82.5Km, 32H00 CUT OFF
Bivouac four is approximately one hundred and ten kilometres south of Errachidia, three hundred and twenty five kilometres east of Marrakesh and eighty five kilometres west of the Algerian border. We have covered almost one hundred and eighty five kilometres across one of the most inhospitable parts of this earth. In scorching heat. By foot.
It is 5:22am.
The sun will soon creep over the horizon to further cook what remains of our roasted bodies. I am several days past ‘bien cuit’ and many kilometres beyond exhausted. Every muscle, every toe, tendon, ligament, other bits with complex names…..they are all properly pissed off with me. When you’re moving, you don’t feel the pain as much and certainly not all at once. Somehow, you zoom in on whatever hurts the worst. Until a new worst starts. Then you forget the old worst and move on. However, once you stop, they simultaneously start vying for attention. An orchestra of pain except with no conductor. Some pain is soft, some low pitched, other pain rises to an agonising crescendo and then subsides. Somber pain tones are mixed with booming pain beats.
I roll over but my shoulder is still busy playing a pain chorus so I try lying on my front. The rug which Simon had thoughtfully doubled-up, adding a few extra millimetres of padding between my face and the desert floor, is no substitute for a bed. Despite longing for sleep, I spend the next half hour tossing and turning, desperate to get into a position where I can sleep, even if some instruments of pain are still making music. My mouth feels like I’ve been eating sand all week. Should have brushed my teeth, but I can’t even raise my head never mind stand or kneel.
Beyond the physical pain, my mind is aching. My brain has been trying to concentrate for almost twenty hours non-stop, incessantly barking instructions to my legs, begging my shoulders too stop hurting, maintaining a razor sharp focus on the underfoot terrain to avoid serious injury or something silly like falling off a mountain. It has been trying to focus my squinting eyes in the blinding sunlight or nighttime darkness, scanning like a radar for the next marker. It has been busy managing stuff. Loads of stuff. Two time winner Elisabet Barnes told us MDS is all about managing stuff. Managing it well. Water, salt, nutrition, energy, blisters, pace, rest breaks, sun protection, kit, injuries, hygiene, recovery, bivouac routine, sleep.
Sleep!
I want to sleep. My head hurts and I feel it whirring. Thank f**k the Long Stage is over. I eventually find a foetal-like position which offers some comfort, only managing cat naps but anything is better than not at all. I feel like I’ve been dozing much longer and even though I haven’t, the good news is this is ‘Rest Day’. We will be busy doing nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. There is stuff to manage. Foot repair, re-sorting kit, calorie replenishment. But other than that, sweet FA. Just good banter and looking after one other. Speaking of which, where are the others?
It is now sometime around 6:30am, the sun has just edged over the horizon. An intermittent trickle of runners continue to arrive at the bivouac and I hear some passing by our tent. I prop myself up on my elbows to look out, still fully clothed bar gaiters and running shoes. I am caked in a fine coat of sand, salt and other accumulated gunk. Simon is awake and we exchange emotional congratulations, intertwined with moans and sighs from our ailments. The Long Stage was probably Simon’s least good day yet he still finished an incredible 64th overall. He doesn’t seem too disappointed and we swap notes about our experiences since we last saw each other. Conversation then turns to our other remaining tent mates and we begin to speculate when Rob and Phil will arrive home.
It had taken me over nineteen hours and I was later ecstatic to read I’d finished the Long Stage 130th overall, my cumulative position gaining 87 places from 242nd to 155th. I am now only a whisker outside the top 150 after a cumulative forty hours over the last four days. Do I dare myself to push harder on Marathon Day and secure a top 150 finish?
Nineteen hours is not the longest non-stop run I’ve completed, having finished the Centurion South Downs Way 100 mile ultra earlier in the year in just over twenty four hours. Rob also ran this finishing shortly after me. But that was not after three grueling days days in this heat. I am certain Rob will be back soon. He is a more experienced ultra runner than me, having already completed MDS once, in addition to the hundred kilometre non-stop Ultra Mirage El Djerid, in Tunisia. Rob is also bloody minded when it comes to running. He is fiercely determined and focused.
Luminous green shirt, yellow Sahara cap, blue sleeping mat, black sunglasses, WAA Ultra pack. Simon and I burst into a chorus of applause and cheer, followed by several rude but congratulatory words. True to form, Rob has finished and returns triumphantly to Tent 59 a little over twenty one hours since leaving the start line of bivouac three. We embrace and Rob slumps down, a mix of elation and exhaustion. The camaraderie is incredibly special. Only those who are there, in the moment, can possibly understand these kind of emotions.
