDS, to have my first wash in 4 days, albeit a very quick one. Despite the high temperatures, hard exercise and lack of washing none of us in the tent felt that we smelt particularly bad. However, when I saw the colour of the water that came off me, and when my suntan washed off it became apparent just how filthy I was. The finish line was only another 3km ahead so I cracked on, eager to get the day over with. As I crossed the finish line Paul and George were there to pull my sack from my now aching back. It had been an awful day and I became quite emotional that it was over. Luckily the lads couldn’t see the tears behind my Paris Hilton style sand glasses, they covered most of my face. Uncle Paul had predicted bleached bones and vultures by this day, he had not been far wrong!! Congratulations to Fergal who won the sweepstake for the first “arrival moan” – the back!!
I had managed to pick up some nasty blisters on both my heals and on the underside of one of my big-toes. This meant a visit to “Doc Trotters” the Medical Team provided by the organisers. They have a rather unique way of dealing with blisters, disinfect the area, slice the blister open, or off, and then saturate the area in stinging iodine. I presented my three “enormous” and disfiguring blisters and the Doctor at the Triage was distinctly unimpressed.
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He handed me some iodine and a scalpel and told me to do it myself. Not being into self mutilation I found this very difficult but eventually summed up the courage to squeeze the first blister and press the scalpel against it. The fluid squirted in a high arch away from my foot and the pressure was eased. Easy I thought and set about the other two, no problem!! The real problem arose when I started to squeeze in the iodine, oh my God, what pain! I was fighting back the cries of anguish as the only female Irish runner, 53 year old Mary Hickey from Arklow, who was sat beside me was setting about her blisters with glee, not a tear in her eye. Sometime later, feet butchered, covered in red iodine and set into nice comfy blue theatre shoes I shuffled back to Tent 86, compeed and Elastoplast tape in my mitts.
The day had been extraordinarily difficult for everyone. There had been 140 retirements and we were receiving news of one Irish competitor who was being repatriated in a coma. A further four competitors had suffered minor strokes. The Course Doctors could not cope, they seemed visibly shocked by the number of casualties they were having to deal with. Had the Organisers got the water ration wrong? Had they been caught out by the exceptionally high humidity? Who knows, but there was a surprise in store for us the following day.
Word spread around the camp that Patrick Bauer had written the following on the official website. “…At the end of the first three days the competitors are exhausted. There’s a record number of retirements : 122 for the first three days [less than 50 for the whole course last year]. It’s due to a combination of high temperatures, strong winds and unusually high hygrometry levels (20% compared to the usual 6%). I also think the competitors are less well prepared this year compared to last…”. This last comment left many people fuming. Everyone felt that they were prepared as they could be. It was the lack of water that was causing the problems.
Stage 4 (12th Apr) – 57km – The Over-nighter At 0700hrs Rob, the Best of Morocco representative, affectionately nicked named Robocop due to his tendency to stride past the tent and deliver his announcement in a factual monotone, somewhat like Robocop arresting a fellon, indeed strode past our tent and announced that today’s stage was to be reduced from 72 km to 57km and there would be extra water provided at each Checkpoint. We were told that this was done on the direction of the Course Doctors, they were seriously worried that someone might actually die after yesterday’s conditions Many seasoned veterans of the MDS had dropped out, including Rab Lundie, a veteran who actually gave seminars on how to do the race! When Paul and George dropped out their food was taken off them and they were being fed by the organisers. Now, with 140 abandonments, 90 or so more than would normally be expected in total after 7 days, never mind after 3 days, those retiring were being told to keep their food and feed themselves. The weather had created a logistic nightmare for the organisers.
The shortening of the stage was treated with mixed feelings. Was the race being made easier, were we being cheated, or was the race being made safe and more manageable?
