The good one – Tuesday 10th April 2012 – Stage 3: 35km / 5hrs 55mins 07secs / 472nd / ave pace 5.91km/h

The morning’s routine followed the same pattern as previous days with the marked exception of the taping of my feet – a task not to be underestimated in terms of complexity and time needed to do it.  It took best part of an hour, and from here on this was an addition to my admin at the start of each stage. 

The sharp end of the pack.

After the previous day I was quite nervous about this stage, most notably how my feet would hold up to another day of punishing terrain and temperatures.  As it turned out, I really enjoyed the stage and it was a great confidence booster, which was really welcome just before the long stage.  I hardly saw my tent-mates all day apart from right at the end of the day when I caught sight of Rich and Andy about 3 or 4 km from the end.  Neither of them saw me however, and both set off at a trot to the finish which I couldn’t manage.  So I was last in the tent, but only just.

Enjoying the day - it's a smile, honest!

The temperatures today were far more manageable than the first two stages.  This was probably due to the high winds which blew pretty much all day.  I kept a constant pace up all day covering some spectacular and varied terrain.  After a flat first 12km to CP1 we headed up to a climb to the top of Jebel Zireg and then over about 5km of sandy hills , through a valley, up over some more hills and steep descents to CP2.  We then had a smaller lake bed to cross than yesterday, with the added excitement of a true sandstorm blowing.  Visibility was down to a few metres and finding the exit point between two sets of cliffs was nigh on impossible.  After that it was about 7km through a valley which offered some shelter from the wind, and across a stony plateau to the bivouac which was again very slow in coming towards me as I continued to tick off the kilometres.

Visibility drops in a sandstorm.

Once in the tent the wind really got up and blew a sandstorm from mid afternoon until well into the night.  Everything was covered in sand, it was in our eyes, throats, food, sleeping bags and shoes.  Despite my enjoyment of the day my feet were still a bit of a mess so I had to brave the elements to get them sorted again.  I’d also picked up some kind of rash underneath my gaiters and shoes which was really itchy and blistered.  The medics’ diagnosed “sand rash” in what seemed like a bit of a generic definition.  Their solution was a cream applied liberally and being told to stay out of the sand, which would have been fine had I not have been in a desert in the middle of a sandstorm.  As soon as I stepped outside the sand simply stuck to the cream and remained there until the next morning.

The race was taking its toll on my feet.

The sandstorm also prevented many of us from sleeping very much at all ahead of the long stage the following day, hardly ideal preparation.

Sandstorm blowing all night. Rubbish.

The hot one – Monday 9th April 2012 - Stage 2: 38.5km / 7hr 04min 09sec / 500th / ave pace 5.52km/h

Once again as the sun rose, so did we.  I was pretty comfortable with the routine of camp life and settled into it early on.  I ran through a quick audit – I slept pretty well, my legs felt ok, my hips were tight but loosened up after some stretching, I was reasonably hydrated but my feet weren’t great.  Another small blister had filled up on my little toe overnight to accompany the one on my heel that I’d treated the night before.  I could also feel some hot spots when my feet went into my trainers.  Keen to minimise the damage over the course of the week I set about sorting them out and taping them where they needed it.  This seemed to help a lot and they weren’t painful inside my trainers.

It was quite fresh early on, the sandstorm the previous evening seemingly having cleared the air a little.  However, the race organisers had it on good authority that today was going to be a hot one, so we were informed that the race start would be brought forward by 30 minutes and we would get extra water at CP3 – 29km in.  Given how hot it was on stage 1, I started to get nervous.  How would my water last if it was hotter? Would my feet hold up?  Today was also our first proper foray into the larger dunes. 

The start followed the same pattern as the day before, only with people looking less fresh and some definitely not as cheerful.  The helicopters and AC/DC track blasting at the start of the day was a constant throughout the week however. 

Rich had struggled the previous day in the heat and so we decided to set off together for this stage and, along with James from our tent we marched to CP1 at 12km in about 2 hours.  At the check point I checked my foot – the tape from the morning had simply come off in my sock so I spent a few minutes re-taping it.  James continued onwards, and Rich and I followed a few minutes later.  We crossed some “small dunes” which went on for about 4km.  The wind had started to pick up, as had the temperature.  There was no sensation of sweating at all however.  My brow, my arms, even my back under my pack were bone dry, but it was obvious that the sweat was leaching out all over me as my top was streaked with white rivers of salt and I was again struggling to make my water last between check points. 

