Somethings Changed (part 3)

It seems appropriate that I end this blog with the final post named after the song that seems to be a recurring theme throughout my adult life: I sung the song at University, it was the first dance at my  wedding and it has been the central core to my MDS experience. I have definitely changed...

Before I commence with the content of this post, as this is my last MDS post, I want to ask the readers to please excuse the length. I probably don't want to confine it to my past... :-(

Anyhow, it is now circa six weeks since the MDS finished and I feel different. Changed for good. No return journey.

My mate Paul Garner said that after finishing the MDS the smaller, insignificant, things in life wouldn't' matter. He is right. Also, in similar vein to after the Ironman, I view no obstacle as impossible. I can conquer them all. Some I will vault, some I will climb over and some I will sneak around the side...

One thing that hasn't changed is that I always believe that my dreams will never fade and die. Some challenges just might take a little longer than first envisaged but I will conquer them all. Still, if they were easy they wouldn't be challenges in the first place...

For the last six weeks I haven't done any training. Just the odd stretching, a bit of swimming and the 'Race to Wembley'; which was an opportunity to win VIP tickets for the Champions League final at Wembley Stadium.

Throughout these last six weeks it has been painfully obvious that I need to go easy and treat my recovery with kid gloves. Pushing too hard now could result in many lost months due to injury. So I am spending a lot of time on my backside supping beer...

In fact, the doctor that was assigned to the British athletes said that we probably all had multiple stress fractures, strained tendons and were suffering from acute post traumatic stress syndrome. I even had to pull off a few toenails over the last few weeks to let the feet repair.

Finally, after six weeks: I don't feel tired; I am not crying; don't feel manic or depressed; and the visible scares have faded. All that is left is the feeling of achievement and success. Yes I really did it!!!

So, I am ready to begin training again. I am going to start light gym work consisting of light weights and core work including some drills on the bike and in the pool. This should finalise my recovery and prompt the muscles to rebuild, stronger than before ready for battle once more...

With this in mind, my thoughts are now turning to my next event. The rest of tent 144 have notionally signed up for the Costa Rica Multi-day Ultra: 200 miles coast to coast across beaches, jungles and rain forest. As soon as I secure a job I am going to press the button. I want to do this. Scrap that, I need to do this event. Having a challenge is central to my well being. It focuses my mind and provides me self esteem through achieving a goal.

So, to the kernel of this post: what worked, what didn't and what I would do differently.

What worked:

- I think my training worked. Being located in Dubai allowed me unlimited access to heat and sand. Neither can be underestimated. On the first day of the MDS, when some other Brits were making baby steps in the sand and suffering with only temperate desert weather I knew I could survive. It was a case of churning the legs. I would recommend to any person contemplating the MDS to consider getting to a beach as much as possible and maybe arrange some short breaks to somewhere hot; such as Lanzarote, Dubai, etc to get some heat work in. Either that or do Vikram Yoga or complete some runs with multiple layers of clothes on, to raise the body heat.

- Strength work: I spent quite a bit of time running with weighted backpacks,doing squats, using the step machine in the gym and doing core exercises to build up Ab and back strength. This helped going up dunes and carrying the weight. I also think it limited the risk of injury during the MDS as I had prepared my body for the stresses it would have to endure.

- Kit and preparation: every bit of kit was thoroughly researched, tested and sometimes alternative items procured and tested. I also had the advantage of knowing previous competitors so I could glean a font of information from them. Word of caution: having the right kit doesn't necessarily mean breaking the bank. Previous readers will note my reference to Jon and Jo, who wore a basic fashion hat and got Jo's mother to sew a piece of Muslin on the back. This was an adequate alternative to my £20 hat from Ininji...

- food and hydration: there is no excuse in getting this wrong. Read the Internet. See what schedules previous competitors have followed. Test some food and electrolytes on training runs and eat some sample foods at home. Then pick what works with your body and taste buds, buy them and, most importantly, stick to the nutrition schedule in the desert. You can jig around your food intake, e.g. eat your dinner for breakfast etc. Also make sure you test some snacks on your training runs. My MDS was made more tolerable through eating Pork Scratchings and Peparami during the day when my body was rejecting sweet things...

