RACE REPORT

The 2005 Marathon des Sables was considered to be one of the hardest foot races in the history of Adventure Racing. In response to criticism that the race could no longer claim the title as "the toughest footrace on earth," race organiser Patrick Bauer decided to make the 20th edition the hardest yet. Covering 152 miles, the equivalent to 6 Marathons in 7 days over some of the most inhospitable terrain on the planet and under a searing sun in which temperatures were recorded as reaching 57°c, the last thing the majority of the competitors wanted was for it to be any harder then it had to be.

I had first heard about the race while studying for my finals in Bristol and believed it to be a superb opportunity to test myself beyond what I thought capable. I trained hard for the race throughout the winter, clocking up a good many miles around Richmond Park over the weekends with Ben Williams in an attempt to get my body used to running long distances over consecutive days. My initial aim for the race was just to finish it, with a mid table result an added bonus. When Ben and I arrived at the airport and viewed the array of Army types and Adventure Race junkies we began to question what we had got ourselves in to. Looks can be deceiving as we were later to find out, but with the majority of the people talking about their personal best in the Thames Meander and the 100 mile training weeks that they had done left us feeling a little uneasy.

Two days later 800 competitors bundled out of the back of high sided Army trucks into the middle of an ensuing sandstorm. It felt like the scene from a movie about operation "Desert Storm" as we searched for an available tent, if you could call a piece of black sacking supported by a few wooden sticks a tent. The only free tent that we could find had four hard looking Army lads inside whose initial welcome was not the friendliest. After the introductions they took one look at us and informed us that we had all the wrong kit, were ill prepared and probably would not get through the first day. You can imagine our delight when 2 hours after we had finished our first day they arrived suffering from heat heatstroke. It was rather amusing as they never made any other similar comments again, except that we were " too bloody good." Our other tent mates were two girls, and as the week went on and the hardships that we endured worsened, the whole tent began to bond.

After two days of endless queuing and kit checks, we found ourselves lined up at the start line with our 15kg backpacks and 3 litres of water thinking how on earth are we going to be able to walk in this, let along run 152 miles. A seasoned French competitor told me as the race starter counted down "Pain is temporary, glory is forever". This was something that stuck with me throughout the race every time I thought of slowing. Around three and half hours later we arrived at the first  finish and to our surprise we were in the top 150 runners. It had been hard, but apart from sore shoulders and slight chaffing on my lower back we were both in high spirits, until I realised that I had lost my suntan cream. How stupid I thought, to be in the middle of the Sahara desert and not to have suntan cream, amazingly it was found and handed in without a time penalty. My problems were not over though, as I lay down to sleep looking out at a starry sky to discover that my inflatable role mat had punctured on the jagged terrain below. If the thought of camel spiders eating the flesh on your face was not bad enough a sharp rock jutting into your back certainly was. Over the course of the entire week I can only remember getting about 8 hours sleep. At times it was because I was too excited, other times because I was too tired, but the main reason was the stones in my back.

The tents were pulled down around us at 5.30am by an army of enthusiast Berbers eager to set them up again at the next encampment. Day 2 for me was the toughest stage due to a number of factors. The fact it was called the "Mountain stage" slightly disturbed me. Things started well and after 10km Ben and I were well inside the top 100 runners. The previous night I had gone through my bag and thrown away a number of gels believing that I would not need them. Suddenly I just completely bombed, I had no energy and had to reach for the gels, which were now in short supply, it worked a treat but 15 minutes later on it happened again. I had only been able to manage a few mouthfuls of my Muesli in the morning before gagging so hard I was nearly sick due to the vile taste, I looked at the sell buy date - Jan 2001. I told Ben to go on and that I would catch him up latter. My sun cream that I had been so thankful to have found yesterday started to drip into my left eye and combined with sand particles I found I could no longer see from it. I became quite concerned that having had corrective laser eye surgery only 4 months prior something could have gone wrong. I told myself that there was nothing I could do about it now, later after a series of saline solution washes, I regained my sight the following morning. Looking ahead across the desolate plain towards a towering mountain above I kept trying to see which way the runners in front were going. Straight up was the answer, and as I began my assent to the peak I had to pass down numerous messages along a human chain for doctors. I passed one man with his head in his hands crying for his mother. In many ways this inspired me and I quickly picked a route up to the peak dodging falling debris above. I latter found out that one man had his nose broken by a falling rock and another broke his leg on the decent. I did not enjoy that day at all but by no means disgraced myself.