Small dunes.

From CP2 the route headed almost due south for around 10km across a dried up lake bed.  We’d been going about 3 and a half hours by now and it was noon.  The heat was intolerable, the terrain was unforgiving and the surroundings were pretty boring too.  All of this conspired to make it one of the toughest 10kms I’ve ever done.  We were told when we finally got back to camp that the temperature had reached around 52 degrees Celcius on that lake bed during the time we were there.  My feet paid a heavy price for being asked to trek across such a hostile environment. 

Camels (and Rich) on the edge of the horrific dry lake bed.

Eventually the lake bed came to an end and we arrived at CP3 where we were to be given 2 bottles of water instead of the planned one.  Rich and I sat in the shade of one of the tents and I drank the best part of a litre of water there and then.  I checked over my feet again, but despite the pain they were in there didn’t appear to be much more I could do with them.  I found some discarded water and used it to douse my Buff and hat to act as a cooler and thinking I felt much better we set off, having spent over 10 minutes at the check-point. 

Anyone who has taken part in an ultra-marathon or other endurance event will be familiar with the concept of highs and lows during an event.  You can be on cloud 9 and feeling invincible one minute and the next can barely move, and vice-versa.  These oscillations are part of the events we choose to take part in, but even though I know all that and have had my fair share of lows and highs in races, the final 10km of the day proved to be a pretty big low.  My legs felt ok, and not too tired, but the heat had just sapped my energy and the pain from my feet was getting serious.  I then started to focus on other areas which hurt – I was getting some rubbing on my inner arm from it swinging against my rucksack pockets, my thumbs felt like they were blistering from the walking poles and I felt a bit burnt on the backs of my arms.  None of this did much to raise my mood, and I’m sure Rich had a thoroughly un-enjoyable couple of hours accompanying me home.  We were back in the sand dunes before we got back to camp too, which only served to slow us up and cause frustration that we had been out so long.  Having said that, they were pretty spectacular and far nicer than the lake bed. 

I enjoyed my mint tea at the finish line today.

Once over the line I was very relieved, and very beaten up, but I made a special effort to wave to the web cam for everyone at home.  I went through the same routine as the day before – recovery shake, re-hydration salts and some food and then looked at my feet.  These were a little out of my league today so I headed off to the medical tent.  Initially I was given a scalpel, some iodine and some dressings and told to sit in the tent and sort them out.  However, I was struggling to reach some of them and concerned that I would do more harm than good, so I opted to go to the much feared Doc Trotters – the medical staff who accompany the race.  As it turned out there wasn’t that much to fear – yes the iodine hurt when it went into the cut open blisters, but it’s that odd kind of “it’s doing me good” kind of pain and the lovely Ludevine who tended to my damaged feet was very considerate.  I was sent on my way with blue plastic shoe covers like you get at the swimming pool over my feet and a bundle of tape to fix my feet up in the morning once the blisters had had the chance to dry out overnight.

Ludevine trying not to hurt me with open blisters and iodine.

Feeling better for having had the medical attention, I returnd to the tent and finished my foodand got to bed. A limited email circulation today, but to be fair I hadn't felt like emailing home either.

The first one – Sunday 8th April 2012 Stage 1: 33.8km / 5hr 46min 03sec / 416th / ave pace 5.90km/h

A sunrise start to the day today, which is an ordinarily unsociable 5.30m.  I say ordinarily for two reasons.  First, I had not slept well during the night and getting up at least meant things to occupy my mind instead of laying there worrying about what was to come.  And secondly because by 6.10am the team of Berbers who had responsibility for the camp were dismantling our home around us, leaving us more or less destitute.  I tried to ensure that my kit was all within easy reach both whilst the tent was collapsing around us and for later on during the race – I didn’t want to be taking my pack off for any reason at all during the event if I could help it. 

Being made homeless - the first of many times during the week.