- socks, shoes and gaiter: again no excuse to get this wrong. Go to a recognised running shop, tell them what you are doing and buy a few pairs to test during training. You will probably go though a lot of trainers in training so try some out. In my opinion don't go for shoes bigger than half a size larger than your normal shoes as these, 'Clown Shoes', will bend differently than normal shoes and will rub, causing blisters. Also buy a few different types and thickness of socks. I went with toe socks with an outside layer but I tested different varieties over a six month period until I picked what worked best. Finally to make sure no sand gets into your shoes you need Gaiters. Some people didn't wear Gaiters and cut, strategically placed, holes in the shoes to let out the sand but, personally, I would never do that, especially on your first MDS. It is too big a risk. Some people went with the Raidlight Gaiters or the MDS own branded ones but I used the Sandbaggers patented Gaiters and had no problems, apart for the one that I caused. Couldn't come highly recommended

- organisation: I drilled my routine for the desert. I would only get one group of items out of my bag at one time and packed it in logical order according to my daily schedule. Very anal I know, but I was always ready first every day. Plan your routine, e.g. what are you going to do in the morning, when you get back to your tent and before you go to bed. What order are you going to need things. No point getting out your tape if you haven't got your scissors to hand, for example. Do dry runs, write down your processes and then do it in your back garden or hallway with a fully loaded bag. You might get some strange looks but it is better to do it this way than realise that you don't have a vital bit of kit during the race or be so disorganised that you leave stuff behind at the tent...

- Suppliers: I used Sandbaggers and Likeys. There are others but they worked for me. I bought different things from one or the other based on lead times and what brands they stocked. If you have too many suppliers I believe you dilute the money you spend and are just another customer. I built up a rapport with both so they would offer advice and would turn around the deliveries quickly. I am sure they do this for all customers but I knew that if they got two orders at the same time mine would be the first one they would process...

- hygiene: I had alcohol hand sanitiser. The must for any serious MDS competitor. If you get diarrhea your chances of completing the MDS are seriously reduced. Every human contact and every toilet stop should be followed with using the sanitiser. In fact any time my hands touched anything, sometimes another part of me, I used the sanitiser. I also didn't high five any locals as you don't know what the have been doing five minutes before they met you. Also pack some eye drops and some Wemmi wipes to keep you eyes irrigated and body clean. Finally, I also packed a travel toothbrush and toothpaste set...

What didn't work

- Training: even though I put it above as something that worked there were things I could have improved. I just plodded out slow mile after slow mile such that, no surprise, I was slow during the MDS. The majority of tent 144 did speed work and shorter, higher quality mileage. Some even did some cross training, whereas I stuck solely to running. My recommendation would be to do a mix. I am sure if you are contemplating the MDS you are capable of devising and sticking to a suitable training plan relevant to your talents. However, if you just want to finish it mine is a good one to follow...

Do differently

- I wouldn't have taken my fleece. I would have packed a Wind cheater as they are lighter and pack up smaller

- I took the full body Thermarest sleeping mate. In hindsight I would have taken a half or three quarter Thermarest or a foam variety, to mitigate the risk of punctures.

- I packed a stove, cooking pot and  Esbit cubes but didn't use any of them. As I can tolerate tepid food and was finishing each stage late in each day I decided to eat my food either cold or partially heated by the sun. It is up to others to decide what works best for their gut but I would test run consuming all chosen foods hot, cold and tepid and make an informed decision whether you could jettison the stove. Besides, you could even pack some Esbit blocks and borrow someone else's stove. Alternatively after someone has finished heating their water it should have enough energy to heat enough water to dilute another meal...

Despite all the words of wisdom above it would be amiss of me not to write the following words. If you plan and train for the MDS it is a maintenance race. You simply need to look after your feet, bowels, calorie intake, hydration and sunstroke. The rest is just one foot in front of the other. If you have done your training that is the easy part.

Also the MDS is about getting a few things wrong and forgetting some bits of kit. The ethos of the race is about someone overcoming challenges and maximising the relationships built within their tent for mutual gain. Besides, two people I know on the 2013 version of the MDS lost all their equipment, as their hold luggage got lost on transit, and they both got fully kitted out by other competitors and finished the race, beating me in the process...

Last words...

Now that it is over I need to get a job in Dubai. I have already made excellent progress in two weeks but haven't got that elusive job offer yet. Once I get my first pay check I want to take my wife out for a meal or away on holiday to repay her for the unwavering support she gave me. Then its time to get back to the grindstone... these challenges don't do themselves you know...

I can't believe that two years has passed and I have completed my goal. I would like to thank my wife for her support, tent 144 for being brilliant and, rather bizarrely, this blog. This blog has been cathartic, facilitated my research, got me thinking about the small percentages and also taught me a lot of new skills that are transferable elsewhere. I hope some future MDS entrant will find some of the content useful. 

I would also like to thank Mencap, mostly Ellen and Rachel, who were the fundraisers assigned to the MDS. Their support was vital to me completing the MDS and they also facilitated the creation of tent 144.

Thanks all.

So, the MDS is over; it is done, conquered, completed. What next...

MasaAlama...

The journey back to normality

The journey back to the hotel from the finish line was a tortuous one. Partially due to the speed of travel but primarily because hour bodies' were starting to hurt. As we were squeezed into a coach we couldn't follow our normal post-leg recovery ritual but I also think our minds had accepted that the war had been won and begun digested what we had completed and begun releasing hormones etc to help us come back to earth. Hopefully it would be a safe landing and not an emergency one...

