Post Race Analysis

We had another day in Ouazarzate to pick up race t-shirts, and other assorted faffing which I found a difficult day to fill.  The race was over and I felt like I just wanted to get home now.  I was starting to get a bit fed up of the talk being exclusively about the race.  I wanted to get to a place where my feet could heal and the pain would subside. 

I went to the final Doc Trotters clinic and infected blisters were confirmed as in turn each blister freshly cut open released a dark brown goo over the nice nurse who was unlucky enough to get my feet to care for.  The excellent medical care during the race was probably one of the main reasons I was able to continue and complete the event, and I can’t thank them enough, or apologise enough for having such a terrible impression of them before I first visited them on day 2.

Yannick, one of the excellent medical team who helped me to finish.

Andy, Rich and I went into the town after picking up our race t-shirts and souvenirs, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch and a beer.  And then, as we were Brits abroad, a large group congregated in the hotel lobby to watch a game of football on the telly and drink beers all afternoon. 

The flight home the following day was unfortunately diverted from Gatwick to Luton due to a fire on a plane on the runway at Gatwick.  My folks had gone to Gatwick to welcome us back, and said there were loads of families there with “welcome home” signs made – a real shame we couldn’t have seen that.  Darryl, Rich and I ended up sharing a cab from Luton to Sheffield as it worked out cheaper and quicker than getting new train tickets.  It also saved my feet from having to walk too far, but in the chaos of an overstretched Luton airport immigration section, we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye properly to our friends who had shared so much with us over the last 10 days or so. 

So now, 2 weeks after getting back to the UK, I can sit back and think about the race and all it meant a little more impartially.  My feet are well on the way to recovery and although still look a bit grim are no longer infected or painful.  I felt like my training was good, given the challenges of the injuries I picked up in the 3 months prior to the race.  My kit worked excellently, and the time and effort I put into trying it all out in the UK really paid off.  Could I have done more to protect my feet? I’ll never know I suppose.  I checked for hotspots, I treated blisters as they occurred, but ultimately I think the heat of day 2 just caused some massive degradation in a very short space of time.  The blistering didn’t get any worse after day 2 as temperatures returned to normal (still hot, but not over 50 degrees) but the damage was done.  I’m proud of myself for getting on with it and completing the race and I’m a little surprised at how much I could cope with. 

Reading these daily updates back, it’s possible to get the impression that the race was one that I simply endured, but the reality is that the race for me was far more than the individual stages from A to B.  The build up, the communal living, the people involved and the surroundings all combine to make it a really a magical event.  My tent mates were without exception kind, funny, helpful and supportive and fantastic athletes (all of us came in the top half of the field, with Mark claiming bragging rights for best tent result in 45^th position overall).  It was a brilliant experience which I shall remember and treasure forever.

Tent 64. Andy, Rich, Mark, me, Paula, Elisabet, Colin & James

I’ve been amazed too by the level of support I’ve received during the long build up and during the race.  Rich and I have raised over £6,500 for Macmillan Cancer Support and theBluebell Wood Children’s Hospice, far in excess of our ambitious £5k target, and all thanks to the generosity of our friends, colleagues and some people we’ve never even met.  My family have been hugely accommodating as I sacrificed most weekends from Christmas to April in my quest for ever longer training sessions and putting up with my tiredness and grumpiness when injured or finding things tough.  And on the race itself, my mum and dad and my brother were, it seems, glued to the race organisers website seeking out news of my progress, checking the web cam for my arrival at the end of a stage and sending me loads of messages of support – it was amazing to know that all my efforts were followed so closely by my family and friends back home.

So the big question: would I go back and do it again? I don’t think so.  It was such an intense experience and there are so many factors that can go wrong that I’d be worried about it not living up to my expectations a second time around.  Writing these updates from the notes I took whilst in the desert has been a great process for me, it’s helped me to re-live much of the laughs, the emotion of the race and the pride of completing it, but already I can see that a rose coloured tint is creeping into some aspects of it (not the feet, they’re too raw for that to ease off just yet), and I kind of like that.  I’d like to remember the race in a really positive light, so for me the MdS dream has become a reality and I won’t be seeking it out again – I have the medal, why would I want two?