Since we were now self-sufficient I cracked open the first of my granola and vanilla Complan breakfasts – one of the few late changes to my kit which, as it turned out, worked really well all week.  Once everyone was ready a collective mass of nearly 1,000 still relatively fresh faced and eager/nervous competitors wandered over to the start area.  There was some hanging around whilst the race organisers got their publicity shots, including corralling us into pens to mark out the shape of a number 27 when viewed from the air (it was the 27^th running of the race).  It was noticeably warmer this morning, and with all the faffing at the start, we didn’t get going until just after 9am, by which time I was hot.

Tent 64 ready to race.

Stood at the start line as the apparently customary dulcet tones of AC/DC blasted out “Highway to Hell” from the PA system, the mood was incredible.  Everyone was smiling, shaking hands, hugging, passing on expressions of good luck, and hopeful of receiving the same back in equal measure.  And finally the countdown ended and we were off – runners everywhere fanning out from the start gantry as helicopters swept by overhead, kicking up clouds of dust and sand and producing a deafening roar. 

Rich and I at the start line.

Before I knew it however, the noise abated, the field thinned and the enormity of the task ahead dawned.  I’d told myself that for the first two days I would aim for a brisk walk rather than risking further injury to my calf by pushing too hard too soon.  My experience of previous long distance events told me that my marching pace would be sufficient to hold my own amongst others who ran at the steady shuffle of ultra-marathoners.  I just hoped that the heat would not slow me down too much. 

The route took us past some ruins and through a village where lots of the local population had come out to cheer us on and no doubt wonder what these foreign idiots were doing.  Within a few kilometres the route took us over some small dunes – only about 1km of them, but enough for me to notice the extra stretch in my calf muscle and re-confirm to myself my intention of taking it conservatively early on. 

Stage 1, early on.

Rich and the rest of my tent-mates all ran ahead of me after the start so I got into my own rhythm and started click-clacking along to the beat of my poles hitting the ground.  The rest of the section to Check Point 1 at 14km was reasonable, and I managed to keep up a decent pace.  By this stage I’d managed to catch up with Paula and we spent a fair distance passing each other as she alternated running (faster than me) and walking (slower than me).  At CP1 I was mindful not to get caught in the trap of staying too long and wasting time, so I filled my bottles under the welcome shade next to the 4WD vehicles and pushed on. 

From CP1 it started to get really hot.  We were heading towards mid-day and to add to the challenge, the hills were about to start.  The first one not too bad – a short sharp rise followed by a nice even descent.  Paula and I caught up with Rich at the top of the climb and we set off at a similar pace together.  The heat of the sun was slowing the runners, but my marching pace was pretty constant.  To be honest, even if I could have gone much faster I would have struggled to make my water last long enough between check points.  As it was, 1.5litres was barely enough to see me through each one.

Next came another climb and a traverse along a rocky undulating spine before a steep drop down onto a rocky valley and a few smaller climbs to get over to Check Point 2 at 25km.  By now the temperature was getting obscene – rumoured to be about 44 degrees Celcius at its peak.  The heat just drained energy out of me and I found it difficult to push on, and even more difficult to eat enough out on the trail.  I was starting to get some hot spots on my feet so at CP2 I spent a couple of minutes adjusting my trainers – I was pleased to see the gaiters working well with virtually no sand inside them or my shoes at all.  Rich and Paula had dropped back by CP2 and once again I set off on my own (not counting the dozens of other unknown people around me!).  This in itself wasn’t a problem and conversations were struck up with a wide variety of people and nationalities as the day progressed – a minimum of a “bon courage” or similar was almost obligatory as you passed people, or they passed you.  Each of us had our name and nationality on our race numbers, which was a really nice touch as you could cheer people on by name, and in many cases in their native tongue. 

Technical descent bfore CP2

From CP2 it was a short, although incredibly hot trudge across more of the rocky valley before the major climb of the day up the Jebel Tibert. It wasn’t an especially steep or long climb and had it been in the Peak District, no doubt it would have thrown up few challenges, but in the stifling heat it was very hard.  In places there was just soft sloping sand across the track up the hill and it was hard going to stay on it, let alone make progress up it.  Eventually the top appeared, and our first glimpse of bivouac 2.  A race marshall was situated at the top of the hill to cheerfully inform us all that it was only 3km from there to the camp.  To be fair, this assertion is backed up by the road book, but I’ve yet to meet anyone who thinks it was much less than 5km.  The last section was pan flat across a valley floor and as would become a theme throughout the week, the bivouac never seemed to get any closer.  Almost like a mirage it just hung in the distance, until all of a sudden you were within spitting distance and it was all over. 