At the start line a thought was spared for the Irish chap flown back to France and we all wished him a speedy recovery. We were all a little pensive about the day ahead. We had 16 hours to get to Checkpoint 4 at around 42km and 30 hours to finish the whole stage. Between the start and Checkpoint 4 was around 20km of sand dunes. By this point the soles of my feet felt like I had spent the last three days in an Iraqi prison being beaten with metal rods – agony.
The route to Checkpoint 1 was uneventful, covering flat, extremely stony ground. Checkpoint 1 to 2 involved crossing around 7km of dunes which was tough and slow going. Checkpoint 2 was a welcome sight, lying in the sand dunes on uneven packed ground near the Ba Hallou ruins. Dry socks, water and a Power Bar and then off again. My socks were getting a little grubby. I had taken four pairs of socks and was rotating them each day at each Checkpoint, allowing them to dry. I left Checkpoint 2 and cut southeast down off the sand dunes to a vast cracked flat salt plain called Iferd Nou Haduar. We skirted around its edge. It was an awesome sight – a vast mud flat with no landmarks whatsoever to let you know how far you had walked. The wind whipped across the barren landscape. After a bit of a Sahara Shuffle across a salt plain we were back in the dunes for another 7½ km up to Checkpoint 3. Hard going but admittedly easier on the soles of my feet which were now screaming at every step. To make things a little more difficult the muscles in the top of my back had simply had enough of carrying a rucksack, the pain was excruciating. At one point in the dunes I lay down, taking the sack off my back for some pain relief. Within seconds a helicopter was hovering 30ft above my head, a medic hanging out of the side gun hatch mouthing “Ca va?”. My thumbs up and cheering smile actually meant “sod-off and give me a moment!”
I arrived at Checkpoint 3 as night was falling, the sun was setting and the surrounding landscapes of mountains looked spectacular. I wanted to get out of the dunes before darkness fell, though a full moon was already rising. The organisers seemed to like to hide the Checkpoints and they tended to appear at the last moment. It always seemed a mental challenge to remain optimistic that you would get there before your water ran out. I was handed a glowing orange night stick to attach to the back of my rucksack. A wee rest and then I set off across more dunes, orange night sticks glowing across the dunes before me, towards the deadline Checkpoint, 8½km away. I still had 6 hours to spare.
Checkpoint 4 had a green laser that shone out across the night sky. Unfortunately, there was only one beam and it was impossible to gauge distance so the stage seemed to go on forever and ever. The green beam seemed to stretch far into the night sky but I suspect it was only a few feet above our heads. The route initially continued through some steep dunes and then settled onto extremely stony undulating ground. There was barely a stoneless piece of ground to put your foot down on and the soles of my feet were now starting to feel like I was walking on glass. At one point I sat down for a quiet moment, trying to relieve the pain in my back and feet, gazing upwards at the most clear star filled sky I had ever seen. Unfortunately, even in the Sahara Desert, miles from civilisation you can’t have a quiet moment. Every person who passed by me approached me – “…are you ok…?”, “…everything alright?…”, “…ca va?...”. Nightmare! I arrived at Checkpoint 4 with four hours to spare, totally drained, very tired and in much pain. I needed to eat. I broke out the stove, boiled some water and had a delicious freeze dried Spicy Italian Chicken with Rice, two cups of tea and a strawberry Complan. Instead of cracking on I succumbed to my tiredness and lay down on the floor and went to sleep for 45 minutes.
Feeling moderately refreshed I packed my bag and left Checkpoint 4 around 0200hrs. Pushing on, finding things a little difficult I covered the remaining 13½ km of mostly dry riverbed and some dunes fairly quickly, and finished at 0330hrs. As I approached the Finish Line I heard “…alright Mike…”. Paul was sat to the side of the line dressed in an all-in-one light blue hooded paper suit looking for all the world like a Smurf. He had been there for hours! It was a welcome sight. I was exhausted, my feet and back were agonising and I just wanted to go to bed after 17 hours of crossing the blistering desert. The desert can be a lonely place.
