Desert Prat (an MDS Diary) - by Nik Cook

Desert Prat

Slogging along the Embankment one January night in the rain, the pack on my back feeling at least double the 15 kgs it weighed, 15 miles down only 5 more to go. Two guys fly past in “London Marathon 2000.... In Training T-Shirts”. I ponder our relative situations, you bastards I conclude.

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After a year of training and preparation the Marathon des Sables, billed as the “Toughest Footrace on Earth”, was looming large. In a weeks time I was going to ask my legs to carry me, and about 12kgs of food and equipment, over the equivalent of almost six marathons across the Moroccan Sahara. For the last couple of months everything had taken a back seat, including wedding plans, while I obsessed about food choice and desperately tried to shave grams off my pack weight. Physically I was feeling strong, a good performance in the Thames Meander 50 miler gave me loads of confidence and a part time existence in the sauna had, I thought, prepared me for the heat.

6th April
The flight to Ouarzazate went well with spectacular views of the snow covered Atlas Mountains and, for many of us, our first sight of the sort of terrain we’d be running over. The nerves started to jangle and the situation wasn’t helped by the guy sitting next to me, who’d competed in the previous year’s race, telling foot related horror stories. A short bus trip to the hotel and we were settled in I was sharing a room with Dennis an ex Royal Marine who is now a financial advisor. The two of us took a walk into town to get some cash and provisions for the coach ride into the desert tomorrow. It was like walking onto the set of Hideous Kinky and, at any second, I expected Kate Winslett to come round the corner. After several attempts I manage to squeeze all my kit into my pack, including the finger puppet camel my sister gave me, and it doesn’t feel too heavy. The conversation at dinner reminded me of post-exam chat where everyone is talking about the questions that came up and which they tried but at the same time knowing they can now do sod all about it. The only difference being we were talking about our kit and food... “you’ve got Raid Wind shoes...oh dear...I wore those last year and they butchered my feet”. Thanks for the advice.

7th April
Having been herded onto the coaches we began the 4 hour drive into the desert. As the time went on the landscape became more and more barren. We were also given our road-books that gave us the stage distances and directions for the entire race. Things were starting to get a bit real. After about 3 _ hours the coach suddenly veered off the road, continued for 15 minutes and then stopped in what appeared to be the middle of the desert. We all got out, were given a picnic lunch and told to wait for the military transport that would take us the final 18k to the camp. When the 4 tonners arrived our coach load failed to get on the first carry so we settled down for a wait. I couldn’t believe what happened next, sat in the middle of the Sahara Desert and it started to rain! Eventually the transport returned and we piled in. One arse bruising journey later we arrived at our first bivouac. Dinner that night was provided by the organisers, being French this included a _ bottle of wine and, having not drunk for 3 months, I slept very well that night.

8th April
My first night in the Berber tent was fine (due to the wine I think) but it was unbelievably cold. All of my tent snore, me included, but they all seem a great bunch of lads:
Kader: sports therapist.
Dennis: ex marine now financial advisor
Neal: Honourable Artillery Company (HAC) and photographer.
John: HAC and surveyor
Tony1: HAC and architect and veteran of last year’s race.
Tony2: restaurant owner
Steve: ex para now fireman and veteran of last year’s race.
Rob: ex para now fireman and brother of Steve.
After breakfast the rest of the day was spent with admin as all our food and kit was checked as well as our medical certificates and ECG traces. Having done all this I went for a couple of long walks to try and aid acclimatisation. One of which was with Tessa who was part of the Royal Engineers team which was the first all female team to enter the Marathon des Sables. No more rain today just pure heat, God knows how I’ll cope with running in it. After an address by the race organiser Patrick Bauer in which he informed us that this year’s race was the longest yet we then had our “last supper” before self sufficiency and the race started. Talk in the tent turned to where we thought we’d come, my first priority was to finish but I was secretly hoping to finish in the top half of the 700 strong field.