Through the finish line, and I forgot to wave at the web cam – at this stage I hadn’t realise how glued to it people at home would be.  I was smiling at the end, pleased that the day was done and keen to get some rest.  I was then allocated my night-time ration of water – 3 x 1.5l bottles which I struggled to carry with my poles back to the tent. 

Back home, Paula followed me in a few minutes behind, with Rich about half an hour back.  The others were all ahead of me.  Before I could relax a sandstorm blew up, covering everything in sand and making it really uncomfortable.  We dropped the sides of the tent, but it didn’t really keep the sand out, and made it really hot inside.

To cheer everyone up and because it was Easter Sunday, I handed out Creme Eggs to everyone in the tent – amazed that they’d retained their shape despite the ridiculous heat.  The gesture was welcomed by everyone there, and for my part, I was glad that my pack would be at least 360g lighter the following day.

I made sure my personal admin was seen to in the tent, surveying my feet for damage and eating.  A recovery shake was first on the list, then rehydration salts then feet.  The hotspot I’d had earlier had turned into a small blister on my heel so I popped it and cleaned it, then set about replenishing the rest of my energy reserves. 

Happier times when my feet still looked normal.

I’d taken an average of 2,850 calories for each day and so far today I’d not eaten anywhere near enough on the trail.  This would be something I would focus on much more in the coming days.  In fact the calories I’d taken, whilst seen as almost gluttonous to those working to the bare minimum of 2,000 per day, were nowhere near enough to replace all the energy I would expend throughout the week and I ended up losing around 3 or 4 kg during the course of the race.

I also noted that I was quite heavily de-hydrated and although there wasn’t a lot I could do about that whilst on the course as the water was rationed, I tried my best to drink all the water allocated to me for the night time.  

Considering how remote this race is, it is incredibly well organised and set up.  We were able to send and receive emails during the course of the event, and so I went to file a race report back home. We were limited to the length of the message but it was enough to tell well wishers that I was alive at least.  When I got back to the tent, the emails from home had been delivered which was a welcome distraction before bedding down once again by about 8pm.  I was by now very tired.

Admin, admin, admin – Saturday 7th April 2012

Camp routine was based around the timing of the sun setting and rising – following on from our early night, the whole camp arose at about 5.30am as it got light.  It was a chilly and relaxed start to the day.  The day would see us queuing for vast swathes of it, and bidding farewell to our surplus kit. 

Early to bed, early to rise.....

First off we had to queue in the centre of the camp for our day’s water ration – something which sounds straightforward, but which descended into farce pretty quickly as the many many volunteers struggled to develop a seamless and efficient process for handing out a fixed number of bottles of water to every person in front of them.  We were glad to still have our extra kit with us at this point as it remained chilly in camp until late morning. 

After queuing for breakfast, we then queued for the MdS shop where we all wanted a fancy MdS Buff, then for the proper queue of the day – the control checks.  Here we got to stand in the sunshine (mercifully much warmer now, and indeed many folk were looking like they were burning) and await our turn to hand over our bags that weren’t coming with us on the race, then to pick up our water cards and race numbers, explain how heavy our race packs were and talk to the medical team who also gave us our medical cards and salt tablets for the week.  In fact it was a pretty slick operation, and once inside the admin tent I was processed through with the minimum of fuss and churned out the other end stood blinking in the bright sunshine having one of those “oh no, what have I done?” moments – this was now very real.  Everything I needed to survive the next week was in my bag on my back, and I had no way of changing things now.  I’d managed to help out a couple of other competitors with excess kit prior to the control checks where they’d either lost items, or felt cold the night before – a silk sleeping bag liner and rucksack pouch were donated to the benefit of my fellow runners.  

Queuing for the final checks.

In fact once we all got back to the tent there was much more of a calm atmosphere.  It was almost as if the excess kit we’d all been fussing over and worrying about had been an unnecessary distraction and with it out of the way and our choices made, we could all relax a little.  I was pleased that my kit choices made back in the UK were still broadly what I had with me – after all I’d trained with all my kit, had tried the food and knew what I would want with me on the race.  The only additional items I had with me were a couple of spare Buffs which I forgot to take out of my pack and a little treat for Easter Sunday. 