Day 5 (13th Apr) – Rest day For those who had already completed Stage 4, today was a day off. However, many opted to sleep the night at the deadline Checkpoint and complete the stage on Day 5. I had arrived at the Bivi at 0330hrs and decided to stay in bed, or on my back until 1600hrs, hoping my feet and back might recover a little. No such luck! The pain continued and we all knew we had the Marathon Day the next day. I eventually rose from my horizontal position to relieve myself. I wandered towards the nearby dunes where I found a veritable “minefield”! Everyone’s feet were agonising now so there was little incentive or interest in moving very far from the camp. I still had the energy to squat but I saw many individuals on their hands and knees!
The Organisers treated us to a warm can of coke in the early evening, a very welcome treat. Morale in the tent had improved from the dire evening of Day 2, with Fergal providing the entertainment, County Cork style. Subdued by minor back surgery, field style, over the first couple of days, the pain and drugs were now wearing off and Fergal was coming into his own. We all knew the end was approaching. Once again packs were unpacked and packed repeatedly, everyone trying to find some weight that they could shed. I disposed of the vast majority of my perperamis to Ed, who consumed so many he began to look like one by the end of the race. Once again early to bed, after reading our emails.
Stage 5 (14th Apr) – 42.2km (Marathon Day) The last big one! With sacks considerably lighter and the knowledge that this was the last big day we sauntered to the start line. Finish today and nothing, hopefully, would stop us finishing the race. Announcements, happy birthday and we are off. Everyone set of at a cracking pace across the dunes, the helicopter thundering overhead for the TV coverage. There were many beaming smiles and much self satisfaction. Checkpoints 1 and 2 came and went. After Checkpoint 2 we had an area of very impressive dunes to cross, high and imposing. Imagine doing a marathon and at half way you have to cross 6 miles of sand dunes. There was always an element of surprise in this event and if you didn’t build in some reserve time, terrain like this could ruin your cut off time. Up to this point the ground had been mostly undulating and extremely stony, making short work of the soles of ones feet. Consequently, by this point my feet and back were agony and rather perversely the only ground I was comfortable on was dunes!!! Nothing seemed to matter at this stage.
We dropped off the dunes into Checkpoint 3. After the Checkpoint, there followed another 8km of “slightly stony plateau” and a “plateaux with fine black stones” and a sandy pass. I wondered what the French definition of “slightly” was? My feet were mush by the end of it. I ran across this and through Checkpoint 4, then the final dash for the finish. Somewhere between Checkpoints 3 and 4 a tendon pinged in the sole of my right foot making it very difficult to put anything other than my tips toes on the ground. It didn’t matter. After what had gone before, nothing was going to stop me. I could run through the dunes on tip toes and felt little pain but any other type of ground I had to pretend there was no pain. The body is a remarkable thing. I seemed to be running forever, and eventually the finish line was in sight. I was very pleased with my speed and pace over the day. The body was starting to fail but the mind was getting stronger. I even managed to get to the email tent before it closed to post a Web Blog, only my second!
The Organisers laid on a string quartet and operatic singer to entertain the camp this evening, and the King of Morocco turned up, so I’m told. I listened to the event from the comfort of my “bed”, my foot being too sore to walk anywhere. The whole thing was rather surreal.
Stage 6 (15th Apr) – 11.8km – The Final Day What a great feeling in camp this morning. I felt great despite another appalling nights sleep caused by the snore chorus and my Thermarest finally bursting. Everyone was bubbling with excitement, beaming grins everywhere! We were nearly there! Rucksacks were stripped of all unnecessary weight, all remaining food and anything else that we didn’t need and which wasn’t valuable was ditched. The Berbers came round scavenging anything they could. This was the one morning when the tents weren’t ripped from above our heads. The French volunteers, doctors and nurses boarded the jeeps and made a honking farewell procession around the campsite with everyone cheering. We all strode over to the start line where there was a party atmosphere, confident that we were going to complete the race, the greatest challenge that many of us had ever faced. I had carried a camcorder for the entire race, which even though it was advertised in the sales literature as being light was not light enough. I had taken around an hour of footage, often talking to the camera to relieve some of the more lonely and painful periods and I was keen to record the faces and feelings at the start line and as the countdown commenced.
