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...

Stage 3

Well, by now I was getting tired, not in my knees tired, that could wait for another day, but tired none the less... The big problems was that I had only covered 32 miles so less than even a quarter of the race so I had still to traverse over 120 miles yet powered by my little leggies.

After day two's horrors day three was actually not that bad. Yes we had sand dunes, yes we had high-30s, yes we had salt planes and yes I had to cover 24 miles that day but a least I couldn't see any sodding hills that were probably mountains in the road book.

Day three was actually quite fun as we had lots of dunes that you could 'slide' down...

I am hoping that when I get back to Dubai and finesse each post I will also be able to add the each stages race map and discriminate so you can all get a flavour of the course. Obviously you had to have been there to truly emphasise with us but at least you will have some context.

Day three was pretty uneventful so it was a case of chugging out the miles. I also actually run for the first time. When I say run I actually mean a faster walk but what the heck. My logic was that, as I was faced with long, 44 mile stage the next day I could with smashing, as Bob would say, stage 3 and spend more recovery time on my back with feet elevated. That was the plan and thankfully it come to fruition. So I got back in camp after 7.5 hours rather than the usual 8.5 hours... Not quicker but worth it!

At this point I probably should describe what I was wearing as it all worked. Only about 5% of my body was exposed to the elements and I was managing to keep reasonably cool. So it must have worked.

I wore ROCULITE trail shoes and had glued on them Sandbaggers' specially patented gaiters, which are made out of parachute material and come up to your knees. I then had a pair of twin skinned Under Armour shorts. Basically two layers attached to each other.

I then had a HH long sleeve skin top that is fast wicking to wick away the sweat. Over this I had the long sleeved Railraiders 'Mencap' branded top that was like an airy blouse. I then had a buff of one wrist, to wip away the sweat, and one around my neck to pull up over my nose and mouth during a sand storm. 

I had a pair of Adidas Evil Eye sunglasses which were like swimming goggles and a desert hat which had the flap covering the back of your neck. This was also one the genius bits that Jo and Jon did to save money. They had a normal fashion hat and got Jo's Mum to stitch some Muslin on the back. It just proves you don't have to spend vast amounts of money on the MDS if you are creative.

I will describe more about my food and general kit in a later post but that will suffice for now

I will keep this post short as stage 4 will probably be like 'War and Peace' but I will end on one transformation that was occurring in tent 144. We were beginning to sabotage our fellow tent mates so that they won 'Dick of the Day'.

Even though we were a tent of 8 we were almost like mini teams. I would 'run' with Bob; Jack and Dunc would keep each other company; Graham, Mat and Jon would be racing; and poor Jo would be on her own battling against the other nationalities at the front, flying the flag for tent 144 and Britain...

During one of these love-ins, Mat said to Jon, "I think that snow over there". To which Jon, gullibly replied "nah, it can't be...". We had our Dick of Stage 3. Jon step forward and take a bow...

Now to begin writing stage 4. It's going be emotional so Bob, "will you just f off and leave me alone for three minutes..." ;-)

TTFN...

Stage 2

Some feedback from readers to date have said that I need to proof read my posts as the contain spelling mistakes and grammar errors. I know... :-( unfortunately I have been a detail man, as my Mathematics tutor from university can testify, but also it is nigh on impossible to correct mistakes in Google Blogs using an iPad so people will have bear with me till I get back to Dubai, when I will have access to a laptop...

Also, i have received some feedback from the good people of Tent 144 on the first handful of posts, and rather than appreciating me for, trying to, defend their good name, they are concerned that I am painting them in bad light. They think that I am going soft on them such that I should contain more of the good stuff..

so... By day two we had worked out the queue in the morning to ensure that we would be 'served' by the cute French bird when picking up your rations of water. We all made sure we were in her queue such that it became obvious to the other 'Watergirls' that we thought the had been hit by the ugly tree. Still, even on day two it was a well earned victory in the morning to see her cute face and piercing green eyes...

Also at this point I need to mention the excellent 'Princess Leia' and Tom; the Reps that work for Run Sahara whose job it is to make sure each British competitor maximises their experience in the desert.

Tom was the rep who was assigned to our tent so we saw a lot of him but we also saw a lot of Leia, especially as she was probably the first English person each of us saw as we went over the line.

Tom quite simply is a legend. Without him I don't know whether I would have completed the race. His instructions, given to us through the front of our tent, about the next day were a lifeline and he also doubled us as the postman, regularly handing out our emails from home.