The organisers had decided to release coaches in convoys so for every two coaches there was a front and back of the pack there was an official vehicle and the convoy also included a medical vehicle from Doctrotters. I think this was to safe guard our safety but also to ensure that medical assistance was on hand if someone had a funny turn from the last weeks excursion.

We arrived back at the hotel after 6-7 hours of slow driving. Luckily I was sitting next to Mat who had been handed a plastic bag containing goodies from his lovely girlfriend. The journey was a farce as our coach driver kept overtaking the official vehicle so he could put his foot down only to be reined in further down the road. We also had multiple hotel stops. Some at hotels where no one on our bus was staying at. Despite some pleas from other competitors they wouldn't depart these hotels until they got the green light from the organisers.

When we returned to the Berber Palace we were assigned back with our room mate from the initial stay and allocated the same room that we were in. We also had to find our original hold bag out of 300 other hold bags that all looked remarkably the same. Once reunited with our bags we headed to the room for the best shower I have ever had. In fact I had two: the first one to get rid of the crusted grime and the second one to get clean.

After an hour of showering we all retired to the bar. Our first stay was wracked with nerves and self doubt. This time it would be one of exhaustion, both mental and physical, and drinking beer. There was a bit of intra-tent mingling but most people kept to the other 7 souls that had shared their tent for over a week. This was primarily due to the bonds that had been built in such a short time but was also testament to how bloody difficult it was to recognise people in their civvies. Someone you had spoken to for days in their crusty desert guy was almost completely unrecognisable in shorts, T-shirt and flip flops.

After a few beers we had dinner, Freed from the other nationalities we were saved from any queue jumping. No one queues like the British...

After dinner it was more beers but you could see people flagging. Jo obviously had other things on her mind when her and Jon retired based on the look of horror and anguish on his face. I don't know what happened that night but I hope he slipped into a sleep induced coma whilst Jo was cleaning her teeth... :-)

That left the other 6 of us to contemplate having a look round the local nightlife. I won't say too much to share someones blushes but there were only four of us that went clubbing that night. One went to bed knackered whereas the other person was woken by his roommate asleep on the toilet. By calculation he thinks he was asleep on the bog for over three hours. Brilliant stuff and testament to the effort but in over miles of dunes.

So for of us went clubbing and managed to find a little hideaway that, based on the looks of the local, wasn't frequented that often by foreigners. Still, we preserved and managed to win over the local. We didn't leave the club until 4:30 the next morning, by which time I was so worse for wear that I insisted on us getting a cab to cover the 600 metres back to the hotel.

I must have challenged dozens of locals to a dance off and we were dancing on items of furniture that had never been danced on to date. I would love to go back there to see how grotty it was but also to see if the locals still dance on some of the 'podiums' we created. The locals were buying us drinks and we were returning the honour. I invented a new dance, a la 'change the light bulb' or 'big box little box' called the 'Bag De Crappe' in honour of the desert toilets.

The only blot on a good night was the shock when, after we asked whether women came to the, male dominated club, to check that it wasn't Ouzazartes 'Blue Oyster Bar', the proprietor proceeded to ring up ladies to come and dance with us. The shock when four, what we can only deduce, prostitutes came into the club to be presented to us was more scary than the highest Jebel. As good boys we ran like mad. Well, walked out of there slowly like some extras out of Cocoon...

When we got back the hotel we managed to secure more beer, despite myself stripping off whilst the hotel staff were serving us. Anywhere else in the world they wouldn't of have served us but the end of our first day transitioning back to normality was spent skinny dipping in the pool whilst drinking beer and then running naked back to our rooms, shouting "Allee" in French so people would blame them for disturbing their sleep.

The next day was a very hungover one with the first part spent at the MDS Shop picking up or race T-Shirt and buying other merchandise. Bob got his but others weren't so lucky. Basically you had to give them your race number and they would cross it off the list and give you your finishers t-shirt. Some people didn't get one as someone else had already collected it. I saw a french guy with two t-shirts. The rudeness of some people astounds me...

Even though the shop was in a hotel 200 metres down the road we remained true to form and got a taxi back. It took longer to get into and out of the cab that the journey itself. When we got back to the hotel we resumed the position at the hotel bar. A few of us simply layed on the grass. Never underestimate the healing powers of grass after over a week in the desert.

Some people had already begun to transform back to their normal persona. There were a lot of people already glued to their Blackberrys checking work e-mails and catching up with life back home. As I didn't have a job I just drunk beer.

That evening after dinner we had a special presentation for the British competitors, which Patrick turned up to. He confirmed that he spoke more English than he let on as he was laughing at Steve's jokes. I haven't mentioned much about Steve but he was another legend. He was the head UK race organiser and combined being involved with the logistics of the race with being 100% responsible for our welfare. He managed to know each and every one of us and built up a rapport on an individual level. A truly great guy.

