Fartleks & Flatulence Page 2

  I boarded one of the coaches that would be taking us to the hotel. It just so happened that I had boarded the wrong coach, the one that was last to leave. After 20 minutes waiting I was getting fidgety: after half an hour I was bored and fidgety and after an hour everyone was bored, fidgety, hot and fed up.

  Eventually we were told what the hold-up was; apparently an Israeli athlete was having all sorts of problems getting through Customs. He did however manage to eventually get through.

  The next problem was Helen Klein and her husband Norm. Helen is a bit of a legend in Ultra running circles, she holds numerous world records, she is also in her seventies. A truly remarkable women, who at the age of seventy five took part in the ‘Eco Challenge’ - one of the toughest adventure races on earth. Both she and her husband had apparently missed their connecting flight from New York and would not be competing in this year’s race.

  We finally arrived at our hotel late at night and I have to say it was far better than I was expecting. As luck would have it, our time here was to be short, we literally had a quick meal, were allocated rooms and were told to be ready to leave at six in the morning. We were to be taken to the airport and then on to the coaches for the 310 km trip to the start.

  My roommate and as it would turn out, part time running partner, was a thirty-something rugby playing, Welsh policeman Alun, who in the next few days would impress everyone with his huge appetite, love for dehydrated food (which I thought tasted like wet sawdust!) and ability to outsnore anyone else.

  The morning saw us up bright and early for breakfast. I decided to eat as much as I could as I knew that this would be the last proper food we would see for a while. After breakfast we were taken to the airport to meet the coaches. As was to become the norm we had a bit of hanging about to do. It did however give me the opportunity to meet the other runners and write a postcard or two. It was noticeable how hot it was even at eight o’clock in the morning.

  The all day drive was long, hot and uncomfortable (that’s twice I’ve moaned about the heat, and I’m in the Sahara Desert, plank!) It did however give me a chance to look at the terrain that we would have to cross over the next few days.

  Stopping at a very scenic area for a lunch break we were handed packed lunches and people started taking pictures. The terrain was very beautiful but extremely harsh. Even though I had just arrived, I liked the place.

  When we finally arrived, the kit bags were loaded on to 4x4 vehicles to be transported the mile or so to the camp, which we could see in the distance. I decided to carry my small rucksack and along with all the other runners proceeded to walk to the camp. The image of 190 people walking during the early evening across the desert was somewhat surreal. The elongated shadows cast by the setting sun, the strange colours and total silence combined with the dust that nearly 400 feet were kicking up made the whole scene other-worldly.

  Arriving at the tents the little group of Brits that had walked more or less together made for an empty tent at the far end of the camp. Dropping my bag and claiming my little bit of floor I noticed that even after that short walk my back was soaking with sweat!

  Eleven of us squeezed into the tent (the term tent would be somewhat generous). The floor was covered in carpet, the roof was a collection of sewn together hessian sacks, raised above the ground using several wooden poles, the walls, well, the walls didn’t exist, it was roof and carpet.

  It was now that I discovered my first major error:- the threadbare carpet covered the sharp stony ground, and in my stupidity, I thought the desert was sandy and consequently I wouldn’t need a sleeping mat, mattress thingy. Wrong. It turns out that the desert is mainly small, sharp stones and rocks. Owing to that one stupid mistake I would miss out on a lot of vital sleep during the next few days.

  It was interesting to watch little groups forming, various nationalities occupying ‘their’ tents which in turn became a little piece of Japan, America, Italy, France or whatever. We Brits were no different with our Union Jack proudly unfurled and gently flapping in the breeze.

  The evening meal was to be in one of the large ‘admin’ tents and once again I felt obliged to eat as much as I could. This was helped by the fact that the food was really nice.

  The following day it was up early - breakfast and administration. Every one of the 197 runners had to have their kit checked, checking to make sure we all had the right kit and the compulsory kit, ie: compass, anti-venom pump, sleeping bag, 2000 calories a day, cooker etc, etc. Once the staff were happy the whole lot was weighed, my pack weighed a little over 13kgs.

  That done it was on to the medical tent, paper work was handed in, an ECG reading, letter from the Doctor stating that I was physically up to the challenge, blood group, heart rate, blood pressure reading, height, weight and inside leg measurement, well not quite but they were thorough!

  When the Doctor asked me what preparation I had done to my feet I had to say none (I didn’t know you could prepare your feet). He didn’t say anything but he did give me a look, the look that said I know something you don’t know, YET.

  On returning to the tent I decided to sort my kit out: whilst packing at home I decided that the only things that I would take to Morocco were the absolute essentials, everything I had was therefore needed to get me through the race. Now that my pack weighed 13 kg it was different and like everyone else I was having a rethink. I packed and repacked, decided on one t-shirt and not two, got rid of some power bars and a pair of socks.

  I tried the rucksack on and it really didn’t feel that much different, but I felt better.

  Looking around I noticed that some runners had huge packs, one Japanese lady’s rucksack was so big that when she had it on it went above her head and below her bum.

  I also noticed that the Japanese had brought everything with them: pots and pans, spare clothing even their own TV crew that filmed their every move. They were always smiling and always eating.

