LukeCunliffe.com

Marathon des Sables 2003

On your marks

The last minute preparations are all done and we're on our way to Gatwick Airport this morning for our flight to Ouarzazate in Morocco.

Given the current geopolitical climate I thought I'd better check the Foreign Office travel advice web page for Morocco. "Keep a low profile" and "dress inconspicuously in public places" were some of the key nuggets of advice. So, now I feel a lot happier about hoofing it across the Saharan dunes and plains with 600 or more runners all in bright lycra and sunglasses.

And only this week the race organisation emailed all competitors to caution them against wearing or displaying any national flags during the race. In the past many Brits have patriotically sported Union Flags on their backs 'Falklands' style when racing in the MdS, so it is probably appropriate advice.

Charlotte and I have been well supported by email and telephone from enthusiastic friends and family this week, many sponsoring Charlotte for her charity, the Trinity Hospice, and generally wishing us luck. One email arrived for us late yesterday from Mr Pandey, the legendary race director of the Himalayas 100 Mile Stage Race (HSR), which we ran two years ago. "May Himalayan Goddesses provide you full energy during the race" he wrote. As there are 8 other runners who also competed in the HSR that year we expect that the Goddesses will be extremely busy and only hope they don't mind the heat. The Moroccan forecast for the next few days is sunny with temperatures about 26 degrees, actually quite pleasant by Sahara standards, but I know we may well need to be prepared for much higher temperatures. In fact in 1998 one of the checkpoint tents on the race had a midday temperature reading of 50 degrees on the 50 mile day. No joke when you're out running in those conditions.

So now there's not much more preparation we can do. The long winter months of relentless plodding around a cold, rain-soaked Richmond Park, with rucksacks brim filled with full waterbottles and dumb-bells will be put to the harshest of tests.

In Morocco we'll be meeting many of our fellow 200 Brits and will no doubt renew old friendships as well as begin bonding with some new faces. In cramped tents of nine competitors during the 7 day challenge we will all cook, eat and sleep next to one another's sweat-encrusted bodies.

And we will not shower.

Lovely.

Thursday 3rd April

Our first day on Marathon des Sables 2003 - flying out to the town of Ouarzazate in the Anti-Atlas Mountains -- was pretty straightforward altogether. There weren't even any major delays to write home about.

Arriving at check-in at Gatwick on Thursday morning it was easy to spot the other Marathon des Sables runners. They were the lean, mostly-clean shaven men each surrounded by a heap of kit. The conversation was mainly about their training regime over the past few months, or how they were going to fit the mountain of food and clothing into their racing rucksack.

There were around 200 Brits and Irish on the flight and we reached Ouarzazate in the afternoon. The moment we set foot onto Moroccan soil the blanket of warm air closed around us. It was also welcome to be greeted by sunny skies.

We were transferred to the extremely comfortable 5* Berbere Palace Hotel and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting by the pool with other competitors, drinking and chatting about the races that we had taken part in since we last met.

The evening meal was a lavish affair and the hotel was obliging enough to provide us with plenty of material for our main pre-occupation at the moment ? carbo-loading. The tables were groaning with plates of rice, pasta and fresh bread which we shovelled down.

Friday 4th April

After a breakfast of croissants, coffee, and more mountains of bread, the adventure began. We loaded up into buses and headed south into the desert, through mountains and then into the desolate, never-ending plains. I began to remember why I had agreed to come again (besides Charlotte's challenge, that is).

Fortunately 'comfort breaks' were provided along the road. Unfortunately not soon enough for many of the runners, who have also been hydrating themselves in advance of the race. Suddenly the plastic bottles that their drink came in soon found another use... Our packed lunch, at a café by the side of the road, was a civilised affair, well, it was French after all.

At the end of the journey we were transferred the last 4 kilometres from the main road to the first camp by cattle-truck. We were herded onto the back with all our luggage and, desperately trying to stay on our feet, bounced through the desert to the circle of tents. A couple of people in our truck threatened to become vegetarian after realising the appalling cruelty that cattle are obviously subjected to.

A group of us had hatched a plot during the journey to secure three tents in a line to ensure that we would have a contingent of friends within the same area, but as I discovered, this is one of the changes that have been made since I was last on the Marathon des Sables. Runners are now allotted tents (according to nationality) and we found ourselves dispersed among the other Brits, who are all in Tents 52 to 78.

Charlotte and I are sharing a tent with an unfeasible number of twenty-seven year old bankers from Southwest London. There's Alastair Hay, Charlie Miers and Dan, as well as a shadowy cove who will henceforth be known as Mark X. And then there's the 29 year-old media bunny Tom.

