Fartleks & Flatulence Page 3

  We passed by a small village called ‘Khemliya’, very few people were about but the odd one or two that did see us looked at us as if we were quite mad: strange-looking, brightly-coloured, sunburnt, limping, rucksack-carrying mad people running through their village.

  We were now travelling along on what appeared to be a dried up river bed. The firm flat ground was a welcome relief after the nightmare that had been the sand dunes.

  On arriving at CP 3 I again noticed how tatty we all were: there were 4 runners having a rest at this checkpoint. They, like us, were dust-covered and sweat-streaked, bleary eyed and knackered. ID cards were checked, water collected and we were off. The campsite was just 7 km away, we were now moving along what appeared to be a track for wheeled vehicles, not quite a road. There were wheel marks where a driver had driven through while the track was waterlogged. The whole thing was rutted and had been baked solid by the sun. At the end of the track was a small climb part way up a Jebel (mountain) dropping down the other side and a short run along another small dried river bed. We found the campsite ‘hidden’ around a bend, I was beginning to realise that the organisers had a sadistic streak, always hiding the campsites.

  After checking in and collecting our water rations we made our way over to the tent. Some of the runners were already there - they greeted us and congratulated us. I plonked myself down in a spare part of the tent and had a quiet five minutes, just reflecting on the day’s running and watching the activities around the camp. It was beginning to resemble a war zone with casualties hobbling about. After unrolling my sleeping bag I heated the stove for a hot drink and some food. Whilst waiting for the water to boil I examined myself. I felt pretty good and unlike some others had not got rucksack burns. My legs felt good but my feet were now a complete disaster area - a real mess. They were sore and swollen, the blisters were weeping and the bits that weren’t blistered soon would be. I washed them with my precious water, wiped them with wet wipes and tried in vain to avoid knocking them or get sand in the sore raw bits!

  It was now 21:00, we were all in except for Alan - the guy we had last seen sitting on the dunes. We weren’t the only ones, apparently a few people had seen him just ‘sitting on the dunes’. We were getting a little concerned especially as it was now dark and it was with some reluctance that we approached the race marshals. They were immediately on the radios and were able to confirm that he had left the last checkpoint an hour and a half ago and was heading for the camp. I was impressed on two counts: 1 - they were able to pinpoint the exact location of a runner so quickly and 2 - Alan had not given up, even though Alun and I both thought he would. On returning to the tent we went via the ‘daily progress board’. I had come in at 128th place and had taken 6 hours and 44 minutes to cover the 33 kms.

  Some three hours later Alan limped into the tent. He looked to be in a bad way. He wore an agonised expression and looked like a man who had literally given everything to get here.

  We helped him with his kit and a couple of runners prepared a meal for him and encouraged him to eat and drink. He was shattered and all he wanted to do was sleep. Eventually, he ate a little and drank a little. Looking at him I personally thought that the price he had paid to get here was too high.

  It was now late and time for sleep. I was very tired, more so because of not having had a lot of sleep during the past two nights and unfortunately tonight was to be no different. The rock hard ground and the stupidity of not bringing a sleep mat was one thing, but my painful feet were giving me real grief. My badly blistered heels meant I couldn’t let them touch the ground. The alternative was to sleep on my side and unfortunately we were so tightly packed together in the tent that we were quite literally inches away from one another. If I slept on my side I would be breathing over someone and someone would be breathing over me: not nice for either of us.

  I decided to sleep on my back, and resting my sore heels inside the back of my trainers, afforded me a little relief.

  Morning arrived just as I got to sleep or at least that’s how it felt. Prising myself out of my sleeping bag I went through the morning ritual: stove on for coffee, fruit and nuts and a couple of glucose sweets, teeth cleaned, a stretch and pack. (Luckily for me I didn’t need to make the long walk with toilet roll in hand, I really hoped I was constipated - it would save me a lot of time and energy!)