9th April
Stage 1: 28 km
Time : 3.33
Stage Position: 249
Temperature: 45 C

The start was heady with nerves and adrenaline. After the initial euphoria of starting (about 2 mins) the first 20 minutes felt like hell. It was too hot, the pack was too heavy, the sand underfoot interspersed with boulders meant it was impossible to settle into a rhythm and I felt like shit. I was gulping at my water and had drunk _ of it before I even realised it. However by the first checkpoint, and water stop, at 9.5km I had joined Steve from my tent and we had settled into a comfortable pace. By checkpoint 2 at 19km I was feeling strong and drinking at a constant steady rate. Steve was great offering advice and one piece stayed in my mind for the whole race. Any one stage isn’t a race, don’t go out and race it. You should always finish with gas in the tank because you’ve got to get up for the next six days and do the same. With 1km to go we had our first taste of dunes even if they were only dunettes. They crippled your running stride and made the going very heavy. Crossing the finish line felt good but you knew it was only the start. I was pleased with the day’s work. I came in 2nd in our tent. Kader, a sub 2.50 marathon man, had gone off like a whippet but was suffering with his pack. My feet were in good shape with only a little rubbing to the outside of one foot, having sorted that out and eaten we all settled down for and early night.

10th April
Stage 2: 34km
Time: 4.37
Stage position: 240
Temperature: 43 C

I started off running with the Engineer girls (Tessa, Katie and Cath). They had come in about 20 minutes behind me yesterday so I figured their pace would be a good benchmark. Once again the first 10km to the first checkpoint was a slog but after that I started to feel stronger, said goodbye to the girls, and made good time to the 2nd checkpoint at 20km. Things then started to go a little pear shaped my head started to pound and I was feeling extremely nauseous. Every sip of sports drink I took made me gag but I knew I had to keep drinking. I popped a Migraleve and drove on to the final checkpoint at 28km. By then the Migraleve had kicked in and I felt strong again but remembering Steve’s advice and knowing we had a long day over the dunes tomorrow I throttled right back to a fast walk for the final 6km. Arriving at camp at the El Khait Wadi I felt good and was very pleased with the day. Even the fact that our tent had been blown flat didn’t worry me. I had come in first in our tent (where was Kader?) and was feeling confident. I had a walk round the camp and checked the results board and I’d crept up a place in the rankings. I had a quick chat with the girls who’d had another good day and returned to the tent to find everybody “home” except Tony1. Kader had struggled again with his pack but had soldiered on. Tony1 then appeared with the shock news that he was quitting the race, he hadn’t been feeling good and knew from last year what was ahead. We saw him onto the transport back to Ouarzazate and returned to the tent. We were all feeling down especially Neil and John, the other HAC boys, as it meant they were no longer in the team race. However, Tony2’s graphic step by step description of the construction of a K-Bab kebab soon had our minds on other things.

11th April
Stage 3: 37km “Dune Day or when Kader came back from the dead.”
Time: 6.41
Stage position: 192
Temperature: 53 C (in dunes)

