The first kilometre was beautiful and straightforward - a run along the riverbank, the calm before the storm. After a while we turned left, which I thought a little surprising because there wasn’t a left or, should I say, that the left was actually a sheer wall of rock and looking at the group ahead I saw, to my horror, route markers attached to the rocks above.
I arrived at the foot of the wall we were now expected to scale. Within a few minutes I was using my arms and hands as much as my feet, and the fact that I was actually breathing out of my arse was a sure sign that I should have trained a bit harder for this climbing malarkey.
Some of the runners that had started an hour before us looked decidedly uncomfortable. It was hard laborious work. Finally I reached what I hoped was the top, and low and behold, checkpoint one. A few people were there taking a breather - I just left as quickly as I could. Today was a lot cooler than yesterday, and once I left the checkpoint and back onto the now easy to read trail I picked up the pace, not by much but enough.
It wasn’t long before I was catching and passing a few of the slower runners.
The route markings were okay as long as you were vigilant, and being not only a coward who was frightened of getting lost, but also lazy enough to not want to do any more than was absolutely necessary, consequently I was very vigilant indeed.
Like yesterday, I was feeling good - no signs of blisters or chafing, the heat was okay and the terrain not too bad.
A nice steady, sensible pace and I finally reached the finish line. No riverside campsite today, so it was just a question of collecting my water and making myself a meal - well, pouring and stirring myself a meal. Whilst eating and waiting for the last few runners to arrive we sat around talking bollocks and catching up on the gossip. Apparently, the guy who came in first place yesterday missed one of the trail markers (reassuring that even the elite guys make mistakes) and had ended up doing an extra six km and he came in 27 minutes behind his arch rival.
Two more runners were out. One guy got to checkpoint one but could go no further, he had suffered with the heat yesterday and had not yet fully recovered. Arriving at the first checkpoint the medics immediately pulled him from the race and placed him on an intravenous drip, and then took him back to the lodges to recover. The second casualty was for blisters: blisters are the bane of a desert runners’ life and I am sure that he will not be the only one to suffer with them.
DAY 3
Today’s stage was 30km. The terrain was now becoming more desert-like with a lot more sand. Running on sand is always hard work and energy-sapping. My shoe gaiter combination was holding up well and doing a great job of protecting my feet. I felt good and was making good progress. Plodding along and trying to take in the sheer beauty of the place I noticed some rather strange-looking objects in the trees. The trees weren’t huge: maybe 20, 25 feet high but they had in them massive nests, these nests reaching about two metres in diameter are more like small towns to the hundreds of weaver birds that nest in them, community living at its best.
After taking a few photographs, I carried on. The temperature was slowly rising and I was glad to get to the campsite. This campsite was another beauty, sitting in a small clearing and in the shadow of a giant monolith, a huge clump of free-standing rock.
I chilled out eating and drinking whilst watching the youngsters who, with their surplus energy and bravado, were busy climbing the thing. I thought about joining them, but knowing my luck, would have fallen off, so I chose instead to have an extra helping of apple and custard pudding!
DAY 4
Today was the day that every desert runner gets apprehensive about: the Long Day, at 76km, and with the forecast being for a hot one, there was a real sense of foreboding going around the campsite. Like the previous days there was to be a staggered start - only this time the groups were smaller and more numerous. The organisers were very aware of the tremendous difference in the runners’ ability and they would in all probability be reaching the finish line as much as 10/12 hours apart. With this thought in mind the first group would be departing at 06:00 and the last group (the fast racing snakes) would leave at 13:00 - a full 7 hours later.
The group I was in was the 11:00 group. I was a little annoyed because I had wanted leave a little earlier knowing that I would be starting in just about the hottest part of the day.
I was in a bit of a dilemma:- my pride and ego wanted to push hard and fast, but I was very aware that in 14 weeks I would be racing some 430 miles in the Yukon Arctic Ultra. I needed to be in reasonable shape to complete that race, I didn’t want to knacker myself completely.
As each of the small groups left, the temperature crept up. When my group left we were told that it was 48 degrees.
As we left I formulated a ‘cunning plan’:- I would run non-stop for the first three checkpoints. No matter how slow, and no matter how painful I would not stop running until I got to the checkpoint. Another part of my little self-motivational exercise would be that I would not get caught by the two guys who were leading the race until at least 18:00 and they would be starting at 13:00 - some two hours after me.
It was these little personal challenges that I needed to survive the long painful hours ahead. If I had nothing to focus on, except the monotonous miles, pain and misery, my day would automatically become just that bit harder. I really wanted to, needed to, not make the day ahead any harder than it already was.
As 11:00 approached, we took our positions on the start line, shook hands wished each other good luck, bon voyage, and sterkte. With the pleasantries over with, it was time to get going.
Immediately after starting, a couple of the guys shot off. I followed, albeit at a more sensible pace. I was very conscious of the difficult 76 km ahead.
We were running on a reasonably run-friendly jeep track and I quickly lost sight of the two lead guys. I wasn’t too sure how far behind the other runners were because, as usual, I refused to look behind.