And besides, there's a new generation on its way who'll be competing in future........

Tent 64 Overall classifications

Overall Position	Race No	Name	Average Pace
45th	468	Mark Lynch	8.47 km/h
148th	635	Colin Barnes	7.08 km/h
169th	642	Elisabet Frankenburg	6.87 km/h
305th	545	James Walker	6.04 km/h
343rd	486	Andy Mucklestone	5.81 km/h
394th	450	Richard Jones	5.57 km/h
415th	565	Ian Wright	5.51 km/h

The last one – Saturday 14th April 2012 Stage 6: 15.5km / 2hrs 46mins 37secs / 503rd / ave pace 5.76km/h

Early morning view of the dunes in today's stage.

A glorious start to the day from a weather perspective, quite cool and beautifully clear, with a great view of the dunes we had to cross in the last stage of our adventure.  Things were not so good from a foot perspective.  Having not uncovered my feet from the marathon stage, I was in some discomfort from swelling, and the pain level generally was already very high. 







I was in a lot of pain before the start.



Rich and I had determined to complete this stage together and so cross the line together – sounds cheesy, but we’d entered it as a joint undertaking and it seemed a fitting end.  From a more selfish perspective, I would welcome any help I could get to ensure I made it to the finish line, even if it was less than 10 miles away.  As it turned out we travelled the whole way with our tent mate James as well. 

The atmosphere on the start line was like a carnival, and it was easy to get wrapped up in it, after all this was less than 10 miles, and having covered over 140 miles already, it should be a breeze. 

A party atmosphere at the start line.

As AC/DC growled us on our way for the final time it did indeed appear relatively straightforward.  We started trotting along, the paracetamol starting to have an effect on my pain receptors and the going was good.  It was pretty flat, not too sandy or hilly and the temperature was manageable too.  Then my hips started to give out like yesterday and my right calf took up its now familiar, if unwelcome scream.  I had to stop running – I could tell this was frustrating for Rich and I felt guilty, he was in fine form and keen to be motoring along.  I put in my best shuffling march to the check point at only 6.5km in around 50 minutes.  There was no water allocation here, we’d be relying on what we carried from the start today, so we simply stepped on the timing mat, turned almost back the way we’d come and headed off into the biggest dunes we’d yet encountered.

Despite the pain, my mood was lifted knowing that this was the last day I had to subject myself to it, and even with a slower than hoped for pace, it wasn’t going to take too long.  I had been confident of finishing the event ever since probably the third day.  By that stage my feet were beaten up but I’d proved to myself that I could manage that and get through.  At no stage in the event had my legs felt excessively tired, the kind of tired I’d had during training after long sessions, which suggested to me that my training had been good enough.  Even on the lowest point of the marathon day, there was never a moment when I thought about quitting.  I thought about why I was subjecting myself to so much discomfort and what I was trying to prove, but I came up with no sensible answers, apart from echoes of Mallory in stating that I was doing it, “because I could”.  It seemed a more realistic answer at the time than “because it’s fun”. 

James leading a procession through the dunes.

Today’s challenge continued however, over each dune in turn knowing that with every step it was one more step I wouldn’t have to repeat.  The dunes kept on coming, and all around us was the steady progress of people edging their way onwards despite the heat, despite their own levels of pain and despite the fact that every time you stepped forward, you slipped back in the sand almost the same distance.  There was more chatting today – for quite a while we walked alongside a nice woman from Canada who now lives in Hong Kong as well as others with whom I exchanged pleasantries and thoughts on the race, without delving deeper into their lives.  One of those around us resorted to crawling on hands and feet to summit one particular dune, everyone was finding it hard, and it was certainly harder than 9km of dunes had looked on paper.

At last we were able to catch glimpses of the oversized inflatables of the finish area.  There were more and more spectators around suggesting we weren’t far from the town at the finish.  And then, all of a sudden it was upon us.  The sand dunes ended, and the finish was there, just a couple of hundred metres away.  The three of us from our tent re-grouped and started to run in through the finishing funnel to cross the line together. 