Saturday is spent registering and verifying our equipment, but we have seen a copy of the Roadbook today. Everyone has scoured the pages but it is still difficult to work which day is the dreaded Dune-Day. We reckon it's Day 2, and we think the distance will be about 15 kilometres. On hearing this, Alastair said :

'Fifteen kilometres of dunes. How hard can that be?'

I guess we'll find out, on Monday.

Saturday 5th April

This is the final day before the start and, after the months and months of planning, our last chance to decide what food and kit we are going actually take during the race, and what we will leave behind. It's an agonising moment... will we actually need that extra roll of loo paper? Will we actually be able to stomach that 25th Power Bar after five days of them? But anything that we decide not to take with us is handed over to the organisers, who take it with our main baggage to Ouarzazate. We will have to live with these decisions for the next seven days...

We spent the day queuing to go through the race formalities, where the race marshalls made a rigorous check of our mandatory equipment, counted our food calories and checked off our medical forms and electrocardiograms. There was a degree of inconsistency in this. For example Charlotte and I presented medical forms and ecgs that were done at the same time in the UK. Mine was judged acceptable. And she got a time penalty for hers? It was deemed inadequate for some reason.

After we had gone through this we had the highly entertaining task of actually trying to pack all of our kit and food into our tiny rucksacks. This is where a tardis rucksack would come in handy. In the event airborne initiative had to suffice, so with maximum stomping and squashing we all managed to force it all in.

We have had a couple of casualties already. Notably Ben Williams, a personal training client of mine, who has sustained mild sunburn. Fortunately he's a hardy lad and not in the least bit deterred. When we first met and discussed the Marathon des Sables I asked him to describe himself. He said cheerily:

'Well, before I met you Luke, I was a happy, chain-smoking alcoholic.'

And now he's about to run 250 kilometres across the largest desert in the world?

Next was Chris Webb, a temporarily retired runner from Surrey, who has been suffering with a poor stomach all day. He is hoping for a speedy return to form before tomorrow.

All that remains for tonight is our evening meal, lovingly prepared by the Marathon des Sables chefs ... last night's offering tasted suspiciously like goat.. and then an early night in our sack-cloth tents.

It's great to be back in the desert, and to see the emptiness and desolation. There is a range of mountains to one side of the camp, and to the other... a completely barren plain (all the way to Senegal presumably).

I'd like to say there was a nervous tension in the air, as the apprehension and excitement comes to a crescendo after months of waiting, but in fact everyone in the camp all remarkably relaxed. Sure, everyone wants to get moving, but all we can do is wait for the off tomorrow morning.

Day 1 Report

Finally, the first day of the race. We were promised a route of 25 kilometres with stony ground, soft sand and then 2-3 miles of dunes to finish. By now most of us were just eager to get started, even if a little nervous too. Above all though, the general feeling was one of excitement. In retrospect I have realised that I was far too relaxed and that I had managed to subdue the detailed and all to painful memories of my last Marathon des Sables.

As we set off this morning, the race the organisers decided to release a handful of doves of peace. We were momentarily moved of course, but not long after we were also concerned about their ability to find food in the world's largest desert. This afternoon some wag decided that they might already be doves of resting in peace.

What I had completely forgotten since my last outing in the Sahara was how heavy my full pack was. This time I am trying out a new pack to see what I think of it. And what I think after one day is that my shoulders are extremely sore.. the straps have been biting into them and my muscles have been straining against them. To end the first stage of the "world's toughest foot race" with shoulders that are sorer than my legs was something of a novelty. But at least I finished without any blisters. And this despite the fact that my gaiters and shoes happily channelled sand directly into my socks, which then managed to find its way inconveniently beneath my toes.

My running buddy for the day was a Kiwi called Andy Peek, a 37-year-old electrical engineer from London. No sooner than we had hit a patch of soft, beach-like sand, he piped up:

"In NZ it's a real arse when we have to cross sand like this on our way down to the surf" He paused for a moment before continuing: "Here we've got a whole desert of it. "

I don't suppose he's going to like the 15 km of dunes scheduled for tomorrow. Having been there before I know that they rise to about 600 feet and they are the second highest in Africa.

We arrived in 3.5 hours, grateful to see the finish line after fighting our way through the final dunes. We were pleasantly surprised to find that several runners that we know, including Charlie Miers and Tom Lawley, both in our tent, had finished within the top 100, in times of about 2.45 and 2.50 respectively. Andy and I consoled ourselves with the thought that we are ten years older than them and happy with our 300th position out of 670. Chris Webb, a runner I mentioned - he was ill with an upset stomach yesterday.. appears to have recovered well. He also finished in about 2.45. We were lucky with the weather today. There was a mild cross-breeze which took the edge off the 27 degree heat and made for quite pleasant running conditions.