The day started well, I was running with John and we made good time to the checkpoint at 8.5km. We then had our first set of dunes, which although hard work, weren’t too bad we hit the final checkpoint before entering the El Rhoual Erg (dune system) at 15.5 km feeling confident. As we entered the dunes we had no idea of the carnage that the 20kms of sand mountains would inflict on the field. The size and steepness of the dunes made running up them impossible and a waste of valuable energy so John and I opted for walk up run down. At the bottom of each dune the air was still and roasting, it was like being in an oven. At the summit of each dune the breeze was welcome but the sight of dunes in every direction as far as the eye could see was truly daunting. After an hour in the dunes the three litres of water we picked up at the last checkpoint seemed woefully inadequate. Although we thought we were travelling painfully slowly we found we were working our way through the field and making steady, if slow, progress. At the top of one of the dunes we came across Kader. He was sat on his pack and looking bad. He was still lucid but obviously going downhill fast. We sat with him while we emptied our shoes of sand and ate a power bar. After trying to get him going he waved us off and feeling more than a little guilty we set off with him still sitting on his pack. Three hours into the dunes and I was starting to run low on water. Fortunately John, being a smaller build, wasn’t getting through his so fast and in an act of huge generosity gave me an extra half litre. If I had been on my own and hadn’t received these extra fluids I don’t think I would have made it. After four hours we reached the top of a dune and in the middle distance saw a couple of tents, was this the extra water stop at the end of the dunes the organisers had told us about? We were sure we had at least another hour in the dunes to go. People all round us were polishing off the water they had been conserving so carefully. The girls came up behind us and after a brief discussion they agreed with our timings and with regret we concluded there was no way it was the water stop and the water we had left had to last at least another hour of dune travel. As we went past the girls decided to check and sure enough it was just a tourist encampment. The girls decided to stop for a few minutes and take advantage of the shade but John and I decided to plough on. Turning the corner we were faced by the familiar sight of 30m high dunes and once again resigned ourselves to the hard slog ahead. Where before we had been talking continuously John and I sank into our own little worlds. All that was important was putting one foot in front of the other. We passed people in various states of dehydration all suffering from the mis-identification of the tents further back. There was nothing we could do for them, I was down to a small sip every 10 minutes and could feel myself dehydrating fast as the familiar throbbing in my temples started and the waves of nausea washed over me. I knew my core temperature was rising dangerously and all I wanted to do was stop, vomit and sit down. Pausing to control my breathing and to give myself a short but sharp bollocking. I regained composure and put my head down for the final push. Reaching the crest of the final dune we saw the tent and the Land Rovers of the water stop. There was no mistake this time. The relief as we were handed the _ litre of water was immense. The temptation to down it was almost uncontrollable but the unmistakable sound of people retching and vomiting behind the tent warned us of the danger of this act. We set off for the final 3km across the plain to the camp, slowly sipping our water and looking forwards to the relative cool of our tent. The camp was like a ghost-town and we started to realise that we had covered the stage in good time. As we sat in the tent and looked back over the dunes the real dramas of the day started to unfold. Distress flares started to go off from the dunes and before long the rescue helicopter was taxiing backwards and forwards into the dunes and carrying the first casualties of the day (many on drips) back to camp. It was like a scene from MASH and after a hour or so as more flares went off and more casualties were brought in we realised something had gone wrong and maybe the Toughest Footrace on Earth had been made a little too tough. As our tent mates came in we got reports of Kader’s condition deteriorating. Tony2 had last seen him with a medic in the dunes receiving an intravenous infusion. It didn’t look good and we accepted the fact that we had lost another member of our tent. By 8.00pm 30 people had either willingly or due to medical reasons abandoned the race today. Last year only 35 people dropped out over the entire race. I went to the press conference and the official line from the organisers was that the stage had been made deliberately hard to up the stakes. Last years event had been felt to be too easy and the Marathon des Sables was in danger of losing its mantle as the Toughest Footrace on Earth. The unofficial line, and opinion of the competitors, was that the organisers had cocked up big time, had underestimated the dunes and should had heli-dropped an extra water station in. There was also anger about the tourist tents that had caused so much confusion and chaos. As I walked back to the tent I considered the day and although part of me agreed with the opinion that the stage had been too much. My own view was that we were all there to push ourselves and that the excellent medical and logistical support had sanitised the desert enough. Pushing on through those dunes was a humbling experience that made me realise that no matter how fit or strong you think you are when pitted against an environment, such as we all experienced today, you’re really pretty weak and pathetic. It had been tough today but we weren’t in any real danger, just set off your flare and you’d be out of there, this was an adventure race and I wouldn’t give up the adventure I had had today for the world. On return to the tent there was still no sign of Kader we could only assume that he’d been choppered in and was now with the medics. Then at 9.30pm a skeleton that resembled Kader flopped into the tent. After having had 3 litres of IV fluid pumped into him, he’d waved the medic off, got up and finished the stage under his own steam. He was still in the race but not in a good state. On recommendation from the medics we had all been given and extra 1.5 litres of water. Making up diarylyte solution, with the extra water, we poured it down Kader’s throat until he could take no more. He perked up but was still complaining of nausea. Eventually we got some food into him and thankfully he managed to keep it down. My own feet had started to degrade. The constant ramming into the front my sand filled shoes had caused me to lose most of the skin on my toes. I was still free of blisters though. As we all turned in for the night someone piped up with “only 76km tomorrow”. In all the drama we’d all forgotten we had a double marathon to cover in the morning.