James, me and Rich at the finish line. Happy.

I’d expected a massive outpouring of emotion at the end, and was quite prepared to blub a bit in front of my friends, but as it turned out there was none of that.  There was a queue just over the line as everyone waited for the traditional medal giving by the race director Patrick Bauer to each competitor.  Whilst we queued Darryl, who had clearly finished well ahead of us (as his 35^th position overall will attest to), shouted over some congratulations, and then lobbed us a couple of cans of cold Coke – what a gent. 

Race Director Patrick Bauer personally hands out medals to all the finishers.

We got our medals, took some photos, then picked up a lunch bag full of non-dehydrated food items which made my mouth water, some more mint tea (which had been liberally offered at the end of each stage of the race by the race sponsors Sultan) and our bus tickets back to Ouazarzate.  We stumbled off towards the tents set up to allow the competitors some shade and protection from the dozens of local kids who were very keen to relieve us of any spare, or loosely attached kit. 

5/8ths of Tent 64 at the finish. The others were already on their way back to the hotel.

We found Paula and Andy in the tent too and shared stories with them for a while.  They got their bus back, and Rich volunteered to go and find us a couple of cold beers (with my money!).  They weren’t cheap, but they did taste good.

I think I deserved that.

A very long bus ride back home followed, with everyone being pretty subdued for the whole 6 hours.  It wasn’t hugely comfortable, and I daren’t take my feet out of my trainers until we got to the hotel but we’d done it.  At long last we arrived back at the Hotel Berber Palace, found our room and started the process of recovery which was basically, untaping my feet, having a shave, a shower, a monster buffet dinner and several beers.  With the best will in the world, I was too tired to stay out drinking until the wee small hours and I was in bed, not on a mat on the ground, by midnight. I struggled to get comfortable as my feet dangled off the end of the bed, being kept well clear of the duvet which, just by its own weight, would cause unspeakable agony if it came into contact with them. Once again, I didn’t sleep well.

Overall result 45hrs 02mins 45secs / 415^th / ave pace 5.51km/h – a top half finish, which is what I was hoping to achieve before the race.  I was very pleased.

The bad one – Friday 13th April 2012 Stage 5: 42.2km / 6hrs 47mins 40secs / 491st / ave pace 6.18km/h

My feet were in bits.  It took me well over an hour to tend to them and strap them in the morning, and at the start line I was in a lot of pain.  All around me people were really excited and pumped up but I was in a bit of a dark place.  I knew I couldn’t cover the distance quickly so my day stretched out long and painfully over the 26.2miles – a full marathon.

Isn't this how everyone starts a marathon?

The weather was good and the location for our bivouac had been stunning, but I wasn’t really able to appreciate it.  As Highway to Hell erupted from the speakers signalling the start of the stage, my feet screamed at me with every step.  It was a fast start, faster than any other day of the week.  I was determined to maintain a half decent pace of 6km/h if only to ensure I wasn’t out on the trail for too long.  Even at that pace it would be a 7 hour day. 

A stunning location for the bivouac.

Caught up in the crowds I found myself jogging along, wincing at every step.  Walking wasn’t much better in terms of pain so I figured the extra speed would at least shorten the day.  Early on there was a river crossing and with heavily taped feet and open blisters underneath I really didn’t want to get my feet wet and festering so using my poles I vaulted the river and landed hard on my right heel – I literally screamed out with the pain of it, the people around me seemed genuinely shocked given that in reality I’d made a 5 foot leap onto soft sand.  Once I’d scrambled up the river bank on the other side and got away from what was becoming an increasingly chaotic scene, I managed to break into a run again.  The terrain was pretty easy going and I ran to CP1 at 10.5km in around 1 hour 35 mins.  Apart from my feet, another problem was water consumption.  It was cooler today than it had been for much of the week but even so when running I drank all my 1.5 litres well before the check point, leaving me very thirsty.  I went through the check point very quickly, not wanting to stop as getting going again just made my feet hurt more.  By now I’d got my check point routine pretty much sorted and it helped a lot.  Out of the check point and I continued running, by now just wanting the day to end. 