  There was a lovely campfire atmosphere forming - everyone seemed happy and smiling. The various nationalities were mixing and chatting, singing, checking maps and eating. Members of the press were mingling and interviewing.

  It was noticeable how quickly it got dark. Once it was dark there wasn’t a lot to do and so most of us were tucked up in our sleeping bag by 19:00.

  Lying there, discreetly picking my nose (the super fine dust, honest!) I was listening with great interest to the conversations that were going on around me, mainly reminiscing about past races: Ironman triathlons, Ultras and previous ‘Marathon Des Sables’. Training tips and schedules were talked through and analysed, the horrendous desert conditions of previous years the blisters, rucksack rub (where the rucksack rubs the skin until raw patches form) sunburn, twisted this and twisted that.

  I should have put my fingers in my ears and hummed pleasant tunes, but no, I had to listen and scare my self shitless!

  I was now beginning to seriously think that my training was woefully inadequate and I had got my ambition mixed up with my very limited and as yet untested ability:- in short I was way out of my depth.

  The questions were now coming thick and fast - would I manage to survive day one, and, if so, would I survive day two etc, etc? On top of that had I got enough food, would the heat be too much? (3 weeks ago I was out training in the snow!) and so it went on and on.

  Trying to sleep on what was, quite literally, a rock hard floor, with my confidence severely shattered and nerves frayed, I lay there selfishly hoping that the others were having the same thoughts and worries but, judging by the impressive snoring that was coming from one end of the tent, it was plainly obvious that at least one of us was having a very good nights sleep - bastard! Though I didn’t or, should I say, couldn’t sleep dawn arrived much too quickly. It was here - the Day of Reckoning - race day had arrived.

  DAY 1

  I was knackered before I started. Tired, dishevelled, dusty - looking around, bodies started to rise. Cookers were lit, teeth were cleaned and with toilet rolls in ha
nd a steady procession of happy campers made their way to distant lands for their morning constitution. Likewise and with toilet roll in hand I marched off into the distance, yes the there were toilets: half a dozen canvas telephone box shaped objects. I tried, I really did, but the fact that I could not hold my breath long enough meant that I had to make alternative arrangements, hence the long walk that I was now making. There wasn’t anything to hide behind because the whole area was snooker table flat. The only thing to do was to walk far enough away so that you were not recognisable.

  After about half a mile I was confident enough. Mission accomplished, I made my way back and lit my stove for breakfast: porridge and coffee. I couldn’t eat the porridge but I tried - small malteser size portions were forced down. A couple of cups of sweet black coffee, a handful of mixed fruit and nuts and a glucose sweet and I was good to go.

  With less than an hour to go I started to get dressed and packed. The rucksack still weighed a ton and worse made a noise when I ran. I repacked and that seemed to do the trick - it wasn’t lighter but it was quieter. With about half an hour to go people started to make their way over to the start line. The atmosphere was changing; camp staff and volunteers were buzzing around as were the helicopters high above us. Film crews and photographers were jostling for the best positions and runners were indulging in nervous, excited chatter.

  I stood there amongst them all, quietly taking it all in. This was it - the culmination of 2 years hard work, months of training, planning and dreaming, I was here - actually on the start line of the ‘11th Marathon Des Sables’, the race I had seen on the television early one Saturday morning whilst eating a handful of chocolate biscuits some 2 years ago.

  The time was now 07:45, the race was scheduled to start at 08:00 - early enough we were told, to avoid the searing heat for some of the day.

  With muscles warmed and stretched, packs tightened and adjusted and with the nervous chatter dying away, we were ready. However, the race organisers were not. We had been issued 1.5 litres water to get us to the first checkpoint some 9.5 kms away. However, an hour and a half later we were still on the start line.

  It was 10:00 before we started and it was bloody hot. The start was a mad dash, everyone shot off at a great rate of knots: the relief of finally starting coupled with the buzz of cameras, helicopters and cheering supporters meant that we all set off too fast. Fortunately it didn’t last, everyone settled down to a more sedate pace. I was running along slowly, runners passed me, I passed runners - a quick exchange of pleasantries and they were gone.

  I reached the first checkpoint relatively comfortably and was pleased but fully aware that it was early days. I grabbed a bottle of water, had my ID card checked and was off within seconds. Leaving this first checkpoint it was noticeable how the atmosphere had changed. People were now looking very serious and had gone much quieter.

  Most of the terrain encountered thus far was stony with the occasional minute sand dune, a few yards long and a few yards wide. However, these small dunes had highlighted a problem. I had worked out that my feet were likely to swell up in the heat, and the pounding that they would be taking, so had bought a pair of training shoes that were slightly bigger than my usual size, thus allowing for the swollen feet. However, I was getting sand in my shoes before my feet had swollen and now that sand was acting as an abrasive rubbing the skin on my feet, causing blisters. I had been running less than a day and already I had blisters.

  Arriving at the last checkpoint of the day was a blessed relief. 25kms down: 185 to go!

  The campsite was a hive of activity and efficiency - the staff accounting for all the runners, the medics working hard patching up blistered, battered, limping and dehydrated runners. Reporters and photographers were frantically filming the carnage.