I will always remember Leia. Mainly because she is hardcore. She has rowed solo across the Atlantic and is currently running a training camp in Lanzarote to fund her solo row across the Pacific. Secondly, and more importantly, it was how she introduced herself to Graham and I. The classic line of "hi I am Leia and I am not good at long term relationships" will live with me forever.

The long stage, stage 4, might have been the longest leg of the MDS but stage 2 was, in my opinion, the toughest. Dragging my sorry butt over three Jebels and multiple sand dunes to cover the 18 miles that day was torturous. Day one felt years ago and I knew then what competing in the MDS felt like.

Now Jebel I think means large hill in French but the word doesn't do justice to what we conquered. The first jebel was probably half the height of Canary Wharf and made entirely of sand. This took me over half hour to climb. Anyone that has used a Stepper machine in the gym will sympathise with what I am about to type. Each step was one step upwards and then 0.75 downwards, as you continuously slipped back in the sand...

On the second Jebel I felt like Frodo or Sam out of Lord of the Rings. This Jebel was probably again half the height of Canary Wharf with a 15% gradient but, unlike the first which was up and down, you were presented with a ridge when you got to the top. This ridge was probably 3-5k long with a shear drop either side.

The winner of the men's race said that the 2013 vintage of the MDS was the toughest he had done. When saying that I am sure that ridge was very much at the front of his mind. This ridge was never ending. You had to watch your footing, without sounding dramatic, as you could have plummeted to your death. I even had to climb over one competitor as she was suffering with vertigo. 

Still, half way through traversing the ridge I was passed by the French Fireman carrying the said wheelchair so I just 'manned' up and carried on.

After 'sand boarding' down the dune at the end of the ridge we were then faced with our first salt plane to get the checkpoint one. It was at this point that me and Bob got separated as he was covering the ground quicker than I was; such that he had to go on as I didn't want to slow him up.

Throughout the 3k across that salt plane all of us were gazing at the horizon and questioning whether the organisers were, seriously going to take us up what lay ahead; the biggest hill I have ever seen. As you got closer and closer you could make out a line of ants up this hill such that, then and only then, you knew you had to get up and over this to finish the day.

At this point I should mention a species of ants that live in the desert so you know how tough the MDS is. We mentioned these ants countless times in our tent. These ants have been selected and genetically modified over hundreds of million years through survival of the fittest to live in this most challenging of environments. These mutant ants who have outlasted their contemporaries only spend ten minutes at a time out in the saharan sun and the scamper under ground to cool of. We all were out in the midday sun and didn't have that luxury. Hardcore...

Once checkpoint two was over there was probably another 2k to the base of this 'mountain' by which time you could actually make out that these ants were in fact people. A quick referral with the race book said that one bit of the climb was 25% gradient and it was starting to get warm. I climbed this jebel at three in the afternoon and it was probably mid-30's in the sun.

Every couple of steps up this thing took minutes and after a handful of steps you had to sit down to catch your breath an collect your thoughts for the next bit. Surely it couldn't get any worse. However, the last bit of the climb was sand, was 25% gradient and directly in the sun. Thankfully the organisers had, kindly, provided a rope as I dragged myself up thIs in all fours.

Secretly, and I know they won't tell me, my fellow tent mates were concerned about me dropping out that day, especially as the final jebel almost broke even the fittest and toughest competitor. I even passed a couple of people who had bailed on this climb and were descending back down they way they had climbed.

I will remember the look, mainly in Graham's eyes, when I poked my head under the tent lip on arrival into camp. They knew that I had conquered that day and wouldn't give in lightly. I think at that point we looked at each other and realised that tent 144 had a good chance of having a 100% success rating, whereby we all would have completed the MDS.

I can't actually remember who got Dick of the Day that day. I think we all still stunned by Bob's admission on day one about his shorts that we felt he should still retain the 'honour'. However trust me there are some beauties to come, including Graham's "Dossard" comment. If you want to do some homework ahead of my post about stage 4 look up what Dossard means in a French-English dictionary to see if you can second guess what he did...

That night, after my recovery routine, I actually fell into a exhaustion induced deep sleep and had a good night sleep. Only to find out the next morning that I had probably kept up half the whole camp with my snoring...

TTFN...

Stage 1

Like all things in life there are good points, less good points and some quite frankly bloody awful points. This day was one of them all rolled into one.