Relaxing in our tent after the first stage we were surprised to see another young Brit arriving at the next tent who has been carrying a huge shovel all day. We decided that he must have lost a bet some time recently. I will endeavour to find out before the week is out who is this "MAN WITH SPADE". Later on, to camp-wide applause, seven British runners from the Save the Rhino charity arrived, complete with the cumbersome rhino costume which they have all been taking it in turns to wear.

Charlotte finished today's stage in one piece, physically and mentally that is, in 4 hours 41 minutes. She spent the day running with her friend Beth Wright, a 27 year old lawyer from London. They seemed to be both in high spirits and grateful to have got the first day under their belt.

I am writing this article in our tent, from which all I can see is an expanse of low-lying sand-dunes lit golden by the late afternoon light, and the occasional runner foraging for firewood. It beats Clapham Junction train station at any rate. Across the other side of the camp on the other hand we can see mountain-sized dunes. I have this sense of foreboding that I know we are heading there tomorrow morning.

Day 2 Report

A rude awakening at 5.45 by one of the race marshals gave us serous cause for concern. Apparently today was due to be "unusually hot". What on earth could unusually hot for the Sahara mean I wondered? In the event I needn't have worried; 34 degrees with a light breeze. Not that unusual then. But it still meant a start half an hour earlier than we expected.

Today was the day most of us had feared more than any other; Dunes Day; 15 km through the Merzouga dunes, the highest in Morocco. We had a 2k run across stony tracks to the foothills (foot dunes even) followed by the main dunes towering hundreds of feet above the desert floor; Definitely the most spectacular sand dunes I have ever seen; However, usually I like to look at the scenery, not become part of it; My slog across was fairly uneventful in the end, though not as uneventful as some poor runner whose rucksack collapsed half way across, spilling the entire contents over the sand; I was glad of the breeze, in these circumstances a breath of air takes the edge off for sure;

On arriving at the second checkpoint I was surprised to see my wife arriving shortly after; Equally surprised, she said, at the same time as me "What are you doing back here?" She left the CP before me, the first time she had overtaken me in a race; Not that I'm bothered about it of course; but I caught her up again several kilometres later.

After a tiresome 15k of stony track we hit more dunes, the sting in the tail of the day - another 9 km of them, before a well-earned finish; Today we saw the sad retirement of one unlucky Brit who had been unwell for a couple of days; he had spent last night on an IV drip but hoped to recover today; He started the stage but was forced to retire at the first CP;

I finally met "Man with Spade", whose real name is Oliver, a Countryside Management undergraduate at Newcastle Uiversity; He was unable to explain the reason for carrying the spade but we did see him digging a sort of sandcastle with moat outside his bivouac - there must be a plausible reason for this - we'll see.

Save the Rhino again did sterling work and again received applause all round on arriving at the Finish.

Most runners seemed to agree that the dunes had been the most fantastic part of the day just for the sheer sense of awe felt by being in their midst; it was a real privilege to be there, even if incredibly hard work; My injuries seem mostly to be sore shoulders caused by rucksack strap chafing, although blisters are becoming a more common complaint now; I have been very lucky so far, Charlotte less so, with blisters appearing on toes and her heel; Still, only only about 190 kms to go now;

For what I suspect is the first time British runners now outnumber French runners on the race, showing just how popular the race as become; I'm beginning to think that most of the Brits are 27 year old bankers from SW London;

Personally I found today as exhausting as it was beautiful; as long as that continues I'll be a happy runner; in running terms this is truly challenging terrain, and much much tougher than I remembered; John Hunt a retired engineer from Essex who is celebrating his 60th birthday this year and thought he'd do something special for it, namely the MdS. I asked if he had any more events planned; he laughed hysterically and replied "ask me in five days"

Day 3 Report

Day 3 was a toughie. 38 km long across some extremely tricky terrain, much of it uneven stony ground occasional dunes, gravel and then more uneven stony ground. we passed through a few wadis beside some stunning scenery, flat-top mountains, dunes, a small village or two ad some "plantations". villagers seemed to be friendly on the whole, with applause and "bonjours" greeting us along the way.

Probably the biggest challenge other than the surface was the weather, hot as usual (guessing the same as yesterday 34 degrees or thereabouts), but also very breezy. SO breezy in fact the sand was blown straight into our eyes for much of the course. and, to cap it all, just as we battled our last few kms into the bivouac, it began to rain. To have so many different conditions to face, it's no wonder so many of us found it such a huge relief finishing the stage.