I decided to take it a little easier over the notorious dune day and came in a respectable 82nd. Going over the dunes was hard work and often demoralising as at times you would take two steps forward and one back. Going into the medical tent that evening to pick up some plaster for the chaffing on my back was like entering a scene from "M*A*S*H." The wounded were crying out in pain as they had their feet treated. I saw one man peel off his sock to find the sole of his foot came out with it. What amazed me was that the majority of these people kept going right to the finish, it was quite astonishing.

"Only eighty two kilometres to go", I told myself as I limbered up for the start of the "double day", the day that competitors fear the most. I started at an easy pace and stuck to my plan to get around to the half way point in less than 6 hours. I felt good at this stage and decided to start picking up the pace after eating one of my emergency flapjacks. To me these were like rocket fuel and I started picking off the flagging runners further up the field. 3 hours after the start the top 50 runners begin, at around 60km the winners of the race the Ansell brothers passed me. I remember seeing a Eurosport camera crew setting up in front and decided to run along with them for the shot. I was totally inspired by the grace of their movement and don't ask me why by I pretended that I was their long lost 3rd brother. I picked up the pace and passed more runners who stopped to clap me as they believed I was coming 3rd in the race. The next and only thought that popped into my mind was to find Ben. I knew he would not be be far ahead and for some reason believed that I was Tom Hanks in film "Castaway" and that Ben was Wilson (his inflatable volleyball) and that I must find him at all costs. It's so strange what no sleep, running though one of the most hostile environments in the world can do to you but it seemed to work. I raced passed Ben who got the surprise of his life and just kept going. At the final checkpoint I took a moment to consider what I had just achieved and took off my goggles. I had just run 25km in just over 2 hours. I told Ben afterward that there is a fine line between intense concentration and insanity - I had been teetering between the two. My concentration was broken and I eased up for the final 10km towards home. I ran the last few km in the dusk and believing I was only a few meters from the finish line so took my final sip of what had been a staggering18 litres of water during the day. The finish or what I had thought had been the finish so kindly illuminated from across the plain was just another marker post. Mad panic ensued as my mouth furred up and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I turned around to see a procession of glow sticks and head torch beams of other runners far in the distance. I could not believe it! To get this far and not make it. In my confused state I remember thinking about licking a stone for some moisture before I decided I would walk to the top of the brow to see how far it really was. The camp was only another three hundred yards further on. I had made it! But only just. Ben and I made our customary mashed potato and exchanged stories as a sandstorm whipped up, I felt so sorry for the runners still out on the course. Our tent was less then sturdy, so we beckoned over a Berber to fix it. I remember laughing so hard with Ben when the Berber returned with a little stick and demanded money for his efforts.

Over the next day some of the slower runners continued to cross the line. A number of runners had been on the course for over 36 hours. It amazed me, and made me realise that the real heroes of a race like this is the last person to cross the line not the first. That night a severe sandstorm hit, the main pole came down and hit me on the head leaving a rather good bruise. Later that night I remember seeing through my goggles and face mask Ben lying in the corner of the tent being whipped by an unattached corner of the tent. Again, all I could do was laugh at how ridiculous this situation was and the fact that he was just too tired to do anything about it.

After the rest day the remaining runners were in good spirits with a sense that the worst was over. Very few people were stretching, most just hobbled up to the line. I started well and started taking in the gels that I had traded with one of the Army boys for my muesli. A great trade I thought, I also had off loaded some of my other kit to a delighted Berber and after the customary packing and re-packing of my backpack began really picking up the pace. I left Ben behind and ran past a number of the professional runners who could not believe their eyes. I kept telling myself "this is what all the hard work and the training has been for." One Danish professional Ultra-Marathon runner commented, "I was running along and out of nowhere this big British guy just ran straight past me... I was like where the Hell did he come from!" With less then 5 km to go I was in 12th place when the suction on my camelback straw stopped. I could not believe it! Not again! I opened up the case and licked the seal as a number of runners past me. That same Danish competitor stopped to see the problem and gave me half of his water. It was the kindest act I can remember, and as we crossed the line we were both seeing stars. If he had not given me his water, I dread to think what would have happened. It scared me to see just how fragile the human body and how dependent on water it is to function. I occasionally have nightmares about that moment and can't thank that Danish competitor enough for stopping. I crossed the line in 21st place (1st British) and popped into the official’s tent to get some more salt tablets. The looks on the faces of some of the other professional runners at my placing was priceless.

The final stage was a little over 20km. I ran an ok race but by legs ached from the uneven terrain. On seeing the finish line 100 metres out I summoned up a sprint finish that Linford Christie would have been proud of. It was a very surreal feeling to have finished, and one that I will never forget. There were no tears, or outbursts of emotion, just an inner feeling of accomplishment over what many people consider to be one of the world's most extreme challenges.