12-13th April

Stage 4: 76km “the killer”
Time: 15.09
Stage Position: 192
Temperature: Day: 43 C Night: 8 C

The morning routine was considerably less good humoured today. The locals who took the tents down around us at 6.00am were greeted with grunts and curses rather than happy good mornings. The wind was blowing hard sand-blasting us remorselessly as we tried to cook breakfast and prepare ourselves for the long day ahead. A 9.30am start meant we’d be working through the hottest part of the day. So John and I decided on a strategy where we aimed walked fast until checkpoint 4 at 45.5km and then, if we had any gas left, try to run for some of the final 30km as the sun went down. Up till now I’d been wearing water/sandproof socks which were great as no sand had got through to my feet. The downside was my feet couldn’t breath in them and I’d finish each day with mild trench-foot. I figured that as I’d be out for up to 20 hours today my feet would need to breath so I put normal running socks on. The days walking went well and as long as you kept concentrating on moving the legs on you’d make good time to the checkpoints. Throughout the day the three Engineer girls (now christened the Bionic Babes) were pressing us on. Speed walking or, as they call it, “tabbing” was meat and drink to them and they were making awesome progress. My legs however were not use to extended fast walks as all of my training had been at running speed and I could feel them tiring. We got to the final checkpoint as planned with the sun going down. We stopped, sat down and took the chance to check our feet out as mine were feeling a bit sore. They were a mess! The change of socks had been a mistake, several 1-2km dune stretches had let sand into my shoes and it had worked through my socks to form a sandpaper like layer next to my feet. I cleaned them up as best I could and put my sandproof socks on but the damage was done. They were sore, swollen and putting my shoes back on was agony. Knowing We still had 30km to go I popped a couple of ibruprofen and prepared for the off. The Bionic Babes had come in about 10 minutes behind us so we decided to join up and finish the stage together. We set off at a relentless tab, John, with his HAC training was comfortable with the gait but I knew that my muscles, not use to the movement, were suffering. We were making good time though and overtook a number of “runners”. We then entered a Casbah and winding our way through the narrow streets in the dusk light, even with fatigue setting in, was a magical experience. On leaving the Casbah we saw what none of us wanted to see...more dunes!! Tabbing on, feet throbbing as my toes were rammed into my shoes on each dune descent, we reached checkpoint 5. It was now dark and getting colder, resting at the checkpoint I started to shiver and I realised my blood sugar level was probably dangerously low so I guzzled two Squeezie energy gels down my throat and prayed they’d get me through. It turns out I wasn’t the only one who’d found the going tough and we agreed to ease back over the 11.5km to the last checkpoint. After about 15 minutes my blood sugar crashed and I really started to struggle. I got tunnel vision and started to feel very dizzy, simply putting one foot in front of the other was a huge effort. Katie was in a similar state to me and Tessa was really suffering with bad feet. Fortunately Kath and John were still strong and dragged the rest of us through.
Reaching the final checkpoint at 70km we all made an effort to look as strong as possible so the medics wouldn’t make us stop, we wanted to get this stage done as soon as we could. After 5 minutes the girls decided to head off for the final 6km to the finish. John waited with me while the power bar that Tessa had given 10 minutes go kicked in. The rush from the bar got me on my feet and we struggled home over the final line of dunes. We jogged the final kilmetre to the line and although cold and exhausted we knew we’d broken the back of the race. The girls had got home about 10 minutes before us and had waited at the finish for us to get home. We picked up our water ration and on auto-pilot tended to our feet and cooked a hot meal before crashing to sleep. Slowly, throughout the night and into the next day, the rest of our tent came home including Kader. Many competitors had bivvied out at checkpoint 4 and the fact we had pushed on through consolidated our place in the rankings.
The next day was rest day and throughout it people were coming in right up to the 40 hour cut off time. The damage to my feet was bad but only superficial and my balls of my feet and my heels were still intact. I dealt with my blisters and as I painted the iodine onto the raw flesh I mentally kicked myself for my cock up with my socks. After a relaxing day at camp as the evening came we started to think about the next day’s leg. It was hard to focus after the last two legs but we knew that the 42.2km marathon day couldn’t be taken lightly. My main concern was my feet as it took me about 30 minutes to hobble to 50 meters to go to the toilet but I hoped that adrenaline and ibruprofen would get me through.

