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...
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...
Love you Honey Bear - and very PC with the night out shinanigans. JT.
ReplyDeleteCheers JT. Love you too.
ReplyDelete