I plodded along, comfortable with the pace and before I knew it, the first checkpoint came into view. Quickly topping up my water bottle and pinching a sneaky look behind confirmed that there was no-one there. I was both surprised and pleased.
I still felt comfortable and the terrain, though initially sandy, started to become rocky and easier to run on. My legs felt fine and strong, my feet felt the same and still had no hotspots or blisters. The fly in the ointment was the heat. I have raced in hot places before but this was by far the hottest day’s racing I had ever done. The sand had all but disappeared and now the rocky, gravelly track (though easier to run) became undulating. Small challenging little climbs broke the rhythm.
Checkpoint two arrived and not a moment too soon:- the heat was so intense that I was drinking water at an alarming rate. It was a catch 22 situation. Do I run faster to get to each checkpoint quickly, a consequence of which is to drink faster to keep cool, or go slower and conserve my water and lessen my chance of overheating?
Mulling all this over, I decided to just stick to my original plan:- after all, it was working and I felt good. I carried on, finally reaching checkpoint three. I left quickly, trying to look fresh. However the moment I was out of sight I started walking, mixing walking with running. I plodded along and after a while I realised that my water bottle was nearly empty. It wasn’t a problem because I still had my camelbak which contained an electrolyte drink. Unfortunately, it was warm, a somewhat sickly sweet, syrupy infusion. It was not pleasant but it would have to do. I carried on only taking the occasional sip, then I remembered that I had a couple of fruit pastilles. I popped one into my mouth and, wow, never has a single fruit pastille tasted so nice - it made me smile, lifted my morale and tasted wonderful. Fruit pastilles, like Peter Kay’s garlic bread, are the future.
I was bloody relieved to get to checkpoint four. I topped up my camelbak with lovely cool water, topped up my water bottle and drank like there was no tomorrow. I think that my running out of water had given me a bit of a scare; running out of wat
er in this heat was both stupid and frightening - I vowed to be more careful.
Moving along towards the next checkpoint I came across a race crew member taking pictures. He told me that it was 52 degrees - no bloody wonder I was suffering. For some rather bizarre reason I thanked him.
Arriving at checkpoint five was a blessed relief - it was now late in the afternoon and I decided that I would take a twenty minute break. I still had a long way to go. Unfortunately when I got there, I was met by a scene of absolute carnage - it was like arriving at a battlefield hospital triage unit: there were bodies lying about everywhere, strange, twisted contortions - some suffering from cramp, some pouring water over themselves, some puking. A couple were just sitting staring at nothing in particular. Every bit of shaded area had some poor soul desperately trying to avoid the sun, staff were wetting bits of cloth to place on the overheated runners. Shoes and socks lay scattered about, t-shirts, hats and bits of blister dressing were on the floor. Some were trying to patch themselves up, before leaving.
I just wanted to get the hell out of there. There were two reasons for my rapid exit, one, was purely mercenary: I could take advantage of the carnage that lay before me and improve my position in the race, and the second reason was fear, fear that if I stayed I would convince myself that I too really needed a slightly longer rest or should sort myself out and take a bit of time to recover and cool down, or it would be better to leave when it cooled down a bit.
I left and I thought about the distance ahead, (a little over 30km). It should, I reasoned, be an easier 30km than the last 30. With the sun gone it should be cooler.
The dusty track I was now on came to an abrupt end, it was time to stop daydreaming and switch on: which way do I go? I looked around and finally spotted up ahead some marker tape. I followed what had now become a small road.
The road was pretty good and seemed to be well used, consequently I decided to take full advantage and speed up. I made all the right moves, pumping my arms etc but the reality was that I may well have been walking in a running style.
Now that I was confident I was going in the right direction I could resume my daydreaming. Unfortunately this was short-
lived. I heard a vehicle coming up behind me, instinctively I moved over not wanting to get run over, then bugger me if the thing didn’t slow down right behind me. I could hear loud music coming from within, the car pulled up, rolled down the windows and just as I had in Jordan a few years earlier I thought I was going to get mugged. But no, they asked if I was okay and did I want a lift? I explained that I was in a race and that I was fine, I thanked them for their concern, they wished me well, wound up the windows and shot off as if it were the most natural thing in the world to see a fifty year old Englishman traipsing through the African desert at night.
I carried on with my daydreaming and again was interrupted, this time by one of the lead runners who came storming past looking very strong. We gave each other a thumbs up and I thought at least I had achieved both my little projects.
A few minutes after, another vehicle came up behind me, this time it was a race support vehicle - they slowed down, asked how I was and disappeared. I followed their little red back lights as they moved further and further ahead. After a while they turned left and then disappeared. I now knew the route ahead would be turning to the left. I carried on and tried to speed up but, as usual, failed miserably - then I spotted some lights and hoped against hope that they belonged to the next checkpoint.
As I got closer to the lights I realised that they were in fact part of a small farmhouse and then I spotted the markers that informed me that this was indeed the race checkpoint.
I sat on the veranda taking a five minute break, when suddenly another runner appeared. Owen was one of the faster runners but now he looked like a beaten man. He said that he had struggled all day and the intense heat had really taken it out of him and he had been slowly cooked throughout the day. He had a quick drink and was gone, eager to make up some time now that it was a little cooler.