Frustrating not to able to keep up with Paul and his ironing board.

I managed to carry on for another 6 or 7 km, but my pace was slowing, I was drinking too much water and my legs were screaming.  It seemed like I’d altered my gait to compensate for the pain in my feet and first my right calf and shin muscles became really tight and full of lactic acid, and then my hips felt really painful, as if they were twisting from their sockets.  I slowed and walked, trying to maintain my target 6km/h pace, but with a lot of pain.  I reached CP2 at 22.5km in 3hours 25mins and picked up 2 bottles of water as the next 11km was pretty much all dunes and it was now close to midday.  On the plus side many of the people around me were also slowed to a walk as the soft sand became impossible to run on.  I was in a little world of pain all of my own.  Gone were the pleasantries exchanged with fellow competitors from earlier in the week, today was about getting my head down, gritting my teeth and finishing.  I got really angry for no apparent reason and this helped me to focus on speed and the finish line and try to shut out my screaming feet.  It was a very low period, and at one stage I was in tears with the pain, knowing I still had several hours to go today, and the following day. 

It was a lonely day on the trail.

On arriving at CP3, at 33.7km, I got the bit between my teeth and, knowing there was only 8.5km to go I really started to motor, marching as quickly as I could, willing myself on.  After some hills and sandy terrain the track emerged onto another fairly flat open and rocky plain.  We passed through a village in which it was hard to believe people actually lived given the desolation, isolation and environment.  Then the trail started to descend slightly and the now familiar long march in to the distant bivouac began.  I started welling up with the emotion of it all, but didn’t want to switch off completely until I got over the finish line.  I got there in under 7 hours, which was my aim for the day, but I’ve never had to put myself through so much pain or been to such a low emotional place as I went to on this stage, it was, for me, hell.  My tent mates, all of whom were comfortably in by now, cheered me in the last few metres, but selfishly I didn’t acknowledge them for fear of letting my pain show.  Once over the line an innocent race marshall asked me to hand over the emergency flare we’d been issued at the start of the week.  No-one had told us that we’d need to hand it over so mine was in the bottom of my pack, where I put it as far away from temptation as possible.  Unfortunately the race marshall bore the brunt of my painful day and I could have quite easily beaten him over the head with the flare when I eventually got it out of my pack.  Keen not to react the same way to my tent mates, when I got back to the tent I asked as politely as I could muster that no-one speak to me for 15 minutes whilst I gathered myself.  I lay down, pulled my Buff over my face and let the anger out, along with several more tears.  It had been a horrible day for me, and it took me a while to come round and talk civilly to the others.  They were very understanding, and most had had a great day of running – I was last in by about 45 minutes. 

I didn't really enjoy the sunset at the time.

When I’d calmed down sufficiently I headed off to get some more tape for my feet.  Doc Trotters had nearly run out and so I decided against stripping my feet back to clean and tend to them, and just left them as they were.  It’s unlikely that much more could have been done for them in any case.  As it turns out, as I discovered back in Ouazarzate, they had become infected which was the cause of the pain, rather than the blisters themselves getting any worse.  I emailed home, one that wasn’t for public viewing as it was just an outpouring of my emotions and I was yet again welling up as I typed the message.

This was an attempt to ease us back into civilised society.

After the usual food and tent admin, the race organisers had arranged for a 15 piece orchestra and singer to fly out from Paris to play for us.  It was very out of place, and as it happens it was quite uncomfortable as my feet were swelling up inside my trainers (I’d given up on the flip flops for this evening) but nice to focus on something other than the race for a few minutes.  A brief showing of some of the TV coverage the race had received around the world followed the concert, but by now it was getting cold and the wind was getting up so we headed back to bed. 

The camp at night.