Part of the presentation was a special auction to raise money for the official MDS charity. This consisted of them auctioning off some key memorabilia including Patrick and Steve's race uniform. Two of my tent buddies were outbidding each other on some items such that they must have overpaid on one item by a few hundred quid rather than agreeing a joined up strategy. Still, as Harry Enfield would say. it was for 'chhhharity'.

That evening was an early one as we had to be up at the crack of dawn to be transferred back to the airport. There was still time for Big Dunc to bring a lump to my throat when he gave me his MDS key ring. He said that it meant more to me than him. It is now one of my most treasured possessions. Thanks big man.

We all just wanted to get home but I still managed to squeeze in a couple of Stellas and a few Gin and Tonics. I wanted to immortalise that flight in my mind as one of victory. After a few goodbye hugs we all departed Gatwick Airport to return to normal life but never the same for our experiences.

I still had over a week till I returned to Dubai and spent the week catching up with friends and family, watching the London Marathon and West Ham but mostly drinking. I even managed to get to Spain to see my best mate, who had flown over from Australia to spend time with his family and show off his little boy. Chris said he new the challenges I had gone through to complete the MDS and how broken I was when, he, his wife and boy popped into a Supermarket to buy some possession and returned to the car to find me asleep in the foetal position on the curb. I was truly knackered.

I also spent a lot of the first week crying. I am not sure why but I think it was my brain overcoming the vast emotions that I felt. I think I was suffering for post traumatic shock similar to those who had returned from war. I always thought it was a load of nonsense. My opinion has changed now...

Well, the penultimate blog is written and I only have one more post to go until the MDS experience is over. I feel like Bilbo Baggins writing is memoirs. I will leave it a few weeks until I post the last one as it is supposed to be a reflective post on the whole experience, what worked and what didn't. I think it is still too raw to write yet. Also I don't want to post it yet because I don't want to confine this blog and the MDS to my past...

MasaAalama...
 

Stage 6 (the charity stage)

Stage 6 was a bit weird. I have never had a medal round my neck and been told that I still had a leg to go. Technically, stage 6 wasn't part of the MDS and they said that it wasn't mandatory, especially as you had your medal. However, the organisers said that you wouldn't be able to get on the coaches back to our hotel if you didn't cover the 6k.

The morning was a sad day. We all had to say goodbye to a 6 foot by 18 foot rug, two masts and some old black fabric that had been our home for over a week. Goodbye tent 144. You will never been forgotten.

All of us were very melancholy. The obsession that had been our focus was about to end. The hours spent reading books, searching the Internet, testing kit and clothing, running miles in training, arranging fund raising and lying in bed, awake through the fear of failure was about to end. Honestly, if someone had given me two choices, do the 7k and get on a coach or run the miles back to the start I know which one I would have taken. I didn't want it to end.

Still the morning melancholy paled into significance against the general bemusement as what transpired last night...

When we had finished the cigar were staggered to the food tent. We were going to eat our first normal food in days and we were reliably informed that there would be beer. Happy days

We were faced with a long queue. The thousand competitors were joined by friends and family who had come out to see their loved ones finish the race. We had run hundreds of miles with all nationalities, sharing the adventure and the way they repaid us was by pushing in and queue jumping. I was astounded at the selfishness of some people...

During dinner I had my water card and medical card on my MDS key ring. During my desperation to get a second beer I, absent minded, threw this in the beer along with my plates and cutlery. I will mention more in my next post about the kindness of Big Dunc. Basically he gave me his...

After dinner we returned to our tent. About 200 metres from our tent a French-Canadian rock band, 'Ten Foot Pole' we running through their sound check. At this point, dusk they put on the big screen a first cut of the 2013 DVD covering the race. It was quite surreal and we all felt like it was an out of body experience. Was that me? Did I really complete the MDS? Even though it was only a matter of hours ago that we got our medals it felt like years ago.

At this point I had to use the 'toilet'. I think after days of eating freeze-dried food my stomach was struggling to digest normal food. Now I need to describe the 'toilets'. Basically they we like a commode such that you took a brown bag, nicknamed 'Bag De Crappe', put it inside the seat, done your business and then tied the top and chucked it in a bin. You were spared your modesty by sitting inside a tarpaulin shaped like a wind break. The hardest thing during the MDS was going to the toilet, at night during a sandstorm. The trick was to put a heavy stone inside the back to avoid splash back...

At the point that I was in the toilet the DVD ended such that hundreds of people were stampeding back to their tents passed one of the toilet area. My tent mates informed me, when I got back, that, because it was dark and people were wearing head torches, they could make out a silhouette of me wiping my bottom. Charming...