Usually the first day of the MDS is the lightest mileage to ease you into event. This year the organiser, Patrick Bauer, decided, in order to be be able to have an un-timed 7k fun run on the final he had to front load the event. This meant that the normal distance on circa 14 miles was increased to 24 miles.

The problem with this was it meant that every competitor had to contend with running further with a fully loaded rucksack. Mine topped in at 13.5 kilos including 1.5 litres of water and the mandatory flare. In retrospect I was happier running the extra 10 miles on day one when I was fresher than I would of been if they we on day 7, following the usual schedule.

The good points were the fact that simply after planning and training for two years I was actually doing the MDS plus the fact that day one wasn't that warm, topping in at 27 degrees around 2-3 pm.

The day was pretty uneventful as the terrain was reasonably flat and green compared to some of the later days and, because I was fresh, it wasn't much of a struggle. That said the 24 miles still took me just over eight hours as my strategy was to ease myself into the race.

It was blindingly obvious that not everyone shared this strategy as the pace by the majority was pretty aggressive from the off. AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" was still ringing in my ears when I found myself flat last in the race. Still by Checkpoint 1 this pace was already catching up with some to such an extent that people were already being treated by the medics.

Now is probably a good time to introduce a few concepts that are a trend throughout the event: Doctrotters, Checkpoints, starting procedure and regular competitors. 

Before doing that, I like sports presenters on the news, need to say, "look away now if you don't want to know the scores". There are a few spoilers in the next handful of paragraphs that a reader who will be doing the MDS won't want to know now because it will ruin the shock factor of the event in similar vein to having a sneak peeks at your presents before Christmas Day.

Checkpoints: these are the Oasis of the race. An opportunity to refuel and rest your bones before proceeding back out into the wilderness. Roughy every 10k on route you enter over a timing mate such that people back in friends and family can track your progress for the comfort of their PCs. Firstly a volunteer will ask you some general health questions then give you your water allocation. Usually one 1.5 litre bottle but on certain, tougher legs, you got given three litres in two 1.5 litre bottle. 

After this you then scampered to find a bit of shade cast by the side of one of the Land Rovers. There you decanted your water allocation into your race bottles, devoured some food, checked your feet and general health and probably have a moment of reflection. Finally you staggered to your feet and left the Checkpoint by the back door zoning in on the next one.

Doctrotters: anyone that has seen The comedy MASH should be able to envisage what I am did ribbing. Basically the organisation Doctrotters were a field hospital, generally fixing people's feet but also had the capability to treat to the more serious conditions. The two most serious conditions I heard was a fellow Brit blowing a hole through is had with a faulty flare and A other Brit having to have replacement soles for his feet made and glued to the bottom of his feet after they planed off his soles... Very rare and they both completed the race. Hardcore...

Doctrotters staff were everywhere such that you we only a short distance from a Land Rover or helicopter to be rescued and/or treated.

Starting procedure: Every morning around 8am we were mustered into a holding pen behind the start line to receive instructions for the day. As Patrick was unwilling to show of his English we had the most inept English translator to inform the English speaking competitors what was been told by him in his native Franch. Seriously they should have got Mr Bean, that was how bad she was. One classic was when Patrick told the French speakers to have two salt tablets per 1.5 litres she told translated that into two salt tablets per day. Dangerous. She was so bad there was rumours of impropriety...

Once the instructions we complete the countdown started and the music was switched on always finishing with AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" as the gun was fired. Usually the first couple of kilometre competitors had to endure a fly over by the TV helicopter such that we were in our first sandstorm of the day.

Regular competitors: despite people thinking I am now hardcore I pale into significance against some people. One guy completed the MDS with only one leg, using a blade and crutches to get round. There were a few blind people that had a guide to navigate them round. One Brazilian lady was 79. Three leathery old men were in there 25th out of 28 MDS races. A team of French Fireman carry a disabled child in a specially designed wheelchair round the course. Finally a Japanese man completed the race dressed in a fancy dress Cow suit. I doff my hate to you all!!!

I was pleased to lie down and commerce my recovery routine that evening, which I will describe in a later post, safe in the knowledge that whatever happened I had successfully completed one stage of the MDS when we had our first Dick of the Day moment, that broke the shared tension in the tent.

My 'Brother in Arms' Bob mentioned his pearler. He said that he was chaffing more than normal that day, almost straight away. He also lamented that, "I didn't understand it as he had done miles of training in these shorts and never chaffed". It was then he admitted that he had run the first day of the MDS with his shorts accidentally back to front. We all cracked up. The tension was gone. Tent 144 had its inaugural Dick of the Day and we went to bed happy campers excited about what was in store during Stage 2.