Everything I could possibly need for a week in the desert.

Today it got really hot between noon and 3pm – a taster of what expect during the week.  Luckily today however the afternoon was spent drinking tea and eating biscuits in the shade of the tent (the tea and biscuits were kept back to be consumed before the race commenced).

The last bit of admin involved less queuing but was equally as vital – one of the race volunteers came round to each tent to issue our shit sacks for the week.  I should explain, hopefully without breaching too many taboos, the toilets were set up as follows – for a wee, it was expected that you wandered what you deemed to be a civilised distance from the camp and sought to re-hydrate the parched landscape whilst enjoying the view.  Clearly what some people felt was a civilised distance was not what others would consider appropriate.  Mark in our tent was our top culprit, barely walking 10 paces from the back of the tent, but then he does live in Kilburn.  For a more substantial requirement, some cubicles were set up around the camp comprising a tarpaulin wrapped around a metal frame.  Inside each cubicle was a plastic stool (forgive the pun) with a hole in the seat.  The idea was that you took your shit sack and hung it over the stool then did your business, cleaned up and took the bag out again (having first sealed it with a good knot) and placed it in the bin found outside.  It sounds primitive, but it worked remarkably well – I didn’t hear of anyone getting a dodgy stomach throughout the week, which in previous years had been a major concern.

That's Mark on the left - the furthest he went for a wee all week.

Further good news for me was that my back, which had been really stiff and aching after our long journey from the UK to the desert was not causing me any great discomfort, and my calf muscle was feeling better all the time.  With everything more or less in order our tent then settled down for the rest of the afternoon watching the pack sizes of other competitors and wondering how they could fit a weeks’ worth of kit into such a small bag.  The only exceptions to this were other Brits who generally had packs of a similar size to mine, and the Japanese who as a rule had packs that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Duke of Edinburgh bronze award expedition.

Later in the afternoon there was a pre-race briefing at which we heard about an 80 year old man taking part, and someone doing their 25^th MdS.  There was also a group of firefighters from France who would be pushing/carrying a chariot with disabled kids in it for the whole race.  And an English guy doing it with an iron and ironing board, just for fun.  Nuts, all of them. 

Race briefing in the hot afternoon sun.

A more sombre dinner at the race organisers catering facility followed shortly after the briefing, and then off to bed early again, by now I for one was incredibly nervous about the following day.  I didn’t sleep well.

Goodbye civilisation – Friday 6th April 2012

After a huge feast for breakfast we headed out for a bit of a scramble to the buses that would take us to the desert.  What was billed as a 3½ hour journey turned into almost 5 hours by the time we’d made numerous pee stops, lunch stops and other random stops.  The route started out winding around some deep valleys before heading out into more deserty type terrain.  There were a lot of hills and a lot of rocks – not your classic Lawrence of Arabia sand dunes as far as the eye can see. 

Judging by the trees, we weren't the first to stop here for a pee

On the journey we were issued our road books detailing the route and distances for the race.  The chatter on the bus dropped a few decibels as everyone scanned the pages.  In reality it didn’t hit home what each stage would mean as I’d no real context for the type of terrain we’d be facing.  What was clear though was the distances – 33.8km, 38.5km, 35km, 81.5km, 42.2km and 15.5km, totalling 246.5km, or 153miles.  Those early stages were a little longer than I’d anticipated, and the last stage seemed short, but as I said, no context made it hard to plan for it. 

Eyes down - road books being issued en route

Eventually we arrived at the end of the road, literally.  The buses pulled off onto a sandy “car park” in a village and we all piled off grabbing our bags and jumped into one of the half dozen open backed trucks which took us on a bumpy and dusty short ride to the first bivouac outside the village. 