I was accompanied for much of the day by Neil Price, a personal fitness trainer friend of mine from London. To keep morale up he read a email to me that he had received yesterday from his girlfriend. It was very sweet and encouraged him to return home soon - sounded like it would be worth his while if he did. He was obviously keen to comply which would explain his strict routine of runing for 2 minutes and walking for one, no matter how strong the wind was or how tough the terrain;

We were joined by Stephen Barrett, a 27 year old, wait for it, yes really, banker from London. OK that's not quite fair, he's actually an ex-banker, and is using the MdS as a springboard to taking a year or two out travelling. The MdS may well prove a adventure hard to top. He assured us that he would be returning to London briefly for a few "light" celebrations with his friends first.

Charlotte completed the stage close behind me, her feet now accumulating a decent amount of blisters. She has also acquired a uncomfortable heat rash on her shins and ankles too. After a thorough session with "DocTrotter", the expert medical team, she seemed in good spirits and more confident about the 84 km stage tomorrow. Which is a good thing, because this is the stage which most runners find by far the toughest. She's done the distance before so I am also confident in her. Also, tough as this race is, I suspect it's no match for my wife.

Later after the stage I spoke with a few other runners; Charles Penruddock, a 24 year old surveyor from London, gets the prize for the healthiest penalty given by the organisers; he told me he got caught red handed trying.......

(Note from the webmaster - This is not sensationalist reporting - merely where the message finished... sorry folks....yesterdays report was broken into two emails that arrived around the same time... this is due to a 7 minute time limit imposed by the organisers for writing emails...as soon as we get the rest we'll post it.... trust us - we're just as keen to hear what the penalty was for too! :-) )

Day 4 Report

Today, Day 4 was the one most of us had been dreading more than all the others, the 82 km (51 miles) stage.

For most this would be an ordeal which would last well into the early hours of Day 5 or even later in the day. We were in temperatures of well over 30 degrees with such strong winds that most of the daylight hours were spent preventing sand from clogging up my eyes ad teeth.

Tom Lawley, one of my tent mates had pointed out before the stage even started that as he was already struggling to stumble across the bivouac site to get his morning water ration, this did not bode well for the next 51 miles. (In fact, Tom was to put in a very good time and arrive before midnight). While doing some morning surgery before he set off, Tom proudly announced that, thinking he was cutting away plaster from his feet, he was actually snipping away at one of his toes which only became obvious when he found his hands covered in blood.

Despite camp nerves, before we mustered for the start there was a spirited attempt by one of the Brit tents to get a Mexican wave going all the way around the huge circle of Berber tents.

The course was very tough, much soft sand, a field of thorn bushes atop dunettes (the French word for small dunes, not, as the word sounds, a 60's girl bad from Kidderminster), several steep rocky ad sandy passes, and a gruelling last 14k section on a deep sandy track which twisted and curved its way through the plains.

We were guided along two of the later sections by two powerful giant green laser beams. In addition, cyalume light sticks had been given to us before the night sections to attach to the rear of our packs, so we could follow runners in front.

I spent almost the entire day and night sections with my friend, Neil Price, the personal trainer with the run/walk timing routine. Sensibly he agreed to march the entire stage with me and abandoned the foolish running thing. He was also suffering from severe heat rash, which caused great brown lumpy patches to appear on his legs As Neil and I arrived at Checkpoint 5, 56.5 kms into the stage, we were joined by Tim Murphy, a Doctor from Bristol.

We marched on to the 6th Checkpoint, 11.5 km further on before Tim marched on ahead. Just as we were about to leave the checkpoint we met Mark Hanson, Strategic Intelligence expert, and one of my tent mates. His feet were in tatters ad he was clearly experiencing acute discomfort. In the event, he was to do what many runners did at this stage, which was to sensibly bed down for the night ad continue at crack of dawn on Day 5. Neil's and my last 14 kms was probably the toughest I experienced on the race, a slow slog through the night. We finally arrived at the finish at 2.45 in the morning.

I found my tent, dragged off my shoes and socks, crawled into my sleeping bag and then... cooked chicken curry. We do the strangest things. I had been starving all day, food bars not filling me up at all, and I had been fantasising about preparing this meal for myself for the last 3 hours of the stage. It was after this I fell into a deep sleep.

Day 5 Report

Day 5 began at about 6.00 for me, 3 hours after I and fallen asleep. Throughout the day I was to see other competitors complete the 51 miler and the begin to find out how it had gone for them. I can't mention everyone I spoke to, but here are a few stories of some of them.