After laughing for a few minutes about the embarassment of nearly one thousand people seeing me on the toilet the band started their set. Not only were they terrible (I think they were only booked as they spoke French and English) the singer said a comment that will stay with me for ever. The singer, not knowing her audience, bemoaned the fact that she was wearing the wrong shoes and it was making her feet hurt. Still to this day I don't know whether it was a planned joke or whether it was a faus par.

The last thing to mention that night was the disbelief that, after the band finished 1am, that the roadies then spent the entire night dismantling the stage. I slept but I know a few of the lighter sleepers in our tent didn't sleep a wink all night...

After leaving our tent for the last time. We went to the start line to witness the presentations. Our Jo came second and was up on the podium. I would be fist pumping like mad and be making a general tit out of myself but Jo took everything in her stride and remained very modest.

After the presentation the last stage of the MDS commenced and, as it was untimed, pretty much everyone walked the stage with their tent mates. Mat was greated by his girfriend at the finish line in a touching moment and then we were all hearded onto a coach back to civilisation. The MDS was over.

The next post will focus on the journey back to normality; both physically and mentally.

MasaAalama...

Stage 5

The human body is amazing. Little over 24 hours since I was on my knees, staggering over the finish line of the long day I was fully recharged on the start line of the final stage of the 2013 MDS. All I had was a marathon to smash out and I would have the medal round my neck.

Not meaning to make Jo cry again but that day was my proudest moment of the event. Yes I am proud to finish the MDS but that day I was a legend. My tent mate Jo was number two in the female race and I was reliably informed that it was unlikely, with only 20% of the race to cover, that she would be displaced from the podium.

During that morning's briefing we were informed that there would be a presentation that evening at 4:30 for the top three in both the men's and female race. Based on a start time of 8:30am that meant that I had to finish in eight hours or less to witness the crowning of my mate. Unfortunately my pace that week told me that this would be a struggle. My 'personal best' that week for 7 hours 30 minutes over only 23 miles. Could this be possible?

Also that day was the hottest day at 54 degrees and the 26.2 miles was dunes, dunes and more dunes. This day was savage...

Still, after 10 miles I was on pace crunching out the miles. I was running/walking with people I had only seen at the bivouac. Spurred on by there encouragement, as I was telling anyone who would listen that I couldn't stop or slow down to talk. I had a presentation to make.

I was passed by Jack at 14 miles but re-overtook him during one tough stretch of dunes. Whilst I was flying he was struggling. I think he was suffering with heat stroke or dehydration. The fact that some people dropped out of the race that day what Jack did was total hardcore. He just kept going and I was very proud to be his friend when he collapsed into the tent with his medal.

Based on the fact that I was never in front of Jack, apart from the first 10k of stage three, all week I knew I was going good. Then, to my total surprise, I was overtaken by Mat. I had not seen Mat all week. Not even in the checkpoints. Still, the guy had just spent, 45 minutes being forced by the Doctrotters to down a litre of water before they would allow him to leave the haven of the checkpoint.

Mat was obviously feeling better as he was picking up the pace. So much so that I was struggling to keep up with him. If I could keep me him eye shot then I knew I was going at a good pace. I think I lost him at Checkpoint three, at which time I was informed I only had 10k to go and I had reached it in 6 hours. I was, whisper it quietly, doing this... :-)

I climbed the last big hill and saw another stretch of dunes. This was the last stretch of dunes and it was done. At this point I reverted to doing a minute for people however, rather than keeping me going on the long stage, this was a celebration. This was keeping me running. This was doing a minute honouring their part in my journey throughout the MDS. Whether it was simple encouragement; whether it was joining me for training runs; whether it was advice from previous MDS finishers or borrowing there kit; whether it was them sponsoring me; or whether it was them giving me money for Christmas so I could buy kit I was honouring them. I wouldn't have been 6 miles away from realising a dream without them.

I had read that Paula Ratcliffe continuously counted to one hundred over and over again during the London Marathon to distract her mind from the pain she was in during her world record marathon. I was following one of my own techniques to distract my mind from what was going on in my shoes. Ouch.

Still, every minute became one minute and then became an hour and over the last dune I saw a derelict mining town. After running through the streets encouraged on by the applause of some locals I could see the finish. All I had to do was run 5k in under an hour and I would be back home under eight hours. At this point I reverted to running a kilometre for 5 people. First it was Dad, then it was Carol, then it was Mum and the penultimate kilometre was for my wife Becs.

Now, I am not known as a selfish person, but the last kilometre I was selfish and I didn't give a jot. That last kilometre I ran in honour of myself. My sorry big butt that I had dragged over circa 150 miles of dune. That I had carried along over 2000 miles in training on soul destroying runs in Dubai. This last kilometre was for me...

