Report on 20th                 

Perhaps you believe in Hell. And if you do, you know it is a place of unrelenting pain and toil. In Hell you descend into the heat and fire of all that is difficult, never-ending and oppressive. No matter what you do, it seems to never end. During the last week of the Easter holidays, I accepted the challenge to visit hell, as the Marathon Des Sables (MDS) passes right through it. I had ample opportunity to sample its diabolic horrors as well as its sublime beauty. I did the MDS because I thought it would be a difficult race, I was wrong, it’s nearly impossible.

You know its serious when they throw you off the bus, after a 5hour journey from the nearest big town as the busses could go no further, and we were transferred into open-back cattle trucks for the final journey to the bivouac and camp one. This consisted off fully enclosed white tents/marquees for the organisers and press, whilst us fools who had paid handsomely for this privilege where segregated over the far side in open sided Berber tents. These tents are made of old coffee sacking that didn’t reach the ground on two sides; this kept the sun of but proved totally useless against the many sand storms we were to experience the following week. I was sharing the tent with 7 others and if banter is a good measure of morale, we would be unbeatable.

After a day of medical and kit checks, and our first ferocious sand storm, we started with a 28KM warm-up stage. My backpack at the start weighed in at 11.5KG without water, the heaviest in the tent; maybe this was my first error! This day the temperature reached 42C, and I was conscious not to go of to fast, as the race was 246KM, the equivalent of 6 marathons in 6 stages; so this stage was little over 11% of the total race distance. Running in the desert isn’t like running on road. Ok, so that’s obvious, it’s sand after all. But the Sahara is not just the classic dunes of The English Patient. There are plenty of those, for sure, but the majority of the running we did was over vast plains of sand, gravel and rocks varying in size from tennis balls up to footballs. No shade, no paths, and, frankly, the scariest route I can think of running. Sand I can deal with, soft and crappy that it is, but those rocks frightened me greatly. Without continual concentration, you could easily step on one and turn an ankle or blow a knee.

Stage two was 37.5KM, with temperatures now up to 45C. There was a dramatic change in atmosphere when our Berber tents got taken down at 0530 this morning, it was only the second day but reality had started to hit home. We were warned that today was gong to be very, very difficult; well that was a considerable understatement. My knee gave way after 10KM, and from this point a run was impossible, a fast walk painful and a slow walk bearable. This was my worst nightmare, and was a signal that the race was practically over for me. If this wasn’t enough to cope with, today’s stage had two climbs, including an 800m ascent with an averaging 25% incline, this was achieved on all fours, with people in front and behind helping one another to get over the most difficult sections. The Arabic name for this mammoth obstacle translates as ‘the climb to cleanse you from all your sins.’ Followed by a treacherous descent, and a few KM of dunes to finish us off before the finish. I was in a dreadful state that evening, trying to comprehend how I was going to carry on let alone finish this race. 12 people dropped out today, including the number 3 runner who slipped on the climb and broke his leg!

Stage three was 41KM, just shy of a full marathon, I don’t know how I made it to the start line, but I did and we were underway again. Today they recorded 51C, which seemed to sap any energy I had left. There was 10KM of dunes, and endless riverbeds of desert valleys. The sand just poured into my shoes, acting like sandpaper against my swelling feet. It was so hot today the doctors forced the organisers to break their strict rationing of 9litres of water a day for fear of severe dehydration. Today was by far the hardest thing I had ever done, after finishing my knee seized up and we all had the worst nights sleep yet due to horrendous ground conditions, probably not the best preparations for tomorrows monstrous 76KM.

Stage four, it took about 10mins to hobble the 100 yards to today’s start, how on earth was I going to complete 76KM. Luckily today was cooler than yesterday, a refreshing 45C! Just so we were not fooled into a false sense of security, another rock climb within the first few KM’s. They set the top 50 runners off 3 hours after the field, so that they can experience running in the dark, and watching them glide past us in the dunes was a privilege. Tactics plays an important role in this stage, with two days to do it in; anyone finishing within one would have the second day at the camp free to rest up. You could opt to sleep somewhere on the course, although this would most likely drop you a hundred places or more, as people passed you. Or just to stop and cook a meal somewhere along the course to re-fuel. In my youthful wisdom I decided neither, I knew I was never going to achieve a result in the overall rankings I had originally hoped for due to my knee, but still a part of me wanted to do the quickest time I could, so I stuck with my strategy of the previous days, and only stopped to fill my water bottles at the checkpoints.