TTFN...

The journey to the desert

Usually I am most nervous when I have entered a race and I am starting my training. Usually these nerves reduce the closer I get to race day as my confidence around complete that event increases.

This was the same with the MDS as I ticked off the miles and my kit begun forming a pile on my bedroom floor. However, when I was sitting on a specially chartered plane at Gatwick surrounded by some of the toughest people I had clapped eyes on, my nerves came rushing out, almost out of every pore in my body. The nerves were palatable as I doubted my own credence to rub shoulders with these people. Was I really hardcore or was I just playing at the MDS?

These nerves only fully subsided when I took my first steps over the first days start line as, at that moment, I realised I wasn't playing at the MDS such that i felt that I could look my fellow competitors in the eyes as an equal.

As I commented on during a previous post, way before leaving for the desert, one of the reasons I enter these, mad, events is that 'drug' you get standing on the start line, questioning whether you will complete that event. It is during that sobering cold moments that you learn what you are made of. It is more intense than, what feels like, multiple years at home, at work or during education. 

In my opinion, you don't wake up one day mentally tough it is 'garnered' as a labour of love over many years of mini victories and defeats such that I knew that when I took my first step over that line that I would soldier on to the finish line, over whatever obstacles and challenges that lay ahead. 

Anyway, the specially chartered plan took just under four hours to arrive in Ouzazarte, a Moroccan town that relies on being the hub of local import and export; as well as tourism. The airport was similar to any small regional airport that you find in Spain or Greece, such that it took some people over two hours to get through immigration and be driven the ten minute transfer to our hotel: The Berber Palace.

Now if I ever return there as a tourist this Oasis-esq hotel would be brilliant, but most of us were too tortured and wracked with nerves to enjoy the five facilities on offer.

After dinner with my new found mates we all retreated to our rooms for a restless night sleep with someone who was a complete stranger only hours ago. Only on the MDS could you sleep in twin room with a stranger of the same sex and not feel sleazy. Not that I have done that in the real world. I promise...

We were instructed at dinner by our Reps to be up, bright eyed and busy tailed, the following day ready to depart for the first camp by eight am. We all were crusty eyed but everyone was up and ready for battle.

The journey to the start line consisted of a, circa, 5 hour coach ride through increasingly barren terrain being driven by a coach driver whose child ambition must of be to have been a rally driver later in life! We all departed the bus with queasy stomachs on arrival.

The two highlights of the coach journey was the excellent pack lunch provided by the organisers and the sight of nearly 300 men all relieving themselves at successive toilet breaks. The lowlight was Big Dunc falling off the coach atone of the said toilet beaks and scuppering his racing prospects before he'd even made one step.

When we arrived at our 'destination' we were presented with the sight of our first camp on the horizon as we well shepherded into army trucks to stomach the remaining 5-10k over dunes; terrain that we would have to run over only a few days hence.

Arrival into the camp came with the rush to get a good tent as the position of your tent in the camp was the same every night after you had completed that days run. As Mat, aka Radar,was on an  earlier bus he had already secured us our home for the next few days such that from that moment forward us eight were know as 'Tent 144'.

The next couple of days was spent alternating between getting used to 'living' in a tent, queuing for food, arguing with the other nationalities because they didn't queue for food and registration for the race.

Registration day was bittersweet. We were all relieved to rid ourself of the hold bags that would return back to the Berber Palace to be picked up on our arrival post race but we all wracked with nerves as we went through a succession of 'interrogations' about our kit and general health.

Poor Jo got the mucky end of the stick as the organisers had obviously researched all of us and recognised her as a threat to the reigning champion for 2012; who happened to be French...

Any how after three tumultuous days we woke on the morning of the 6th April from our sleep to the sound of the Berbers taking down tents and the silence of people preparing themselves for battle. The MDS was about to begin. Bring it on...

The next post will centre on stage one and then subsequent posts will centre on each successive stages until I conclude with a retrospective autopsy on what worked, what didn't and what I would improve if I ever, and trust be I won't, entered the MDS again.

TTFN...

Tent 144

It might sound dramatic to the uninitiated person who has never contemplated doing the MDS, but I feel truly honoured to have shared my MDS experience with 7 of the best people I could have met.