Herded like cattle towards the bivouac

The bivouac was an impressive sight, with hundreds of tents laid out in perfect formation with 2 circles of black tents for the competitors, a huge number of white tents for the organisation and a massive inflatable dome used by the caterers.  A small party of berbers were singing and clapping as we entered the camp which added to the atmosphere.  This scene however belies the chaotic nature of our arrival – the race was already on to find a “good” tent – this meant one close to the camp entrance, the medical and communication facilities and, we hoped, the finish line each day.  James was sent ahead to bag a suitable location with the rest of us following behind carrying all the luggage.  And so it was that tent 64 was to become home for the eight of us for the week. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent faffing with our now more limited kit choices, settling in (meaning drinking tea and eating biscuits) and wandering around the camp to get our bearings and trying to appreciate what the next week would entail.  We had some familiar faces in the tents either side of us – in tent 65 were a number of folk from the Racekit training weekend – Nicola, with Martin and Duncan.  In tent 62 was Darryl along with the “Welsh Record Holder” Rory Coleman – an MdS stalwart who was there for his 9^th or 10^th Mds, along with his partner Jen Salter who was bidding for a win in the female race.

Since we would not be self-sufficient until the morning of the race itself, the organisers put on an enormous catering operation for almost 1,500 people and fed us well up until then.  Tonight's offering was a hearty Moroccan tagine with a glass of red wine to wash it down with - clearly easing us away from civilisation slowly. However lighting was not provided away from the catering tend and so once we got back to our abode it was a very early night, and one which was reasonably cool, although not as bad as I had feared.  The wind around the camp got up during the night and kicked up some sand. Little did we know that this was nothing compared to what was to come.

Time for bed

Morocco – Thursday 5th April 2012

The main aim of heading to Kent the night before the flight was to take the stress out of getting to Gatwick and to get a lift to the airport.  This worked well, although there weren’t that many other MdS competitors who were waved off by their mum and dad.

At check in, and indeed throughout the airport, it was obvious who was heading for the MdS as everyone had either a red and grey Raidlight pack, and orange Aarn pack or an OMM pack and was wearing trainers with Velcro attached – one guy even had his gaiters on despite a distinct lack of sand at the airport.

We're not nervous, honest.

I met up with the rest of my tent-mates and others who we knew previously.  We’d sorted our tent group out using the wonders of Facebook, based around the people we’d met on the Racekit training weekend back in October 2011.  They were:  Paula, Mark, James, Andy, Colin, Elisabet, Rich and I.  There was a lot of nervous anticipation before the flight and so much talk about kit choices, training completed, race plans, and all things MdS.  None of that helped with the nerves especially and I was oscillating between being very excited to be finally going, and feeling totally unprepared for such an undertaking given my on-going injuries and perceived slow pace in training.

That's a lot of desert.

Once in Ouazarzate we encountered our first queue of what would turn out to be many over the coming week or so.  Passport control took over 2 hours to clear, which given there were only 2 flights to process was a little unnecessary.  We finally all cleared the formalities, and got to the Berber Palace Hotel where we were to be stationed before and after the race.  It’s a massive sprawling place but quite nice.  Our room was a kind of suite with two adjoining rooms centred around a lounge.  Steve and Mark were our room-mates and added to the familiar faces we’d encounter on the trail.  Steve had just travelled over from Sydney to the UK and then on to Morocco, and had yet to try to pack his kit as he’d had it all delivered to his family’s place near London – he was slightly stressed later that evening as he wondered out loud how it was all going to fit in!

We headed out to try to find a bar but failed and settled for a mint tea before heading back to the hotel for a massive feed and some beers, although with an early start the next day, and so much excitement it was never going to be a late night.

The journey begins – Wed 4th April 2012

An odd start to our journey to the desert – it snowed just before leaving, meaning a surreal trek out in the snow in sub-zero temperatures from my house to get to the heat chamber less than 2 miles away where there wasn’t any snow at all, followed by an hour or so in temperatures in excess of 40 degrees.  And once that was over, the same thing in reverse as I headed home.  Before we could set off there was a small issue of digging out the car!

The view from the house on 4th April - cars needing to be dug out

Leaving home was odd too, with the new arrival Eddie barely 2 weeks old, and a very understanding wife letting me shirk my parental responsibilities for the next two weeks it felt like I was running away a bit.  Still the journey south to my folks’ house was uneventful once we got out of the snow (less than 2 miles from my house) and in many respects it was quite relaxing as there wasn’t much more I could do to prepare at this stage.  Although my massive bag of “just in case” items suggested otherwise.