THIS is what MDS is all about.
With only the three of us, our little home feels strangely spacious, in stark contrast to the first couple of nights with eight of us wedged in like sardines. As the sun starts to rise, it dawns on me that I need to eat, yet the effort required to even cut up a bottle and rehydrate a bag of Expedition Food feels almost insurmountable. I give myself a good talking to. Manage your nutrition. Manage your recovery. Manage your hydration. Manage your feet. Routine. There is plenty of time to lie flat and do nothing. Having subsisted on little more than protein shakes, Shot Bloks and dried mango for two days, I MUST get something more substantial inside. The bigger question is not whether I can muster the energy to make it. More concerning is will it stay down?
Imodium is well ahead in the race for MVI, however I now need a number two. I can’t recall the last time I had one and don’t imagine there is much inside left to come out. Not in the least bit pleasant but I feel better afterwards. For the first time in ages, I actually want to eat something. This must be part of the recovery process. I power through a peanut butter Cliff Bar washed down with some High 5 Chocolate Recovery drink. I’ve saved my dehydrated Thai Green Curry for after the Long Stage and decided on a late lunch. Even in this heat, I now feel like I could stomach it.
Tent mates who finished MDS previously, had told me that that we traditionally receive a can of Coke during the rest day as a surprise treat. Cold Coke. Sugar. Caffeine. Amazing. Admittedly under normal circumstances, not ideal to put into ones body. It is generally accepted that we have an obesity crisis and less well known that obesity is the second biggest preventable cause of cancer in the UK after smoking. With a different hat on, I spend time campaigning for controls on junk foods – those high in FSS (fat, salt and sugar). Like Coke. However these are not normal circumstances and Coke doesn’t feature in my every day diet. Ask any ultra runner what their favourite drink is at aid stations or during a race and many will tell you Coke. The full fat variety obviously.
It is past midday and still no sign of Phil. The cut-off is thirty-two hours so he has time, however the temperature will be peaking soon and a second full day in these conditions is asking a lot. Grain by grain our optimism is eroding however we continue to see runners trickling into the bivouac throughout the afternoon and don’t give up hope. The mood around the camp is mixed – some people are still ill with gastric havoc, albeit less prevalent than a couple of days ago. Others are singing along to music or some form of celebratory activity. Even though the race is not over, it is a gargantuan achievement to have completed the Long Stage. Especially this year with the extra hurdles thrown at us.
Simon wanders over to Doc Trotters for some repairs and Rob is simultaneously eating and sorting through his kit. I set to work making lunch, leaving my cut up bottle outside our tent in the blistering sun to rehydrate fully. I carefully surround my precious food with rocks in case of a gust of wind or clumsy passer by. I also decide to do some clothes washing. Ten Life Venture fabric soap leaves were a last minute inclusion and, weighing in at less than three grams, a most worthwhile addition. We still have the Marathon Stage to complete. My top is encrusted in a dirt, sand, sun lotion, anti-chaffing cream and sweat combo and can stand up its own. My socks will also benefit from a good wash. Nothing beats the feeling of a fresh pair of socks at the start of a run and the smell of a fresh top is enticing.
My lunch tastes incredible and I caution myself to not shovel it down too fast. With each tiny spoonful I feel some energy and strength coming back into my body and have never appreciated solid food so much. By the time I scrape the last pieces of rice and chicken from the bottom of the bottle and lick the remnants of Thai green curry from the rim, I feel stuffed. I breathe a satisfying sigh of relief that it is not coming back out and stretch out flat, savouring the flavours still circling my mouth. Clothes washing complete, I decide to get my feet patched up at Doc Trotters too, before we join the rest of the bivouac at the finish line to clap in the final Long Stage finishers.
Still no sign of Phil.
Doc Trotters is a hive of activity with music booming out of the tents and a party-like atmosphere inside the foot repair section. I must have hit rush hour because a triage ticketing system is in place. I grab my number, take a seat on one of the conveniently placed stools and set about washing and disinfecting my trotters with the solution provided. Everyone coming out of the tent and many going in, have red feet. The tell-tale sign of iodine. There are rows of Doc Trotters working diligently inside and my number comes up rapidly. I can’t recall the name of my medic but as a MDS veteran, he has undoubtedly fixed several hundred trotters in his time.