 

There are probably only a handful of other meetings with friends and family that compare. My first day at school meeting my class mates, being put in halls of residence with my University mates and meeting my wife in a bar aside the good fortune meeting the other seven Tent 144 comrades is astounding. 

Apart from raising money for a fantastic charity, Mencap, it also facilitated sharing the tent with four of the remaining seven people. I am truly thankful for the fundraiser's, Rachel, idea to meet up early at the coffee shop at Gatwick. Without offending the other Mencap runners, five of us gravitated together, such that when we left the coffee shop we had found four like minded people: Graham, big Dunc, Jack and Matt.

At the departure gate we inherited the 6th musketeers in a very un-democratic  process. There was a guy Robert AKA 'Shorts' who I met at the Sandbaggers seminar where I completed my medical and ECG. He was another like minded individual and we only needed two more to complete the tent.

 

The luckiest meeting of minds was when we 'procured' our Racing Snake and General Extraordinaire. We said we wanted a small woman that was a physiotherapist in the tent as they would take up less room and be able to give us massages to recover from that days effort. Jo surpassed our wildest dreams as she was small and a physio. She was also quick. Very quick as the subsequent post will demonstrate...

 

Her husband, Jon, was our Mr Motivator. Every day was full of quotes to keep us going through the desert. Quite simply one of the nicest people I have met and definitely the toughest. He was my Bromance in the desert.

 

On the first night at the hotel when we queued for dinner we saw four spaces on a table, as Matt was sitting with the person he sat next to on the plane. So we ended up sitting next to Jo and Jon and they decided that they wanted to join our tent and we 100% wanted them in.

 

So tent 144 was complete.

 

The crew after all finishing...

To introduce each one:
 

Graham:

Graham was my room mate at the hotel so he had to put up with my snoring for three extra nights than the rest. He was probably the most confident out of us eight. He had quite a dry sense of humour being a man from God's country, Scotland, and was definitely the smooth one in the tent.

Duncan:

Big dunc was, Jo aside, the other racing snake in the tent. He has completed the ironman over ten times and has competed three time in the world Ironman championships at Kona. Unfortunately the big man had an injury on the way out to the desert so had to accept being near the back of the pack for once. I think this will make him stronger and drive him on to greater achievements in the future. Big Dunc was probably the most brutal one out of us such that he wouldn't sugar coat any opinions for the benefit of others and was our Mr Grumpy.

Jack:

Jack was our Mr Just Get on with it. No fuss just deliver. Quite simply a legend with a capital L as he runs his own business and marries this with running a charity farm and some property development. Very unassuming but couldn't do more to help anyone to, sometimes, the detriment of himself, his preparations each day or recovery.

Matt A.K.A Radar:

Radar was the tent navigator. He works in technology as a web developer and had all the kit. He even had a transponder in his bag so that people back home could follow his progress, to the mile, via the internet. Despite all the kit he was the most disorganised person in our tent such that he took up most of the tent with his kit and was the last one each morning to be ready to roll.

Robert AKA 'Shorts':

Shorts was the tent jester. Robert was crowned dick of the week. Aside from Graham's 'Dossard' comment, Rob won every 'Dick of the Day' award. I will mention specific daily honours during the write up but number one was running the first day with his shorts on back to front. What a dick but what a nice guy. Very emotional, he probably cried the most out of us. He also kept me company throughout the long stage with our conversations about the best West Ham and Fulham teams etc. He just smashed it...

Jo:

Our very own racing snake who came second in the woman's race. Turned up with a mixture of second hand and old kit. The only new stuff was her socks and she smashed the event. Her marathon PB of 2:26 is quite simply outstanding (only 11 minutes slower than the world record...) and her performance was breathtaking. She is also one of the most humble down to earth person I have ever met and was a sister to all of us in the tent.

Jon:

Jon, as I mentioned above, is one of the nicest toughest person I have met in my life. He was the tent story teller and kept us astounded with memories from throughout his diverse working life. He also supported Jo across the desert. The rest of us just had to think about number one but he did that and put her interests and goals number one. L-E-G-E-N-D. He also probably out of all of us put his body most on the line throughout the race. He constantly told us in the tent that he had fainted or vomited out on that days run.

I know that it's my legs, engine and mental toughness that got me through the MDS but quite simply I am not sure how far I would have got without the camaraderie and support from my tent mates.

Tent 144 forever... 