Let's start with my heroic Charlotte who arrived after 22 hours at just after 7 in the morning. She had found the stage fairly horrible and had physically deteriorated. Her feet were to put it bluntly, a mess. Her back had acquired several grazes from her pack. She was obviously completely knackered and spent a few hours trying to sleep off her ordeal.

I reckoned if she made it this far, then it would be a fair bet that she would finish ok in 2 days time. She had also been stung by some vicious insect. Fortunately she was being accompanied by 3 other Brits at the time, Alastair Prain, ad the two Kefford brothers, Paul and Andy. Apparently there was a race between the three of them to see who could use their antivenom pump first.

All was well, eventually and Charlotte was able to continue with a huge welt on her back where she had been stung. Even after I insisted how tough she had been to complete the stage Charlotte modestly replied "I'm not tough, I'm just pretending" and then burst out giggling. But the thing is with the MdS, nobody can pretend here.

Paul Scully, a 27 year old retailer from London had a good stage, despite being In our tent - we discussed the race so far.

When Mark Hanson arrived he confessed he had been using former military motivation techniques to get him across; left, right, left, right, left, right, left. I had heard several runners/marchers talking to themselves throughout the race and had done much of my own, so it didn't surprise me that a former soldier would do the same. Hey, whatever works.

Dan Truman had been a dark horse in the tent and had made consistent progress through the week - the race was living up to his expectations. Each day his ranking had gone up by at least 60 places. Charlie Myers, another banker, TA Para, and probably the most organised guy in our tent, also happens to be the fastest. A 2.50 marathon runner he is clearly working much too hard all week. At the end of the 51 miler he had been put on a sugar IV drip by " a very sexy nurse"; I was worried he might continue trying too hard just for another opportunity to meet her again.

But at the end of every stage he can be found chilling out in the tent, rehydrating and getting himself fit enough to do well the next day. He told me he had found it hard at first coming to terms with the fact that he was finally here, actually doing the MdS after so much preparation. Once he realised he found he was overawed by the beauty of the desert and is clearly enjoying the tranquillity of it.

Rob Houston, a 37 year old network analyst from Horsham, described the 51 miler as "horrible, horrible", but was somehow still enjoying the experience. He has also raised several thousand pounds for a prostate cancer charity.

Tony Archer, 35 year old London cabbie, when asked for a printable comment about the race said only "Thank You Best of Morocco for a wonderful holiday" his tent mates then promptly fell about laughing.

Simon Prest, a 29 year old trader (really a banker) from the City has run well all week. Amazingly he's still enjoying the race. He has been living on chicken and rice every day and confessed he is now extremely bored with it. At least I think that's what he said. Simon has raised over 40,000 for Dial a Dram, a children's charity. When I asked how he decided to do the race he confessed it was the result of a very drunken bet. So inebriated was he that the organisers had to send back his application form to complete again as his handwriting had been completely illegible. Matt Yates is a 30 year old Instructing Officer admitted hating the heat and felt he hasn't bee able to run normally out here.

There is also a tragic story of a competitor who collapsed less than 50 metres from the finish lie of the 51 miler, only to be stretchered away by the Doc Trotter team. His race is now over.

Annette Fraser, from London, descried the 51 miler as a very hard day, despite completing it.

Alistair Hay had a good 51 miler - I asked him why he had come out here. He told me he ever gets any feeling of challenge like this at work and just wanted to try this. Since he started training, Al has lost 3 stone in weight.

Day 6 - Marathon Day

At the pre_stage briefing given by Patrick Bauer this morning, we were told that temperatures yesterday reached 44 degrees and were set to be higher today, with less breeze than before. This is a daunting thing to hear as you embark on a 26.2 mile footslog across the desert.

However the other amazing thing to hear is that so far, over 11,000 emails of good luck have been sent to competitors out here by their friends and families. So a Huge Thank You to all of you who wrote to us - we are extremely grateful for your support and that you have been thinking of us. It has not been possible to send reports back to Eventrate owing to slightly erratic email tent opening hours!

The course today was easier than most which explains how I was able to finish in 5 hours 50 minutes or thereabouts - a time I am delighted with. At the time of writing only Tom Lawley, Charlie Myers ad Al Hay had arrived back at my tent, though judging by the resolve shown this morning by our tent I expect all our guys to finish well. I total, about 22 runners have "abandoned" as the organisers call it. Not bad out of a total of 670 starters.

Beth Wright had an uncomfortable awakening last night. She woke to find that the tent had collapsed on her. One of the spars supporting it hit her on the head as it came down and obviously she was a bit surprised, but she completed the marathon well.

My lovely Charlotte is back in one piece. However, she is refusing to take off her shoes this evening. It was so painful putting them on before this morning before the marathon stage that she doesn't want to have to repeat the performance tomorrow morning before the final stage.

