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...
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...
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