He sets about assessing my feet, jigging to the beats of the music. I speak as much French as I can remember and we occasionally switch to a combo of English and made up sign language. He identifies a ‘hot spot’ on the outside of my left foot, just up the side from my bunion. I had no idea it was even an issue but as he examines it, I feel the tenderness. We both inspect my shoes and agree my foot has swollen in the heat and rubbed a bit in this area. Nothing terminal and I’m grateful he spots it. He then proceeds to custom make a protective rubber covering, slicing a section from a huge sheet of rubber-like material, then smoothing it down with what appears to be a bench grinder, until it fits precisely. My newly commissioned protective thing is secured firmly in place with a long strip of Tensoplast, carefully wrapped around my foot. Kev had some of this stuff and Rory Coleman also recommended it. Once on, it sticks on forever. Well, as long as you want it too. This particular version comes with backing paper, making it easier to unroll, cut and apply.
My medic is impressed that the taping on my toes is still broadly in place, even after the Long Stage. Three toes on my left foot were my own handiwork and only need minor reinforcements. Although I had the blisters on my right foot treated, he can tell just by feeling through the tape that one blister is still there. I can’t feel it at all and am amazed as he unpeels the tape, the tiny culprit is revealed. After some further cleaning and disinfecting a fresh needle is unwrapped, blister fluid sucked out and iodine injected back in. Ah the sting. The tape on my other toes is gingerly removed and replaced, my other blisters are in good shape. Bon! C’est ça!
My clothes are bone dry by the time I get back to our tent and both feel and smell divine. Rob is leafing through his Road Book and Simon is busy resting. Our bivouac marshal reappears with instructions about tonight’s surprise agenda. We can view the set-up going on in the centre of the bivouac. Clearly something more than just a can of Coke is in store for us. We chat and make more good banter, trying to second-guess exactly what Patrick has planned.
Around 4:00pm more marshals circulate the bivouac asking everyone to head to the finish line as the final participants approach. Could Phil still be with us? We have been shading from the sun all day and are rapidly reminded how fierce it is, even late in the afternoon. We soon learn that the last participants are two French women, Valerie Angot who finishes in 30:45:24 walking with Christine Taieb who times in at 31:15:31, just forty five minutes inside the cutoff. That is a long, long time to be out. A huge cheer erupts as they approach the line.
Then there were three.
We now know Phil must have withdrawn at some point earlier in the Long Stage, undoubtedly due to more D&V as opposed any physical injury. He was certainly not alone and the statistics from the Long Stage make for yet more sobering reading.
672 runners started the race and the daily withdrawals remain unprecedented in the events history.
- Liaison Stage One: 33 withdrawals (5%)
- Liaison Stage Two ‘Dunes Day’: 90 withdrawals (13%)
- Liaison Stage Three: 68 withdrawals (10%)
- Long Stage: 119 withdrawals (18%)
Prior to the Long Stage, 191 participants (28%) had withdrawn. Perhaps unsurprisingly, a crescendo of heat, diarrhoea and vomiting, injuries, accumulated exhaustion, dehydration, the inability to consume food, mental angst…….and the enormity of the eighty two kilometre Long Stage, claimed a further 119 participants. Viewed another way, a quarter of those who reached the start of the Long Stage didn’t reach the end.
- 39 participants withdrew on departure from B3 (bivouac 3) i.e. between the start and CP1;
- we later find out this included our fifth tent mate to succumb, ‘Singapore Phil’;
- others made the difficult decision not to even start the Long Stage;
- 52 withdrawals at 4CP1 (stage 4, checkpoint 1);
- 19 withdrawals at 4CP2 and 1 missed cut-off;
- 6 withdrawals at 4CP3;
- 1 withdrawal at 4CP4;
- 1 withdrawal at 4CP5.
Statistically, those who make it to the end of the Long Stage are likely to finish MDS. The agony of getting this far and not finishing must be unbearable. Time will tell.
Another marshal swings past with our second mail delivery. We already had some morning post and I am overjoyed, if not slightly embarrassed, with the eighteen sheets of A4 I now have to amuse and enthuse myself and remaining tent mates. A sound system and mini-stage have appeared in the middle of the bivouac, along with some rugs laid across the barren desert earth. Patrick doesn’t use a stage, he climbs onto the roof of a Land Rover. This must be something else.
We amble over to investigate, collecting our precious ice cold Coke along the way and plant our bums on the rug. What follows in nothing short of magical. A string quartet and soprano from the Paris Opera have flown out to entertain us. Yes, you hear that right. Miles from any road in the Sahara, this inhospitable yet beautiful setting.
The Paris Opera!
A few minutes later, the imaginary curtain rises. Picture the scene.
Desert sunset.
Several hundred weary runners slumped on rugs.
Clutching a can of Coke as if it is the last liquid on earth.
Engulfed by mellifluous music.
Mesmerised by an exquisite voice.
Runners stand up and begin to waltz.
Running All Over Cancer 