At about 9pm this evening as we were all bedding down for the night Aki Lalani arrived at the camp, one of the final two runners to get in. With a time of race time of 11.57 he just beat the two camels which sweep behind the runners and represent the cut off (and arrived in 12 hours precisely). Ali has been in considerable pain for several days and has had to cut his shoes apart piece by piece just so that he can squeeze his infected and severely blistered feet into them. At the finish line he received a hero's welcome from support crew and many runners who got up to welcome him.

The two Leslie brothers, Cameron and Nathan, completed in about 11 hours. Nathan has been struggling with a severe knee injury most of the week and his brother agreed to accompany him all day today. Despite the pain, Nathan was able (and extremely relieved) to finish. He is now looking forward to getting tomorrow's final 22kn stage over.

Everyone else that I have mentioned in my reports from the course completed the stage I think. The atmosphere in the British Village‚ (and around the camp generally) is very upbeat. Just a Half Marathon (just a Half Marathon, that is) to go. And then the finish line.

Tomorrow is just a short 22 kms, or a half marathon in old money. Hard work maybe, but I think we'll manage it somehow, even if we have to crawl on our hands ad knees! We have without doubt broken the back of the "The Toughest Footrace on Earth" now, although I am beginning to wonder if it would be more appropriate to bill it as "The Ugliest Foot Race on Earth" having seen some of the mashed paws of my fellow runners over the last few days. And I have untold admiration for every single one of them.

Day 7 Report

We were awake slightly early today, not surprisingly. It's the last day and we were all keen to get on with it, to finish off the 22km last stage, claim our medals and declare ourselves worthy finishers of "The Toughest Footrace on Earth". Success was tantalisingly close.

We rolled up our sleeping bags, kip mats and lit our stoves to cook our farewell freeze-dried breakfast in the desert. As we did so, Berbers who had been responsible for establishing and breaking down the camp each day, wandered among the tents, hoping for gifts from generous runners. A few carry sleeping bags, kettles, boil-in-the-bag meals, energy bars, gels, sweets and items of discarded clothing, no doubt gratefully handed to them by runners eager to avoid carrying unnecessary weight for the last stage.

Breakfast over, a few of us wandered up to the official start line for the 8.00 a.m. departure of the most severely mutilated runners still in the race; they were given an extra early start so they wouldn?t finish too late in the day.

One of them was Aki Lalani, a runner mentioned in a previous article. You may remember his feet were giving him chronic pain, several blisters being infected already by Day 3. In addition, he had been suffering from a stress fracture of his left tibia and had been unable to train for six weeks before the beginning of the race. Near the end of the 51 mile Day 4 stage, Aki had been in such pain he had been close to retiring from the race; removing from his backpack his emergency distress flare, he had been on the point of firing it when he remembered that he had been pledged £13,000 for a Third World children?s education charity if he successfully completed the race. Still knowing he had to cover the remainder of the 51 miler, a full 26 mile marathon 2 days later, and a half-marathon the day after, all carrying extremely painful injuries, Aki stuffed the flare back in his rucksack and resumed trudging across the soft sand into the night. And now, here he was, 3 days later, about to complete the ?lap of honour? final 22 km. Patrick Bauer, the Race Director, shouted out his now famous "Cinq, Quatre, Trois, Deux, Un, .Allez!" and the brave twenty began their agonising shuffle off towards Tazzarine, the town which would host the finish.

We returned to our bivouacs to finish packing our kit, sunblocking our exposed body parts and strapping our feet. On reaching our bivouac we witnessed a commotion of potentially disastrous proportions. Man-With-Spade had been robbed in the night of his precious shovel and was now Man- Without-Spade. Quickly nicknamed Dug-less by some less compassionate fellow competitors, Man-Without-Spade launched an investigation into the shovel?s whereabouts. Shortly after, one of the official logistics crew from the race arrived by moped, securely gripping the hastily retrieved implement. Man-With-Spade-Again was clearly delighted.

Charlotte, who had insisted on keeping her shoes on all night to prevent the certain agony of both removing them and then putting them on again in the morning, looked the most confident I had seen her all week. She was in no doubt she would finish. I hoped so too. She and I have a dreadful habit of returning to uncompleted races the following year to resolve "unfinished business" and, feeling as tired as I did and as lucky as I had been to get this far in more or less one piece, I seriously didn't want to entertain thoughts of a 2004 re-match.