Time is funny. If you wait long enough it just seems to pass. Inevitably, irrevocably, it just slips painfully by and all you have to do is stay alive. That’s what I did that night. I just put one foot in front of the other and stayed alive. I would not have made the final 20KM without the help of a tent mate John who I wandered across during another never-ending plain. He was forcing me to finish without stopping, to continue to put one foot in front of another and eventually we would get there. At the final checkpoint things were getting blurry. My memory was going. I looked inside an aid tent at the last checkpoint and it looked like some Picasso vision of Hell. The characters all had their jaws running down their faces and their eyes bulbous and protruding. They looked tangled with each other in tones of black and grey and brown. It was frightening. These were the guys who couldn’t cover the final 10 KM to the finish that night, and would sleep in the checkpoint until sun-up. Not me. I was getting to the finish. The pain was becoming unbearable, and at times I was collapsing in tears as I couldn’t carry on, but John would pick me up, and drag me onwards. The finish was visible from 6mile out, like a portal to another universe covered in flashing lights. I have never walked over a finish line in my life, and tonight was no different, we ran from about 100m out, only to trip up over some rocks, I saw some medics rush out to help, they weren’t going to stop me crossing this line, so I forced myself to my feet, and finished in 15hours, 50minutes. The pain then hit again, much fiercer than ever before, and it was all too much to bear for one day. I was convinced that was the last time I would ever walk again.

This effort entitled me to a rest day, but the desert had different plans, and produced the wildest sand storm we had experienced yet for the entire rest day. The doctors who travel with the camp have a reputation for being butchers, slicing blisters off, and then filling the hole with iodine. This then leaves scars for months and sometimes years to come. I wasn’t going to let them do this to me, so instead each day I would get a razor blade, some iodine and bandages from the nurse to operate on myself. Luckily some tent mates seemed to cherish the opportunity to play doctor for in the evenings, and they would carry out the procedure for me, all part of the experience I guess but still absolutely horrendous. The organisers provided another service where most evenings they would print off messages of support sent from home. This was fantastic, and arguably without it I would never have got as far as I did. I cannot thank everyone enough for their support both before and during the event.

The burden of not finishing this thing and going home with that knowledge would be horrible. I couldn’t do that. Television, newspapers, radio and the Internet had all run stories about me before I left. People expected me to finish and come home saying, "That was easy, I kicked ass…" I couldn’t face anyone if I didn’t make it. It was better to be forced out by the doctors trying than go home a failure. Better to live one day as a lion than 100 years as a lamb. So I would face the dehydration, the heat, and the discomfort, and I would finish this race.

Any other marathon would have seen us resting up for days before, stretching for an hour, carbo-loaded and ready to go. But for us, and stage 5, it was more a matter of packing up, throwing on our gear, and limping to the start. I don’t think I saw anyone even attempt to warm up after the second or third day. Before the event I was advised to buy shoes two sizes to big, and pad out with insoles, as your feet would swell with the bruising and bandages, well today I had ditched all my insoles, and the shoes were still painfully tight. The temperature was high 40’s, and the terrain still as tortuous and unrelenting. During one section I actually ran out of water with a few KM’s to the next checkpoint, and was so pleased to see that again under doctors orders, they were issuing two bottles instead of one at this point. Here I caught up with many people who had been resting for 45mins to get out of the heat, but in continuing my stupid strategy, I was in and out within 5 minutes. I must have looked quite a state during the final section as two Frenchman, both who looked to me to be struggling came over and offered me there walking poles and food. This personified the camaraderie amongst competitors, 36 nations all with one goal. The finish was again visible from about 10KM out; this was all part of the torturous games the organisers played with us, tricking our minds into relaxing, making the pain all the more intense. When I crossed the line I was completely spent, some tent mates carried me back to our tent, where I apparently sat crouched in a ball for 20minutes completely switched off from the outside world. I was convinced my race was over, that I wasn’t going to make the start line for the final stage, the feet were beating in waves of pain, my knee and legs cramping up. I had no physical energy left, and I was sure mentally I had gone as well. But the emails came around again, I re-read the wonderful comments I had been sent throughout the week, forced some food down and lay down for one final sleep. But the desert would not be allowing such pleasures as in blew yet another sand storm, even cocooned inside my sleeping bag, the sand still got in.