  The routine for this first night would not vary much during the course of the race; get in, find the tent, claim a space, try and eat then patch up the bits of feet that were blistered.

  Dinner for this night consisted of dehydrated beef casserole, a handful of fruit and nuts, a few fruit pastilles and a cup of sweet black coffee. Throughout the night I drank as much of the water as I could, desperately trying to keep myself hydrated.

  I had a good look at my feet - I was now the proud owner of three blisters, one on each heel and one on my small toe on my left foot. I cleaned them and put plasters on, crossed my fingers and hoped they wouldn’t get any worse.

  I lay back on my sleeping bag, too tired and too sore to move very much, watching camp life going on all around me. People hobbled and limped about, some with bandaged and dressed feet, one or two very relieved-looking stragglers crossed the finish line.

  I was bloody uncomfortable lying on the stony ground. I put my t-shirt and warm clothes under my sleeping bag, hoping for a little bit more cushioning but I was still uncomfortable; it was going to be a long night. Tossing and turning I tried to sleep, my feet hurt, the ground was hard and uncomfortable. Alun was snoring for Wales and someone was farting. Looking at my watch and worried about oversleeping I noticed it was very nearly 20:00, it would be a longer night than I had thought.

  Eventually the morning arrived, people started to get up. I lay there for as long as possible, trying to break wind as discreetly as I could, hoping against hope that no one would notice. The whole place looked like a bomb had gone off, bits of kit everywhere. The camp crew put on an impressive display of dexterity, they went to each tent, grabbed the poles (I don’t mean the Polish athletes) that were holding up the roof and, with a quick flick of the wrist, the whole lot had been removed. Anyone still lying in their sleeping bag was suddenly sleeping out in the open.

  Usual routine: cooker on for breakfast, teeth cleaned and toilet roll in hand - off for my morning constitution. Again I tried to find a little bit of privacy. However, on this occasion necessity dictated otherwise - it was literally now or never. Mission accomplished it was back to the tent and breakfast. I was not in the least bit hungry but knew I would have to eat. I made some porridge and tried to eat but just retched instead of swallowed. Then I had a brainwave: mix in some chocolate powder to make a sort of chocolate porridge. Again I retched. I gave up - two cups of coffee, a couple of fruit pastilles and a glucose sweet and I was ready.

  DAY 2

  ERG CHIBI-TOUZ

  This morning’s start was a little more sedate - people hobbled and limped over to the start line. Tatty, dirty kit, and the apprehensive looks gave the impression that we had been at it for days and not just at the one 25km stage!

  Though my feet were very tender I had decided to run nonstop to the first checkpoint some 8km away. This was managed using a strange mixture of hobbling, waddling and shuffling. I collected water and was joined by Alun. The terrain was getting noticeably more sandy. I tried to remember what the ‘road book’ had said: something about CP 2 being at the end of the “dunes”. I’m not the sharpest tool in the box, but even I could work out that before we reached CP 2 we would be going across some sand dunes.

  We approached the dunes with a degree of trepidation: even from a distance they looked huge. On arriving, all was confirmed as the first one loomed high above us.

  Clambering up the side, following the zigzagging path left by previous runners, my breathing became laboured, my heart rate had increased and my legs were like jelly. I was climbing slowly but had no choice but to decrease my speed. With my hands on my knees I pushed onward and upward. My lungs felt and tasted like they were bleeding. The heat reflecting off the sand was also another worry. As we got to the top all we could see up ahead was more and more dunes; an endless procession of dunes and runners.

  Dropping down was a somewhat short relief because 1-you knew had to climb up again and 2 - the dip or depression that you ended up in was so bloody hot you actually wanted to start climbing again.

  When we reached one dune summit we noticed one of our tent mates Alan just sitting, taking a breather. Alan had come storming past us earlier and had looked pretty impressi
ve and, annoyingly, always seemed relaxed as if he were on holiday. We had a quick chat and moved off. I think we both thought that Alan was suffering but by the same token so was everyone else.

  The dunes were tough, demoralising and extremely unforgiving. To reach the top sapped away what little strength you had and on reaching the top you saw nothing but more of the same: really soul destroying. It wouldn’t take much to get disorientated and lost. It was only the fact that we could either see other runners or their footprints that we knew we were on the right track.

  A little light relief came in the shape of a small teddy bear that Alun was carrying. It was the mascot for the charity he was raising money for - apparently this well travelled teddy had been all over the world and was now to have his picture taken on top of a Saharan sand dune. Moving on from the impromptu photo shoot and summiting our umpteenth dune we were rewarded with a magnificent sight: CP 2 - and what was even better was that it was out of the dunes. Arriving at this checkpoint we came across another one of our tent mates - Martese, a homeopathist from London. She was doing this race with her brother who, unfortunately due to illness, had to pull out earlier.

  The three of us left the checkpoint together. The terrain was flat and stony. We walked a bit and ran a bit, My feet were now giving me real problems: they hurt when I put my weight on them and they hurt when I took my weight off them. I was glad of the company of my two companions and happily plodded along in their wake - without them I knew my day would have been that much longer.