At the pre-race briefing, Patrick Bauer gave us the usual daily statistics updates. Marathon day, the day before, had been a hot one, 49.9 degrees hot in fact. And today would be about the same. Throughout the week the brilliant Doc Trotter medical team had treated over 3000 cases. 13,000 emails had been received by runners from supporters. The briefing over, we all wished each other luck, the Europeans kissing each other and the Brits handshaking heartily. And then we were off.

The course was a fair one, a well-earned reasonably easy trail run of 22 km across many gravel tracks, only a little soft sand and then finally, of all things, tarmac. We hadn't seen tarmac for seven days, let alone felt it beneath our trainers. Several of us were to comment later on how long it took us to adjust to the sensation of running on perfectly flat ground.

On the way through the outskirts of Tazzarine, our final destination, we were accompanied by many children, each taking it in turns to run alongside us briefly demanding "dollar", "stylos", "bon bons" or our "bouteilles". At one point the two British runners in front of me joined in kicking a football around with an obviously delighted lonely child who had been playing on his own. It was a characteristic time-out by relieved and cheerful runners who could sense victory wasn't far away. At one point I saw a marker board, sometimes seen on the route and erected by the "pisteurs" (routemarkers) on which a runner had been doodling in heavy black felt pen. Underneath a cartoon sketch of dunes, camels and exhausted runners, the artist had written simply "Merci Les Pisteurs". A sporting gesture which I'm sure would be gratefully received.

As I neared the centre of Tazzarine the roads became wider, the children became more scarce, and we began to see, for the first time in a week, people, trucks and cars not associated with the race. I knew the finish line couldn't be far, but was still surprised when I rounded a bend in the road to be greeted by the fantastic spectacle of the Finish only tens of metres away. It was a beautiful sight. Energised by the sense of occasion I decided to steel myself for one final heroic push and accelerated all the way up to a slow jog all the way over the Finish Line.

Job done!

In the next article I will describe the race finish, giving an update on some of the runners I have mentioned previously, and attempt a suitable postscript to the race.

Final Report!

The Race Finish of the Marathon des Sables had something of a carnival atmosphere to it. The finish line itself was surrounded by photographers, organisers, runners families and supporters and local townspeople, all cheering the victorious runners home. Patrick Bauer, the Race Director, makes it his duty each year to hug and congratulate each runner personally as they arrive at their final destination. When I crossed the line I was surprised at how emotional the poor guy was, clearly overwhelmed by the spectacle of so many runners having accomplished this magnificent challenge he had set. In my rusty French I thanked him for organising such a great race and stumbled off towards the recovery tent, taking my last bottle of water from a nearby marshal and having my water ration card punched for the last time.

The recovery tent was the size of a small marquee and was littered with collapsed bodies of exhausted runners seeking shade from the now baking sun. The temperature was similar to that of the previous two days, that is about 45+ degrees. Thinking there would be no room for me amongst the sprawled runners I was offered some shade by a wall next to two young HAC soldiers, Charlie and Adam, both of whom I had seen along the race route at various times. I was relieved to see friendly faces and share mutual congratulations. They had both had excellent finishes and seemed equally elated to have finished.

Soon after, Charlie Myers, one of my tent mates, yelled at me from over by the tent.. he had seen me and found a space on the floor in the tent with Al Hay, Tom Lawley and Dan Truman, the other tent-mates who had already arrived. We swapped stories of our finishes .. Dan and Tom had had a desperate last minute 200 metre sprint home each trying to beat the other, Tom swearing it was the fastest he had ever run. A few feet away I saw Neil Price with whom I had done the 51 mile day sitting down with his tent-mates Pierre Molyneux and Paul Scully, all of whom had done excellent times throughout the week.

I was delighted to see Andy Peek, my Kiwi friend, who crossed the line a few minutes later, his feet now severely blistered from his week's horrors. Ben Williams, a personal training client of mine came in shortly afterwards looking far too fresh and enthusiastic for someone who had just covered 150 miles of the Sahara. But he was grinning from ear to ear and understandably delighted with his success. I was both pleased and relieved to see him finish as I had to bear some of the responsibility for his being here. "Do you really think I could do the Marathon des Sables?" he had asked me a year ago. "Yeahhh..no problem" I had replied a bit too casually, not expecting him to phone me a day later to tell me that that was it, he'd booked, paid the deposit and was definitely going. He'd had several injury worries in training, but his resolve and energy kept him on track so it was doubly satisfying to see him in such good form.