Stage 6, I knew today was not going to be a lap of honour, but I knew if I made the start I would make the finish. 20KM in these conditions is hard; at home I’d run 20KM without even thinking about it, other than calculating how soon I’d be home for a bite to eat or my next lecture. But out here in the outrageous heat, injuries and tiredness it is really hard work. Today was apparently the coolest day, 42C. Horses and camels lined the start, in what I am sure would appear a spectacle to the viewers on the TV, but all I was concerned about was putting one foot in front of the other, for how ever long it took to get to the final destination. We started passing through some villages, and the children would come running up to us asking for sweets or just to cheer us on. It was fantastic to see the way these people lived. The last 1.8KM was on tarmac, and there lied my problem with my preparation where my entire running before had been on roads, I was totally unprepared for the terrain the Sahara had in store for us. From 800 meters out I started my sprint for the line, the pain was now gone, competitors who had already finished lined the home straight shouting encouragement, and then I was over the line, a medal was thrust over my neck, I had done it.

I did not feel how I expected to, I felt nothing, I had physically and mentally nothing left to give. I had expected to be blubbering like a baby, but I got my medal, was given my bus ticket home, a packet lunch and sat down. It was inconceivable that we had completed such a difficult ordeal. To me, this was really big. Throughout my life I’ve wanted to take on larger and larger challenges, and being here affirmed that my life is going the way I wanted it to. Not many people can say that. For most people, their life is a compromise between their dreams and a reality imposed on them. Here, in the Sahara, sitting by the finish line of the Marathon des Sables, I was living my greatest dream so far. It had now ceased to be a dream and become reality, thus paving the way for bigger and better dreams.

I took some strong painkillers, and passed out on the 4-hour bus journey back to the hotel. I got to my room, stripped off, and got in the shower. How you can be miserable, hot, stinking, in pain and generally gross one minute and then in a luxurious shower a few hours later is incredible. The water sheeted off me along with the dirt, week old sunscreen, sweat, urine, more sweat, blood and pus from my feet and some dead bugs from my hair. After I was done, I took another shower. Shaving hurt. When I wiped the steam off the mirror I looked like a human being again. I lost a couple pounds and had a little tan. Putting on clean clothes was incredible. I hobbled up to the poolside bar and sat down with my fellow tent mates before feasting on a magnificent buffet of fresh bread, fruits, meat and salads.

I again have to give massive thanks to everyone who supported me throughout my training, and the messages of support I received during the week, and the welcome I received when I arrived back in England. I am also very grateful to everyone who has already made a donation toward the charity I am raising funds for - Facing Africa. If you would like to make a donation, please click here.

 Facing Africa helps local children in the Sahara region suffering from a disease called Noma. It is a vicious and deadly gangrene that eats away the flesh around the mouth and face of children aged mainly up to 6 years. £500 will cover the costs of an operation on one of these children; imagine a new face for £500! I am hoping to raise over £6000 to aid the work they are doing. 

So is the Marathon Des Sables the toughest footrace in the world as the organisers claim? Well, it is so much more than 6 marathons in 6 stages. It is camping out rough for 8 nights, eating rations of repetitive food, being starved of sleep and basic hygiene facilities. This year was arguably the toughest yet, with the winning time nearly 3 hours, or 15% slower than in previous years. The toughest footrace in the world, well that could be argued long into the night, however I feel that there is no tougher race in which anyone can enter, other races have strict entry requirements, but this is open to all of you. All you need is the single-mindedness to force oneself through hell to reach the other side, you must really want it, as this race is about 25% physical, the rest is all in the head. So it’s up to you, to put life into your days not days into your life.