MDS disclaimer

As I begin the MDS write up I need to start with a disclaimer. Whilst introducing the main characters of my epic journey in the next few posts, there are some things that stay between us and remain in the desert. What goes on tour stays on tour. Some of the things we shared were experiences that you simply had to be there to comprehend or find funny. Some stories are part of my write up so readers can get a sense of what we went through. Some of them come with a name assigned but some of them are simply anonymous. I could tell you more stories or provide you with a name to the anonymous ones but I would have to kill you. or you have to buy me beers..

This is the one...

Probably a lesser known secret of mine is that I usually adopt a theme tune for an event, which I sing during the race to keep me going or to stop my mind from wandering. Nothing revolutionary. Just the conventional "I will survive" by Gloria Gaynor, "I feel good" by James Brown, etc.

This time I have gone with "This is the One" by the Stone Roses. I might have had a few panics over the last few days but I am really looking forward to the challenges ahead and also 'visiting' the Sahara. I have also come up with a few ditty's that I am sure I will sing: 'My feet are on fire' (to the tune of the Kings of Leon song) and 'The Grand Old Duke of York' nursery rhyme with hill replaced for dune seem to be my favourite 'compositions' so far. I am sure there will be some more Deano classics 'written' during the hours of solitude over the dunes.

I will probably never go back to the Sahara, so I am looking forward to having a look around. Whilst not the conventional back packing trip holiday, I am looking forward to seeing the power of a desert first hand, see how people/animals/plants live there and also to run through some of the deserted ghost towns on route. The scenery will also be spectacular. Rather bizarrely I am also looking forward to having an al fresco poo in the desert...

Last week I ran around 40 miles last week. Slightly more than I intended during a taper week but it was very slow so low risk of any injury or muscle pull. This week I have only run 4 miles but have had a couple of walks into Barking to buy some duct tape and burn off some nervous tension. I'll probably have a little walk on Thursday in Ouarzazate to buy some bottled water before the race and also help with acclimatisation.

As with any race I have entered I get a little paranoid about injury over the last week or so. Even a sweet old lady with a Zimmer frame didn't escape the worry that she could fall 10 feet on top of me breaking all the bones in my body in the process. Daft I know, but I am sure that people can emphasise with the negligible probability of injury versus the high impact that injury would result in a lost year of training and missing out of the experiences gleaned in the desert.

As I have not been running over last couple of days they have been spent getting all my kit out, decanting food into storage bags to reduce size and packing them into my front and back packs. I have managed to get everything in with the combined weight of my front and back pack coming in at just less than 11 kilos.

This will mean that on day one my bag will weigh just less than 13 kilos when my two 750ml bottles are full of water. I will just need to take the first day easy and eat my food... As Haynsey always says you just eat yourself light.

I have felt reasonably chilled during the build up but on Monday and Tuesday I was climbing the walls. Everyone has one of these periods and the beginning of the week was mine. It escalated from just panic that packing Plan A didn't work to full terror when I snapped a supporting buckle on my shoulder strap, whilst attaching a replacement water bottle holder.

Despite the time (10 clock PM) Sandbaggers answered the phone and sent out a replacement bag which I have received today. The new bag has had the water bottle holders attached and is packed as hand luggage. The old one has been fixed with an Elephant tag and has been packed in my hold luggage just in case I have a malfunction out in Morocco before the start of the race. The old Scout motto 'Be Prepared' still holds true.

It also jogged my memory to include some duct tape, twine and elephant tags in my race bag in case I have an equipment malfunction out in the desert so it wasn't all a bad experience, especially as one of the water bottle holders I am not using in the Sahara now has a zip top incorporated into it on the new bag so it now doubles up as somewhere to store my snacks that I will eat during the day.

The last few days haven't been all panic and nervous tension. There have been a few lighter moments. Mum wondering the other day whether anyone would take a guitar on the race for the evening was a high point along with, one of my geographically challenged, friends claiming that the Sahara is in Spain...

Before I post my last blog before prior to the race a bit of administration for during the race. If anyone wants to stay in touch with my progress or send me a message you can using the organisers' website: http://www.darbaroud.com/en/. You simply need to look for 'Ecrire au Concurrents' or 'Write to a Competitor' and 'Resultats Temporaire' or 'Provisional Results' using my running number 660.

Also, people can donate to Mencap as part of my fundraising using the web address: https://mydonate.bt.com/fundraisers/mds. It a great cause and I am getting closer to my target.

As I fly to tomorrow and the race build up escalates up till Sundays start I just need to continue to remind myself that this really is one I have been waiting for...

MasaAlama...