  My feet were very sore and swollen and I had real trouble trying to get my shoes on - the ‘popped’ blisters had now left rolls of excess skin. I had to cut away this loose skin using the scissors on my swiss army knife Then and only then could I prise my shoes on. When I initially stood on them with my full weight the pain made me suck in air, clench my fists and shut my eyes - all in perfect unison (and they say men can’t multi-task).

  I looked over and saw that Alan was up and packing. He said that yesterday had “totally bollocksed” him, and those “fucking dunes” were by far the worst experience of his life! But that was yesterday - he felt better today and was going to continue.

  Like for the rest of us the 210km distance was the last bit of the jigsaw, the getting here, time off work, raising the money, time away from home and the endless hours of training, and the fact most of us were raising money for charity made giving up just a little bit harder. I’m sure that most of the other runners were like me, in that this experience was a one off - you wouldn’t get a second chance if you failed to finish. You failed, end of story.

  DAY 3 TAOUZ-REMLIA

  Standing at the start - on feet that now resembled water-filled balloons, trying to keep people keep away from them, lest they stand on or kick them. Not only would I scream like a baby, I would probably cry. No-one likes to see a grown man cry and of course being British it really would not do!

  I was successful in keeping my feet safe but less successful in understanding what the organiser was saying about todays stage. He spoke for about 45 minutes. Luckily there was a translation into English, that went something like “it’s going to be bloody hot today - keep you head covered and drink plenty of water”. When we did finally get going it was a blessed relief. Running alongside Alun we quietly got on with it, talking just occasionally. We both just wanted to get today over and done with as quickly as possible.

  After a while I noticed that Alun’s pace was a little slower than usual. I plodded on in my usual way. Reaching the first checkpoint I turned around fully expecting Alun to be close by, but he wasn’t and he had still not appeared when I was ready to leave I plodded on knowing he would catch me sooner or later.

  Today was another hot one, the faster runners were now catching and overtaking me. I carried on in my own little world.

  Up ahead I saw that we were about to enter a village, this village was called Jdaid. Running through the village and out the other side I was surprised to see a load of support crew and vehicles. I was obviously doing better than I thought: I wasn’t expecting the next checkpoint to be so close. I downed most of the water I had and poured the rest over my head to cool down a bit. Approaching the vehicles I was horrified to see that it wasn’t a checkpoint but a collection of photographers and film crew catching us leaving the little village. Bollocks - another cock-up to add to my ever expanding list of cock-ups: I now had no water and no idea how far the next checkpoint was. On leaving the ‘phantom’ checkpoint I was joined by another one of our tentmates: Charlie - a policewoman from Hampshire. We moved along together, the terrain alternating from stony one minute to sand the next. The sand was becoming more prevalent until, finally, we were into another set of dunes. Plodding along quietly, cursing the wretched dunes, I looked up ahead and wow! The steepest wall of sand I have ever seen. The runners that were already trying to get to the top looked as if they were crawling on all fours. We started our slow ascent. I had started with the sand down at my feet, a couple of steps later it rose to my knees then hips and before very long it was a sand wall in front of my face. I now adopted the ever popular hands and feet technique. It was like trying to ascend the d
escending escalator.

  I was not only worried about my ability to reach the top but having no water was also a major concern and on top of that there were photographers and film crew on the summit of the dune filming us. I was trying to look the part and failing miserably. Finally, after a huge effort I reached the top and looking down the other side could see the second checkpoint. We arrived at the checkpoint, collected our water and were off. I was very relieved to have the water and was lucky indeed that my stupidity had not become serious.

  As we left the checkpoint a lot of interest was suddenly focused on what was going on behind us: someone had let off a flare. We had all been issued with flares for use in an emergency so some poor sod was obviously in the shit! There was nothing we could do and as all the race crew seem to have seen the flare we carried on.

