The strange thing is that the Marathon des Sables feels like something that happened between buffet dinners at the hotel. I know that sounds stupid, but really, after the two-year build-up to the race, the meticulous kit preparation, and the hours and hours of relentless training in the endless winter, the event itself seemed to be over in a flash.
The adventure began at Gatwick, where it was clear that something out of the norm was going on; far too many ultra running rucksacks in the same place, too many nervous expressions.
At the Berbere Palace Hotel, the first buffet dinner was a chance to “buddy up” with other runners who were to become your tent mates for the next eight nights. This proved pretty easy for us; myself, Simon and Dan ended up in tent 116 with Tim, Nick, Nik, Martin and Glenn. The tent itself was a pretty rudimentary cover; a sheet of heavy black cloth held up with sticks, with a rug on the desert floor to help make the stones a little more comfortable. Five star this is not. After an uncomfortable night, complete with sandstorm, it was kit-check time. This was where self-sufficiency really began; suddenly, all of your possessions were in a tiny rucksack, along with a pile of dehydrated food.
Race day, 6am. The sun was up and the tent was down. Multiple checks were made to ensure all the kit was in the right place. Breakfast didn’t sit well, nerves were palpable.
As the sun rose, temperatures did too. The adrenalin and excitement took over. A thousand runners from all over the globe gathered at the start, rubbing shoulders with elite athletes who were roughing it just like the rest of us. After a long welcome speech by the race organiser Patrick Bauer, and an adequate effort by his translator, the helicopters took off and the countdown began. Final glances and handshakes were made, and before we knew it, we were off. The overweight backpack felt every bit of its 12kg, but as the chopper buzzed the runners, it was impossible not to fall in love with the event.
The race is split into several stages, and each stage into various parts, with water-collection points along the way where the organisers can check all the runners through. There are also medical tents at each checkpoint, so if your feet are causing grief, you can pop in to see Dr Chop, who will happily take a scalpel to your toes, dip them in disinfectant and dress the wound for you. That’s a bit unfair, but the disinfectant doesn’t half sting …
Our aim was always to complete the course, get to the end and get the medal. Along the way, we covered astonishing terrain , from the classic sand dunes, to the formidable jebel stage, involving some of the best ridge running I have ever seen, let alone done myself, through to rough and stony desert tracks, salt plains, and dried-up lakes and river beds. The one thing I struggle to describe to people is the sheer heat: temperatures peaked at 54C on the long stage (75km) and we saw plenty of competitors falling by the wayside, with IV drips plugged in. The lead lady even fell into the medical tent while I was there and passed out, only to retire from the race. Heatstroke wasn’t only for the amateurs, it seemed.
The MDS for us was a battle of attrition; I knew from the middle of stage 2 that we’d get to the end. In fact, everyone in our tent made it to the finish, and we were delighted with that result. Our little team even finished as the 2nd UK team behind the Paratroopers (there were only two teams, but don’t tell anyone!). The cold beer back at the hotel tasted all the sweeter with that little piece of metal safely tucked up in the room.
So, how to summarise such an epic event in my life? It’s difficult. We saw some superhuman efforts: blind competitors, an amputee, and a team of firemen from Nantes who carried disabled children round the course in an adapted wheelchair. It still gives me “sandy eyes” to think of it. We also rubbed shoulders with amazing fundraisers, world-class athletes, and it humbles me that we were able to have this incredible experience, and truly enjoy every moment of it. Sure, it was tough. Tougher than I had thought, but it was also immensely rewarding, and has given me a new outlook on life; the importance of water, shelter, food and friendship – and the fact that when you really, really put your mind to something, you can achieve it. It was epic.
Now I’m back, I think I’m actually in the toughest part. The post-event blues. For me, it’s far too soon to think about the next thing, but the MDS is still living strong in my mind, and is still dominating conversations. Work is that bit less exciting at the moment. I know it’ll pass but trust me, it’s difficult to manage. No one warns you about this part …
The cost of the MDS is high, financially and socially, there’s no hiding that, but if running is your thing, and you’re up for the adventure of a lifetime, I heartily recommend it. And it’s not a case of seeing your cash go to line the organisers pockets – the logistics are simply mind-boggling. When you see and experience the event first-hand, you can see where the investment has gone. Plenty of people spend the same cash down the pub, on clothes or on a holiday, so why not take part in something that can change your life for the better?
So to the chumps in tent 116, the other runners, the organisers and everyone behind the scenes, I thank you. You’ve given me a new mantra for life, one that I will carry into everything I do, and I think everyone could do well to think on this over a coffee break.
Redefine your normal.
Dan, Simon and Tom have raised over £7,000 so far for First Touch, a neonatal charity at St George’s Hospital. You can still sponsor us at justgiving.com/sitomdan/
You can enter the MDS via http://www.marathondessables.co.uk/
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