14th April

Stage 5: 42.4km “marathon day”
Time: 5.07
Stage position: 126
Temperature: 45 C

Having been woken up at 6.00am again the first job of the day was to get water boiled for breakfast so that the first ibruprofen of the day wouldn’t go into an empty stomach. I then had to wait about an hour before the throbbing had eased enough to slide my socks over the various dressings on my feet. Another hour wait and the feet were forced screaming into my shoes. My trainers, even though they were bought 1 _ sizes large, felt crippling small. Standing up was accompanied by acute agony and walking was only barely manageable, how the hell was I going to run a marathon. A few more painkillers later and walking was okay, as for running I’d have to wait and see. Apart from my feet I was looking forward to a good run today, none of this tabbing nonsense. John and I had decided to make a bit of a push today. As start time got nearer I felt real adrenaline for the first time since stage 1. We were set off and the first ten strides were agony as it felt as if every blister and sore on my feet had exploded. However, a few strides more, and the acute throbbing had subsided to a mere dull ache. We had sand underfoot but no actual dunes and a steady run took us through the half-way mark in under 2.10. The second half of the stage saw me having to repay my debt to John as he struggled when I was feeling strong. I gave him a steady pace and a pair of heels to follow and all credit to his strength of resolve he stuck to the pace. The final few kilometers threw up a plain of fist sized boulders, not wishing to risk a turned ankle with only one stage to go we cautiously picked our way through them at a walking pace. In the last kilometer, at the end of the boulders, I found a bit of a spurt and left John about 3 minutes behind. Clapping him into the finish we both knew that with only a mere 18.5km tomorrow we had the race in the bag. We both sat in the shade under the balloons at the finish and soaked up the atmosphere as more athletes came home. The Bionic Babes came in about 1 _ later, they’d had a tough day with Tessa suffering badly with her feet and Kath getting debilitating nosebleeds. But, as ever they had stuck together and pulled each other through as they’d pulled me through the long day. A quick trip to the doctor for a pain in the back of my knee, which was diagnosed as an inflamed popiteal tendon, and I was back in the tent cooking my last dehydrated meal and nursing my feet for the last time.

15th April

Stage 6: 18.5 km
Time: 1.58
Stage position: 210
Temperature: 43 C

Waking up for the last day any feelings of jubilation were tempered by an awful night’s sleep due to throbbing feet and the same excruciating routine for putting my shoes on as yesterday but even worse. The bottom half of the field were set off at 8.30am and the remainder of our tent yelled the North brothers and Kader on as they took to the front of the field. An hour later at 9.30am the rest of us set off and John and I soon settled into comfortable if hobbling pace. As we entered the small villages on the outskirts of the town we’d finish in all the local children came out to support us. It was a great feeling although the still air in the villages gave the heat one last chance to torture us. Crossing a small canal bridge the finish came into sight and the wave of elation hit us. We unfurled the HAC regimental colours and crossed the line flying it proud. The overwhelming emotion on crossing the line was pure relief. It was only on the coach back to Ouarzazate that the pride in what we achieved, and quite how badly we smelt, hit us.
The Marathon des Sables has been the hardest thing I have ever done. The terrain and accumulative damage to your body makes it a huge challenge. You have to be physically fit but it really comes down to mental strength. My final placing of 174th out of 673 starters (107 abandoned) and 18th out of 140 Brits was way above my expected finish and leaves me with no desire to repeat the race. There are other races to run.....anyone got a spare place for the Raid Gauloise?
Two nights of hard partying in Ouarzazate followed before returning to Gatwick and normal life. Trying to explain the race, and to do it justice, to people who weren’t there is frustratingly hard and it is only when you talk to the kindred spirits who were there with you that you get back the sense of pride you felt out in Morocco.

I would like to thank:
My two sponsors Redwing Communications and Oasis Asset Management.
Kit Suppliers Cascade Design and Lyon Equipment and CIBA Vision.
Neil Sawell at Good Development.
All in tent 50 and the Bionic Babes.

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