Low and behold I was there, 50 metre from the line and I started to blab. I was about to complete the MDS. Five metre from the line I regathered myself. No one lines to see a 6 foot Englishman blabbing like a baby. Its just not the done thing so I was stoic on the finish line. Patrick gave me a kiss on each cheek, a quick cuddle and then put my medal over my head. I, Ian Deane, had just completed the MDS.

I then got my West Ham flag out of my front pack and raised it over my head for the finishing picture. Just at this point three men who had already finished and where cheering on people at the finish line, shouted "Come on You Irons". Amazing even in the Sahara there are always another Hammers fan.

I staggered back to tent 144 and, unlike usual when I am dead last to finish, this time I was fifth to the amazement of the other 4. It was at this point that a french organiser popped his under the lip at the front and informed us the presentation had been postponed till the morning. If I had any strength I would have killed him. I then basically collapsed on the floor and proceeded to drink water to cool down. My tent mates even let me partake in some allotted nipple tweaking too.

Jack came home and was goosed too. Then Big Dunc until finally Bob was home too. Tent 144 had its 100% finishers. We had all done it. Bob went to the Doctrotters whilst I reviewed my feet. The right foot was perfect but the left was definitely not. All toenails were black. I had a blood blister the size of a golf ball on my hill and I even managed to pull the tip of my little toe off when janking off my Micropore tape off... Ouch.

Still, Bob returned and said he had broken two toes so my feet were forgotten by my brain as I was proud that Bob, who was my size, had completed the MDS with broken toes. He also informed us that they had said that he couldn't do the charity race the next day. They also said that because of that he wouldn' receive his finishers t-shirt. I was livid.

Bob was the guy who got me through the long stage. There was no way I was having that. So I got up a remonstrated/went nuts with the organisers. After about an hour of ranting Leia came over and after ranting again for a while she just calmly said he would get his t-shirt, officially or unofficially, as she was manning the shop the next day anyway.

Once my blood pressure returned to normal we all just sat there on the floor outside our tent, I lit my cigar that I had carried round the desert and we all shared this 'Victory Cigar'. What could go wrong... I will tell you how our evening transpired in the next post dedicated to the charity stage.

MasaAalama...

Bivouac day

Similar the to the start of the first dance at my wife's and my wedding, I write these words... many miles up above the world flying back to Dubai, drinking whiskey sitting at the bar... It's not all bad, especially for a boy from the wrong side of the railway tracks...

Well, so I got into the tent after the long stage at about 7am, after picking up my water for the day, and plonked myself down on the floor. What would I do for the 24 hours till I had to run the final leg of the timed segment of the MDS, albeit there would still be one final 7k fun run left to do?

The answer categorically, was eat, eat and, oh, more eating. That day I ate over 5,000 calories. Everything from breakfast, two dinners, two deserts, pork scratchings, pepperami, harribos were knocked back washed down with gallons of water. The whole idea was to replenish my depleted Glycogen stockpile so that I was ready to rock again for the Marathon the next day. I have come this close so I wasn't going to fail now.

Life in the tent was surreal. Not because it wasn't normal but, ironically, because how normal it felt. We had only been living in tent 144 for 7 days and it was as comfortable as a friends' parents houses after countless years. You name another scenario where eight people could sleep on a 6 foot by 18 foot rug after only knowing each other for seven days and it would feel normal. I can't think of one.

I have already alluded to the fact that we all woke up in the morning at sunrise and then scampered to get organised before the Berbers took down the tent and exposed you to the outside world. I, managed every morning to be in my shorts and well on my way to being prepared, by the time they demolished our home, but others weren't so lucky...

Our morning routine consisted of picking up your water rations, hopefully from the cute French girl "who-er" as Mr Pacino would say; eating our breakfast; getting into our race gear; taping up our feet and squeezing them, screaming, into our shoes; packing up our stuff and then heading to the holding pen at the start line. Thankfully today we didn't have to do any of that.

All we had to do was lie there eat and tell stories all day. It was great. Other days I topped and tailed the day with my tent mates but today we spent 24 hours together; and I lapped it up. Story followed story. Everyone joined in with their own anecdotes of home, work, upbringing etc. Some of it was dark humour but most of it, in keeping with our personalities was moving and inspiring. We just spent the day telling stories and eating.

I will mention it again in the wrap up but one thing I, personally, would do different if I ever did the MDS again, would be to leave my stove and pot at home. I simply poured cold water into my store and pour bags and then left them in the sun to hydrate and heat my food. All the others in the tent used their stoves and esbit cubes; which are like fire retardant BBQ firefighters. I remember Jon questioning whether it was only him that had Asbestos esbit cubes. Anyhow, I am realiably informed that three of these cubes could heat up enough water to hydrate a main meal.