  Though the going was tough and the temperature was bloody hot - with a bit of company and the realisation that I had had a lucky escape with the water drinking fiasco, the miles sort of flew by and we arrived at the next checkpoint pretty quickly. Whilst here I asked how hot it was and was told 124 degrees. There was now just 9kms to the campsite but between us and the finish were some small dunes. They were luckily not the monsters we had so far encountered. Just constant, one after the other. Moving through the dunes we came across a herd of black camels. They appeared to be wild with no one around except for us lunatics. I attempted to take some pictures whilst on the move. I didn’t stop because I knew I would never be able to get going again.

  As we got to the top of yet another dune we spotted a landcruiser 4x4 vehicle parked some way off. As we got closer we could see a runner sitting in its shade, obviously suffering with heat. The driver was giving him water which meant that the runner was now out of the race! What made it so sad was the fact that you could see the campsite up ahead: so near and yet so far.

  We eventually reached the campsite half an hour later, one of our tent mates saw us come in and guided us over to the tent. We also found out that the person who had let off the flare was Alan, one set of dunes too many.

  Usual routine; grab a space and get sorted. I was knackered, my feet hurt even more and looking at the state of them I realised that I had collected a couple more blisters. My heels had been replaced by blisters and my toes were also under attack: three on one foot and two on the other. The days were getting progressively longer. Day 1 had been 25km, day 2 33km, today 39km and tomorrow a whopping 76km.

  It was interesting to watch the runners deteriorate, myself included. Runners that had previously looked so impressive were now slowing down and looking tatty, runners had given up and runners had been pulled out. The medics could pull any runner from the race. If they thought that to continue would put the runner at risk, they were pulled. We all looked and smelled awful - covered in dust and smeared with sweat stains.

  I can’t comment on the other tents but the runners that had been pulled out or had decided not to continue were really generous and supportive to those of us left: things like guiding us to the tent when we crossed the finish line, carrying our pack over and, because they were now being fed by the organisers, they split whatever goodies they had amongst us and smuggled in bits of bread and the occasional orange. Just because they were no longer running didn’t mean they were no longer part of the team - they were!

  With tomorrow’s 76km monster looming, I went all out to prepare. I scrounged a couple of bits of cardboard to use as a mattress, tried to eat as much as my stomach would allow and tried to sort my feet out. My feet were in a desperate state: blisters on blisters, blisters overlapping blisters, blood blisters, popped blisters, blisters instead of heels. Blisters were on my toes, on the soles of my feet and under my toenails. I had to admit defeat and wandered over to the medical tent. It was like entering a battlefield hospital: bodies everywhere, some were under foil blankets, some were on intravenous drips but most were lying on their backs with one foot or other on a medics lap having their feet amputated. Well, by the expression on their faces that’s what you would have thought they were doing.

  There were two people in front of me and as I looked around I could see that one or two of the male medics were enjoying the slicing and dicing. I really hoped I got a sympathetic gentle female nurse.

  I was lucky. A young nurse called me over, I placed myself at her mercy. I didn’t have to explain the problem - she just told me to lie down and put my feet on her lap. She smiled sweetly, cleaned my feet and proceeded to amputate. Her skill with a scalpel was impressive, she sliced and cut away any loose skin taking it right back to new and as yet unblistered bits. After about half an hour she had finished cutting, then the ‘coup de grace’ IODINE, WOW!! She dressed the wounds and I hobbled off, trying to look all macho with feet covered in dressings, waddling like a duck and wearing yellow sponge flip-flops.

  Lying back on my sleeping bag, I tried to focus on the enormity of tomorrow’s 76km. The previous two days combined didn’t make 76km, I had struggled with each of those as individual days. The upside was that if you survived tomorrow the chances were high that you would survive the whole race. With just the two days left (even though the very next day was the second longest day) you would surely make it!

  DAY 4

  In the morning I was awake early but decided to treat myself to a bit of lie-in. I lay there watching the camp getting organised, had some breakfast and got up.