I left a few minutes after, and even though it was now nighttime the heat was still there: even with the slight breeze that was now blowing it was still bloody hot.
Following what I guessed was a sandy jeep track, I felt good, navigating wasn’t too bad. Every so often I could make out bits of marker tape, gently fluttering, making a noise and casting curious shadows. Every now and then a flashing red LED light would confirm that we were still going in the right direction.
Arriving at the next checkpoint I was asked how I was and how were the blisters? I said I felt fine and good (I would never admit to anyone that I felt like a bag of cack!) and then rather smugly I told them that I hadn’t got any blisters.
Shortly after leaving the checkpoint I tried to pick up the pace. However, it was a rather short-lived affair and didn’t last long. Not only had the running slowed down but I was now having to walk. Then I felt that old familiar feeling:- hotspots - I was now having to pay the price for being a smug git, and saying I hadn’t got any blisters. They were now well and truly on their way.
On the plus side, the hotspots gave me something to think about, other than the monotony of the night time miles. At least during the day, there were distractions to be had: the beauty of the landscape, the wildlife and even the other runners. At night, just the darkness and the trail. I plodded on, one marker at a time, creeping ever closer to the end.
Suddenly the next checkpoint came into view, it seemed to be quite busy. A couple of the girls were there and they seemed to be somewhat fatigued and sounded even worse. I planned to stay just long enough to top up my water bottle, then leave asap. As I was screwing on the top of my water bottle one of the girls asked me how long I planned to stay. I told her that I wasn’t staying, I was leaving now. She then said that her friend was struggling and was having a bit of a break, and that she wasn’t confident in travelling alone at night - so could she run with me for a bit? I told her that it would be okay and she was welcome.
We moved off together and she immediately apologised for her rather strange gait. She went on to explain that everything hurt, she had blisters, backache, sunburn and God knows what else - she had also developed a touch of verbal diarrhoea: she just couldn’t stop talking - she talked and talked. What she was talking about I had no idea and I am sure that if I’d had the balls to ask her she wouldn’t have known either. I decided that her incessant chatter was her way of coping with the pain and misery that she was going through, so being the gentleman that I am I let her waffle away. Having been married for twenty-five years, I put into practice my best ‘pretend to be listening’ skills. It worked, she never suspected a thing - or she was too knackered to care.
The track we were on eventually led us down to some industrial-type buildings, slightly to our left and with cultivated foliage all around. We guessed we were now passing through a vineyard - as we were looking around trying to figure things out, we spotted, coming up behind us, a couple of runners. One was my companion’s friend and she now looked a whole lot better than the corpse-like figure we had left behind at the checkpoint. The other was a member of the race crew, who had completed the race the previous year and was now helping out, and so it was that I found myself in the company of three women. It could have been a whole lot worse it could have been three blokes.
Now we moved along as a little group, following a fence line and safe in the knowledge that we had nearly finished. As we ambled along using the fence as our guide, we suddenly spotted a parked car - inside were three sleeping bodies. At least we all hoped they were sleeping bodies and not just bodies. As we peered inside the car, our headlights must have woken them up. When finally they were awake enough, they said that they were part of the race crew and were here to point us in the right direction and show us over the stile. I looked around and spotted a huge nine foot high stile - we were to climb over the thing.
The stile itself was not a problem, the problem was me: being the gentleman I elected to
go last and help the now knackered, slightly un-coordinated ladies over it. It wasn’t as easy as it may sound, as every time I looked up my head torch shone at places that ladies would prefer a bloke’s head torch not to shine.
I felt awkward like some old pervert, but hey, we all got over the thing without incident. After about half an hour we finally reached the campsite and the finishing line, each of us glad to have survived the 76km long blast furnace.
Even though it was a little after midnight when we arrived, the camp was a hive of activity. Many of the runners were in but an equal amount were still out on the course. Some of the slower runners had already been out for over 18 hours - in many ways they were the real heroes. Yes, the fast runners were bloody impressive and great athletes, worthy of our respect but the slower runners are out on the course for twice as long and their recovery time was that much shorter owing to their earlier starts.
They are also great athletes, not as fast but none the less just as tough and equally impressive. After a quick bite to eat, I found myself a space and settled down for some much-needed sleep.
DAY 5
Today was a rest day - a chance to recover and sort out and patch up the injured bits. My injured bits were just a couple annoying of blisters, I couldn’t moan too much, because, compared to some of the runners, I had got off relatively lightly.
Looking around the campsite was interesting: it looked like a battle had just taken place and a few weary survivors were now aimlessly wandering around, limping and waddling in what appeared to be a state of utter confusion.
It wasn’t the best campsite we’d had, but it was a day off and, as usual, on one of these days off, I would try to rest, but keep moving, eat and drink as much as I could and then indulge in the traditional tale-swapping, war and horror stories of yesterday’s epic. Like the three main characters in the film Jaws, we each told each other of the horrors experienced and the superhuman effort required to overcome such an horrendous day.
Fartleks & Flatulence Page 17