My daily food intake consisted of porridge for breakfast, Peronin shake for lunch and a dinner followed by desert in the evening. All of the meals were low weight and high calorie. During the day I filled my face withs mixture of peanuts, pork scratchings, jelly beans, pepperami, cliff bars and/or other calorific snacks. Also, during the long day I simply multiplied my entirely daylight food intake by two...

In the evening I would hydrate my SIS Recovery shake and drink this whilst lying on my back with my feet elevated. Once finished, I would the have a second shake and resume being on my back with feet elevated but this time I would have my shoes off. Once I had finished my second shake I would then start hydrating my dinner and then investigate the feet. After dinner I would resume being on the deck mostly just lying there in a ridiculously stripy pair of underpants or sometime naked to cool off. In fact at some point I think we were all lying there cooling off in the buff...

It is probably at this point that I need to fess up the most disturbing thing my comrades in arms found about me: my nipple tweaking. Since returning from the desert, I have actually found out that, even, my own wife finds thus disturbing. So, in the vein of Alcohol Anonymous, I, Ian Deane am a nipple tweaker. Not in a bad way, I plead, but simply to cool down. I have always been ridiculously ticklish and tickling my nipples has always had a dramatic effect on my core temperature. However, if you are sleeping half a foot from a stranger I do see why that might prove to be a bit... well you know what...

Before I sign off I want to provide four links:

First is of Jack and another finisher promoting British Beef through being tough as nails:

 http://www.fwi.co.uk/articles/24/04/2013/138760/epic-desert-challenge-raises-thousands-for-charity.htm#.UXk2-fJc96g.facebook

The second is of Jo and Jon in their local newspaper:

Xxx

Thirdly it is of me proudly displaying my West Ham flag at the finish line, ironically blocking 90% of the finishing branding:

Xxx

and; finally a website about the negative effects of the MDS both mentally and physically for those who think its a walk in

Xxx

As I finish this post in Notes on my iPad I have the choice: go to bed, write another post or keep sitting at the bar drinking whiskey. I know what my money is on...

As I am now on route back to the U.A.E., I will revert to my adopted sign off:

MasaAlama...

Abridge to blog

Before I commence posting the latest post of my blog about the last two stages and the 'return to normality I feel obliged to include an abridge...

When I first arrive back in Dubai I felt very depressed and isolated from my friends and family however, one cuddle from wifey and life was all good again. I have missed her. I couldn't do anything without her she is like the oxygen in my lungs; a lifeline...

That said, beer in hand, I turned on my iPod and within minutes I was listening to Dire Straits' "Brothers in Arms" and I was in floods of tear. Tent 144, you are my brothers, and sister in arms, but special note to Bob as apart from my "f off for five minutes" comment he got me through that long day when I wanted to check in the towel.

The second reason for this abridge is to include some links:

- One focussing on Jack:

Epic Desert Challenge

- One written by the winner of the women's race:

On Believing- Meghan Hicks

- A link to an article about Jo and Jon (you might need to subscribe to get access):

Local Couple Conquer Desert

- On being there for others during MDS:

Darkness to Light

- website about the stresses, mentally and physically, of doing the MDS and the post-MDS blues:

Post Race Blues

 

Stage 4

Where to begin? Where to begin indeed...

I have had tougher days than the day (and night) of stage 4, only a handful but some. However I would have to say that the day of 10th April was the longest of my life...

Before commencing with the write up of stage 4 I should fill an ickle gap in stage 2: I have remembered who the dick of the day was. Me. When looking through my notes from the desert I had a scribble that said that I started to descend the wrong way down the final jebel such that one of the marshals had to peg it after me and show me the correct route. This doesn't sound that bad but I then had to climb back up the hill from hell such that I climbed the top 25% gradient sections twice, once from each side. What a dick...

Also on day three there was a second contender for dick of the day. There's a trend here. Also me. I ran 10k with the youngest UK competitor, Gemma, who had her name on her race number, written on her hat and on her backpack. I still spent over two hours calling her Rachel...

Anyhow, stage 4. Regular readers of this blog will remember that my adopted anthem for the MDS was to be the Stone Roses' classic "This is the one". In reality it was the long day that was the one as it is this, long stage that symbolises the MDS.

Every day comes with a, rather generous cut off, and the long day was no different: 34 hours. However the real target is to do the long stage in one day so you have twenty four hours to cover 44 miles. This equated to finishing by 8:30 am on the 11th April based on the starter gun going off at 8:30am on the 10th.

One of the best bits about the long stage is that they hold back the top 50 runners for an additional three hours so they begin at 11:30. The beauty of that is when the leading runners pass you. Whilst it might sound as if that would be irritating but it was very moving.

The elites were very graceful and humble whilst the rest of us would stop and applaud. It was great seeing the remaining Anshal brother in action. It was great seeing the leading Brit (a guy called Danny Graham) pass as he looked like he was on a fun run around Clapham Common: no sweat, no hat and no sunglasses...