The rest day – Thursday 12 April 2012

Having climbed into my sleeping bag at about 2am, and expecting a lay in with no chance of the Berbers dropping our tent around our ears, we were all pretty disappointed to be up before 6am, trying to keep the tent from blowing away.  Since I was awake and not having a load of fun I decided to get my feet looked at early on.  The blisters hadn’t really got any worse but my feet were starting to be really sore, and the spa hotel flip flops I’d taken to wander around camp in weren’t much good at protecting tender tootsies from the sharp jagged rocks all over the bivouac.  

Doc Trotters were pretty busy by this time.

I picked up my water ration for the day on the way back to the tent.  No sooner had I got back in than it started to rain, and then hail, all liberally mixed with a massive sandstorm.  Apparently hail was a first for the MdS, still I’d have been happy if it had held out until the following year.  The tents weren’t waterproof and acted like sponges, becoming really heavy once they got wet.  Most of us in the tent were occupied keeping the sides up by leaning against them, whilst Elisabet took time out to cook her dinner!  Definitely management material.

Those white bits are hail stones - a first for the MdS.

By early afternoon the storm passed and the sun emerged, which raised the spirits in the camp no-end.  We set to getting all our kit out in the sun to dry.  In true boy scout style we rigged up a washing line for the purpose.  I also sacrificed a small amount of my water to rinse my race kit as it had started to prove uncomfortable in places on the long stage.  It was a surprisingly effective rinse and a good use of my water ration.

After the sand storm. The piece of carpet you can see was underneath my sleep mat.

Thanks to Paul, the extreme ironer, we borrowed his ironing board and iron to add to the wash day effect.  We were also treated to new race numbers today, and a cold can of Coke – mine didn’t last long, but was really welcomed.

Wash day in the desert.

The only downside later on in the day was the pain in my feet.  As the day had gone on, it had become apparent that we hadn’t really had any proper rest, and I was starting to feel it.  My feet by now were very swollen and covered in blisters and the sand rash. 

The mood in camp lifted when the sun came out.

Incredibly people were still coming in from the 50 mile stage at about 4pm, some 32 hours after setting off.  It was a struggle to hobble over to cheer them in, but I think they deserved it – that’s a long time out on a stage. 

Ah Chew from Malaysia, the last man home from the long day.

I struggled to get my dinner down, and despite the lovely evening and sunset, I was very worried about my feet.  Most people consider once the long day is over that the race is in the bag.  I wasn’t so sure that the marathon stage the following day would be such a breeze.  I was starting to get very envious of other people wandering around with seemingly no pain in their feet.  I went to email home and let off some steam in my allocated 1,000 characters.  Hardly constructive but I felt better afterwards.  The emails from home that were delivered to the tent later that evening made me a little emotional, or it could have been because I was so tired.  We also received the pub quiz questions from the Hammer and Pincers to bring some joviality to the tent. 

The long one – Wednesday 11th April 2012 – Stage 4: 81.5km / 16hrs 43mins 07secs / 358th / ave pace 4.90km/h

Despite the good day on Stage 3, my start to the day was somewhat subdued.  I spent a long time taping my feet, and they were very sore, especially once my trainers were on.  This was not boding well for a 50mile outing lasting well into the night.

Paula, Rich and I agreed to tackle the day together and to take it at a nice steady, but sustainable pace.  Fine intentions at this point in the day.  To our credit we remained together and looked out for each other throughout the entire stage and as a result we put in a pretty good time, and finished in reasonably good shape. 

The first big Jebel.

The start of the day was hot and more humid than before, though luckily the wind had died down overnight leaving a clear bright day.  It was a pretty brutal start, straight into the dunes and then up a massive Jebel.  It was an odd sight to crest the summit only to find a helicopter parked at the top.  Our slog up the ascent was rewarded with a fantastic steep descent in soft sand.  I threw myself down the slope quickly losing control and almost careering into one of the photographers who had been hoping to capture a good shot of the descent rather than a face full of sand.  We gathered together at the check point and emptied the sand from our shoes.  I was reticent to do this knowing the pain caused by putting my feet in my shoes in the mornings, and as it turns out my gaiters had hardly let any sand in and I needn’t have bothered. 

The easy way to the top.