This stage comprised 8km over a very stony plain, not good for my feet, and then 3.8km through Erg Merzouga, the King’s Dunes, aptly named given their size, the largest and highest in the Sahara! Off we went, everyone setting a very healthy pace. By this time I was completely on the tip toes of my right foot, leading to a very odd running gait, the Elephant Man does the Sahara. With the stony plain covered I passed into the dunes. I stopped briefly to get some video footage, the landscape being magnificent, and to collect some sand to take home, as if I didn’t have enough in every orifice, crease and crevice of my body already! No, I wanted some in a nice sealable plastic tub! I found myself running with an Italian chap. We didn’t converse but we had the same goal, feeling the same unrelenting draw to the Finish Line. As we crested each dune the finish got closer and closer and then there it was, 200 yards ahead, the object of dreams, the Finish Line. We picked up our pace, excitement coursing through our veins, almost overwhelming us with joy, ran up the final stony incline to the Finish Line, and then we crossed into Utopia. We warmly embraced and were embraced by the Race Organiser Patrick Bauer. We received our medals and then passed down the finish funnel. Only then did it hit me. This was without a doubt the most magical feeling of my life. I had finished, the emotion started to well up in my throat and I was singularly unsuccessful in choking back the tears. I was overwhelmed with joy and relief. This was by a long way the hardest and greatest challenge I had ever faced. I hadn’t trained enough and my reserves of determination were dwindling. I’d also had my fair share of luck in surviving the dreadful Day 3 when so many others succumbed to dehydration and exhaustion. I could so easily have been one of those people and I offered thanks that I hadn’t been.
After finishing and hungrily consuming the Moroccan style packed lunch that we were handed, which as you might expect contained the ubiquitous “Laughing Cow” cheese, we were bussed back to Ouarzazate, a terrible 6 hour journey on winding roads. Upon our arrival we marched straight to the hotel bar, a la Ice Cold in Alex, and sank a few ice cold bottles of the local brew. The following day was spent souvenir shopping, returning our emergency equipment, picking up the customary race T-shirt and attending the prize giving. A couple of bottles of wine in the evening and a very early start to return to a cold Gatwick on Monday 17th April. The flight was somewhat more subdued than the flight out, but just as cramped, and the arrivals hall resembled something from the battlefields of Vietnam. We passed through the “Nothing to Declare” channel, hiding our rather smug grins and shredded feet from watching Customs Officers, and into the concourse. Magnificent, there were crowds of people waving banners, popping champagne corks and cheering. What a welcome home, a very moving sight that brought a lump to the throat and tear to the eye. We were finally home, victorious. It was good to be home but there was a lingering feeling of sadness that the whole event was over, a discernable void. Life in the Sahara was hard, but simple, with one goal, no mobile phones and no external pressures. It is a stunningly beautiful place and I never stopped being in awe of that beauty, despite the pain.
Just as we are starting to relax the London Marathon was upon us! After only five days of recuperation myself and Paul took part in the London Marathon, running the event, in full Marathon des Sables kit, just to put the icing on the cake!! I’m not sure it was the wisest thing to do, the race definitely being the straw that broke the Saharan camels back.
Will we do it again? I think Paul and George both feel that they unfinished business. I have this romantic memory of the whole event. It’s all too easy to forget the long isolated and lonely hours of agony were you are constantly cursing yourself for entering the race and where you can not imagine any force on God’s Earth that would get you back to the Sahara. It’s all too easy to remember the overwhelming euphoria of taking part and succeeding, and the over all magnetic simplicity of life during The Race. We are already in possession of the Application Forms for 2008!
Would I do it again? You betcha, if someone asks me to!!
Mike “Agamemnon” Rudd May 2006 |