  I packed up and noticed my rucksack didn’t seem any lighter than when I started. Trying to put my shoes on, it would have been easier and quicker to do a Rubiks cube, I tried every possible combination but try as I might I couldn’t get my feet in my shoes. I started to remove bits of dressing. I removed as much as I dared, but still I couldn’t get them on. Then I had a brain wave - remove the insoles. Eureka - it worked! I had shoes on my feet but no cushioning, can’t have everything I suppose.

  I made my way over to the starting line and the atmosphere was a little sombre: more like a dentist’s waiting room than a start line. I think everyone was aware that today was the day, the big one, the day that counted. If you survived today your chances were pretty good. However, if you didn’t survive it had all been for nothing, so much was at stake.

  After starting, I instantly got into a nice steady pace and decided that no matter what, I would run to the first two checkpoints: a total distance of 26 km. Then - well - then I would have to play it by ear.

  After 9.5km we entered the village of Er Remelia and unusually there were spectators. The people seemed curious - normally they would be shy and reserved, but a quick smile and a “bonjour” or two usually resulted in a smile being returned, especially from the children.

  On reaching CP 2 I was joined by another British runner from our tent called Dave. We ran together for a short while but he was much faster than me and ran on ahead. I preferred running on my own going at my own pace, in a world of my own, not having the worry of trying to keep up or slow down to someone else’s pace.

  Since leaving CP 2, my already slow pace had somewhat decreased, and, again, my feet were giving me real problems. I could feel every rock and stone underfoot and with the insoles removed, the little bit of cushioning that I did have was gone, every single step hurt. There was no respite.

  The flat rock and stony ground finally gave way to sand - very nice soft sand. However, the price paid for the soft sand was that the sand led up through a pass - it was a steady climb. On reaching the top I could see runners snaking far into the distance. The column of runners were all heading in the same direction and seemed to be making for a mound-like object in the middle of what appeared to be a dried up lake. This mound looked as if it could have been an island when the ‘lake’ had had water.

  I studied the mound hard as I started my descent and could see that it was indeed a checkpoint. I reasoned that I would be there in about 20 minutes to half an hour - wrong! 45 minutes later I was still trying to get to it. It eventually took me 1 hour 45 minutes to reach it.

  The ability to jud
ge distance in the desert was a skill I had yet to master. Arriving at the foot of the mound was a blessed relief. Unfortunately the actual checkpoint was on the top. It wasn’t a particularly high mound but it was particularly steep. It also required a lot of huffing, puffing and swearing to reach the top. On reaching the top I noticed there was not a lot of room and certainly nowhere to sit down. However, I was told that there was a place down on the other side. I walked over and saw a bigger tent full of dead, decaying bodies all trying to have a bit of a breather out of the sun.

  Unfortunately, it was full to overflowing, so I had to sit outside. I thought I would check on my feet and instantly wished I hadn’t:- they looked awful, felt awful and, by golly they smelt awful. Open, weeping and raw, pus, blood and sand mixed together with bits of dressing and loose skin made for an interesting spectacle. I attempted to re-stick the dressing and brush away the sand but it was really just a token gesture - not really making a blind bit of difference. I put the whole horrible mess back together then had something to eat and drink. It was now late afternoon and would soon be getting dark. I got out my head torch and a long sleeve top, ready for the oncoming night, then hobbled off into the setting sun.

  For some reason I felt pretty good and was surprised to be catching people. I knew it wouldn’t last so decided to make the best of it. At a little after 20:00 hours I spotted the next checkpoint. On arriving I saw that there was plenty of room for a sit down and decided to have a decent break. This was made all the better when I was offered some mint tea. I gratefully accepted - it was very sweet, very refreshing and a real treat for my now redundant taste buds. I handed them my empty glass and was offered another one and then another. Apparently 3 cups of tea meant that you were a friend. This checkpoint was now officially my favourite - the trouble was prising my carcass away:- it was dark, I was comfortable but knew if I didn’t get my arse in gear soon I could well be here until the morning. It was with the greatest reluctance that I left and hobbled my way back into the race. I had been there for 45 minutes.