The fun way down.

The section to CP2 at 24km was pretty flat, but sandy in places.  At the check point we didn’t hang about and headed off, into the dunes.  Small ones at first, then getting steadily bigger and bigger, through CP3 at 37km and pretty much to CP4 at 60km.  20+ miles of sandy terrain in the middle of a 50 mile stage – that’s just cruel.  Luckily by now my calf muscle didn’t seem to mind the soft sand, though I couldn’t be sure that the pain from that wasn’t just being drowned out by the constant throbbing in my trainers.

There was a lot of this.

To hammer home quite how slowly, or steadily, we were going not long after CP2, the lead runners started to go past us having set off some 3 hours after us – what had taken us 5 hours had taken them 2.  Unreal.  It looked so effortless, but at least we got to see those who for most of the rest of the race were so far ahead of us. 

The race leaders passing us after about 27km.

At CP3 we were issued with our glow sticks which we were to attach to our packs when it got dark.  By CP4 we were losing daylight.  The wind had got up too leaving us with a dilemma.  We’d been using our sunglasses to protect our eyes from the sand but as it got dark and we put headtorches on it became apparent that we couldn’t make progress with dark glasses and so had to take a chance without them.  We’d been going 10 hours and covered 50km, at a really constant pace.  I was tired and in pain, but felt strong and positive, I’d been eating at regular intervals and keeping reasonably well hydrated, although we still had over 6 hours still to go.

Dark glasses and a head torch - not a great combo.

After that it was pretty hard to tell exactly what terrain we were covering.  Apart from a line of green glow sticks trailing off into the distance ahead of us, and white head torches behind, there was no light at all, complete pitch black.  Outside of the glow of the head torch beam there could have been anything.  It was hard to keep in contact with Paula and Rich and I had my head down just trying to keep my pace up and get finished as soon as possible.  Both of them were nearby, but all the head torch beams looked the same and unless we shouted out it was impossible to tell who was who.  Underfoot there was still quite a lot of sand, interspersed with harder rocky ground.  A laser beam shone out from a hill just up from CP5 which I hadn’t realised and it frustrated me that we weren’t at the check point.  Luckily it was only about a kilometre further on at 60km. 

CP5 to CP6 was much of the same and we kept to the 5km/hour we’d been tapping out all day.  Still feeling strong I was reluctant to sit still at the check point, but Rich and Paula needed a few minutes to sort themselves out and we ended up spending 15 minutes at the check point.  With only 10km to go I wanted to keep going, but we’d stuck together so far, it seemed really churlish to head off ahead of them now. 

In the last 10km, Rich appeared to be struggling, demonstrating that the brief rest at the check point had probably been a sensible option.  As we set off into the last mini-dunes and grassy / rocky ground to the finish, again we could see the bivouac but getting to it took a while.  It turns out the race leader, and last year’s winner had broken an ankle running over this terrain earlier in the day and it’s easy to see how.  You had to weave to make a path through the grass and underneath the ground was either soft and unstable or very uneven.  Rich had dropped a little way back so Paula and I slowed right up, and eventually waited briefly, then out of the darkness he came, trotting along swearing liberally to himself to keep going.  He was reluctant to slow so all three of us started trotting the final km gradually getting faster and faster.  It was an incredible feeling, and quite surreal as Rich’s swearing turned into some kind of Grand National type commentary.  We were so close, had been going so long and were so relieved to get over the line, and ecstatic and very emotional. 

This buzz lasted until well after we got back to the tent, much to the annoyance I’m sure of the 4 others who were in already – only Andy was behind us and then only by a few minutes.  The whole tent did fantastically well, and we were reported to be the first complete tent to have finished the long stage.  Darryl managed to come in 2^nd finisher in about 10hrs 30 minutes which is just incredible and put him well inside the top 50 overall. 

Back in the tent there was the need for some recovery drinks and basic food before getting into my sleeping bag.  The feet would have to wait until the morning.  Once again however the wind got up and blew in yet another sand storm which lasted all night and into the following day.

Too tired to deal with feet that were falling apart.