It was mainly great seeing Jo pass as that was the first time I had seen her in action. She was effortless, like a Gazelle galloping passed. Me and Bob saved the biggest cheer for our Jo. Truly moving. You go you little legend we were thinking. We were bursting with pride.

One of big problems with stage 4 was that it was the hottest day to date, topping it at 54 degrees Celsius around 3pm when Rob and I was in the dune section. So them poor elites had to run the whole 44 miles during the hottest part of the day. Legends absolute leg ends every last one of them.

So the gun went off at 8:30 and Bob and I settled I to our pace for the day. We were roughly covering 10k every 2.5 hours. For the first 15-20 miles we were chugging along quite nicely chatting merrily comparing my best Hammers team with his Fulham legends 11. Going through the best England Rugby team of our life and the worst England Football team.

It was probably around 5pm that afternoon that the wheels started to come off. Basically I was starting to get goosed. The last three days of 65 miles was catching up with me. As we were approaching the third Checkpoint around the 20 mile point at dusk I was starting to lag behind Bob. 

At Checkpoint 3 the volunteers were handing out the light sticks that you had to hang from your back and each competitor was getting the head torch to hand ready for nighttime. The reason for the light sticks is the you can guide the person behind and so on. It was a truly magical sight.

Also the race organisers kindly hung a multitude of these glow sticks from any available tree and painted rocks on the route with glow in the dark paint. They also kindly located a laser at the penultimate checkpoint to guide you 'home'.  Supposedly this laser was so humongous that it could be seen from the International Space Station. I bet Blowfeld wish he'd have had such an impressive laser...

It was, I think, at this point that Patrick, the Race Director, was starting to win me over. At the start I thought it was an egotistical dick but gradually I warmed to him. From standing at the bottom of the tough Jebel on day two to being up all night on the long day fretting about the safety of the competitors to kissing every finisher on the finish line when presenting the medals he actually is a nice guy. A rich guy based on 1000 people paying £3.5k to enter his race but a nice one none the less.

As Bob and I left Checkpoint 3 the pace was beginning to fade along with the light and it wasn't long before we were only going at a mile an hour. Quick maths, and yes I did check it with others Phil, and I worked out at this pace I wouldn't get back into camp before the magical 8:30am time. 

As darkness fell we also hit about 10k of dunes that you couldn't see until you were literally climbing up them. When we reached the peek I was so tired that sometimes I would fall down the other side. At one such dune, trying to cheer me up Bob informed me that we only had about 5k of dunes when I classically told him to "do one" or something of similar ilk. You can't help some people...

Whether because of that comment of the fact that he was fairing better than me with regard to pace we got separated for the last 10k. The famous saying is that the darkest hour is the hour before dawn and never a truer word has been uttered.

Separated from my brother in arms I staggered through the desert inching my way closer to the end. My entire goal at that point was to keep going each successive minute safe in the knowledge that if I could keep going for one minute I could keep going for the next. Every minute was dedicated to friends and family. I even think the Milkman had a minute crawled in his honour.

I also had a picture of one of my god sons in one hand and one of my sister's boy in the other to remind me of a better place. Eventually a minute became two minutes, two  minutes became 10. Eventually I reached an hour and then a truly astounding sight behold me; the sun crept over the horizon and I could see that I was around a mile from home.

I zoned in on camp and then sprinted the last 100 metres over the line never more relieved to get to the end. I finished at circa 6:30 in the morning, inside the 24 hour mark. I knew then 100% that I would finish the MDS. I only had a marathon to go...

I worked out that I had spent 5 minutes in each of the six checkpoints so that meant that of the 22 hours I had spent half an hour sitting down with the remaining 21.5 hours ticking off the miles. It was a long day...

Back at the tent I was relieved to find that everyone else was in one piece and still in the race. I knew then that tent 144 would definitely have a 100% record in this years MDS.

I was taking off my shoes noticing that I would probably lose every toe nail on my left foot. Partly due to swelling but mainly as a consequence of me crushing the toe box of my shoes when trying to tape up a hole in my gaiters. It was at this moment that Graham came out with his 'Dossard' moment.

Now I am informed that Dossard means number in French. On the top of each person's email sheets it had your race number so mine was Dossard: 660. Graham saw Dossard on the top of one of the other's sheet and uttered the immortal words, "I didn't realise your name was Dossard". What a dick... ;-)

Anyhow, getting on flight now back to Dubai so these is the last post for the day. I hope to write most of the remaining post whilst in the air and will then post a flurry of posts tomorrow when I land.

I will in my wrap up declare my undying love for the people of tent 144 but as I sit here in the Virgin lounge, supping a Gin and Tonic, depressed to be returning 'home' I miss my friends and family already but I add to that list seven of the dearest people I could ever have met. Tent 144 forever...

TTFN...