Just as I was growing a little concerned at Charlotte's non-appearance, I saw her in the distance, accompanying Mark Hanson, our other tent-mate, to the end. Mark had suffered horribly with foot trauma, and looked in a very rough way. But he had developed a habit of this over the last two days, and I had come to know him as a man who would probably march until he dropped, pick himself up again and keep on going regardless until the bitter end. He would have crawled on his hands and knees to finish. His incredible effort in the face of so much pain was awesome... I respected his courage and determination enormously. Charlotte had gone with him to provide moral support, despite her own chronic foot trauma and had exceeded even my own high expectations of her. It was a truly magnificent performance and I couldn't help being very very proud. I was also extremely relieved. As I may have mentioned before, we have a family rule. If you don't finish a race then you have to go back next year and do it properly. Harsh rule, but quite an incentive to keep going to the very end. Charlotte's finishing meant we wouldn't have to be back next year.

By now the day was nearing the hottest part and there were still several runners not back. The last few kilometres would be mighty hard because of the heat, so it was great to see some more friends approaching the finish together, John Hunt, who was celebrating his 60th in style this year, Kevyn Steel, a wedding magazine publisher from Essex, Beth Wright, Charlotte's training partner, and Louise Port, who had been one of my tent mates in 1998 when I first ran the race. They had spent most of the week running/marching together and the team spirit shone through.. it was inspiring to see them all finish.

As the tent gradually filled up with more runners, I noticed a few more familiar faces. Aki, the young Bristol medical student, hobbled in to the finish and collapsed, exhausted and suffering on to a cushion in the tent, surrounded by tent-mates and other supportive runners. Despite his increasingly shocking foot trauma he had survived and had succeeded in raising thousands for his charity. Kat Birtwistle, who had been very strong all week, had suffered an ankle injury during the marathon day the day before. A doctor from the Doc Trotter team told her he would have pulled her out of the race if it hadn't been the last day. Again, in acute pain, she bravely marched on to a good finish. Nathan Leslie, another injured runner with a damaged knee completed the course with his brother, Cameron. Their brotherly support had been evident all week and was heartening to witness. Despite the odds they had always managed to remain cheerful and positive, attributes I am sure contributed greatly to their success.

Charlotte, Mark, Andy and I headed to the buses to return to Ouarzazate and the luxurious five star Berbere Palace Hotel. After 8 days without washing, showers would be as welcome to us as to anyone within whiffing distance of us.

The remainder of the weekend was spent at the hotel recovering, eating fine food, sleeping, sitting at tables around the pool, or chatting in the bar. It was a good wind-down before returning to the UK. Personally I am more in favour of a quick exit after a race, preferring to get home as soon as possible. But this was part of the package so I made the most of my time at the hotel. On Monday we departed early for our 3 and a half hour flight back to London.

Reflecting on the MdS two days later I find myself attempting to work out why we all do it. The ultra thing. There is no single answer, and I am sure most runners would provide a variety of reasons. There is one thing I am fairly sure of. We are not masochists. Nor do I believe we subject ourselves to this race as a form of punishment.

Some will cite charitable fundraising as a principal reason and to those runners I have the utmost respect. True, in the past I have raised money for charity or helped others to do that. But that?s not my primary motivator.

Some value the competitive aspect, relishing the prospect of testing their stamina, strength and fitness against those of others. Unfortunately I?m too lazy and too slow to categorise myself amongst those.

Many will offer by way of explanation the sense of achievement. And I doubt any finisher would ever deny they felt they had accomplished something truly amazing.

For me there are elements of some of the above, but these reasons don't adequately answer my own question to myself which is...Why do I keep doing these races?... During the MdS this time I became aware of what other runners were experiencing, not just myself. It seems to me that every runner who competes faces enormous challenges, physically, mentally and environmentally. The environmental challenges speak for themselves, the harshest terrain imaginable coupled with extremes of temperature and extremely basic living conditions. Physically, the race takes a severe toll, whether it be through foot trauma, acute blistering, aching muscles, injured joints and tendons or exhaustion. And last, mentally the challenge seems to get progressively harder through the week. Initial enthusiasm and determination can give way all too soon to renewed assessment of the challenge, disillusionment, anguish, apprehension, fear, low morale, humiliation and loss of dignity. I know I have experienced all of these at some point in the past during races. But it is in facing these difficulties and finding the resources in themselves with which to confront and overcome them that competitors seem to discover something which is so incredibly admirable; courage, resolve, toughness, emotional strength, humour and compassion for others around them, and probably in greater quantities than they have experienced in years, if ever. What inspires me is having the privilege of being in their company. It's quite intoxicating. And I think this is what draws me back time after time and I hope it will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

I would like to thank all those runners who so generously gave me their time during the race and who shared with me their stories, blisters, humour and courage. It was a real privilege to meet you all and one I will remember for a long time to come. Until our paths cross again, I wish you the best of luck and thank you all.