Once I managed to get halfway down, some thoughtful soul had gone to the trouble of laying concrete in an attempt to try and stabilise the loose stuff. It looked inviting, I now had the luxury of choice:- either loose and moving or stable but slippery - I chose the slippery, stable option and carefully inched my way down.
Once at the bottom, I was met by another of the race crew who informed me that the worst was over - it was now a flat ten km to the end.
I doubted what he said was true but the part of the route I could see was flat and as long as it was flat I would run. I ran the whole lot and he was telling the truth - it was really 10 flat km. Annoyingly, about 500 meters from the finish line, a bloody big German came storming past like an express train and pipped me to the post.
I couldn’t complain. I had had a good day and felt good and when I was informed that I was in eighth place I was chuffed to pieces. Finally, I was getting the hang of Desert running, or was it the fact that I wasn’t having to carry a rucksack and it was wet and cloudy? More like English weather than the dry arid desert conditions that we had hoped for!
NAMIBIA DAY 2
The overnight downpour had apparently caused a lot of damage to not only our campsite, but also to today’s intended route. Localised flooding had meant that the race organisers had spent a sleepless night working out alternatives.
Happily, we runners were totally oblivious to all this, although we had also had a sleepless night!
As the briefing began we politely listened but we were, I’m sure, unanimous in our thoughts - just point us in the right direction and let us go.
Briefing over and on to the coach, a coach load of slightly damp, nervous runners soon had the windows steamed up.
As we drove along, we could see what we had been told was the longest sand dune. We all studied the monster only because we had been told that we would be running along it later.
As we disembarked from the coaches and made our way over to the start line, we were given last minute up-to-date instructions. The damp clothes and waiting around had made me shiver. The trouble with this type of desert race was that I had only bought two tops, one for running in and one for ‘evening wear’.
Tent life, wet kit and constant rain were not exactly the ideal conditions for running. Then, at last, the countdown began and then we were off.
The route wasn’t too bad (for now): a sort of stony jeep track, a mixture of stones and sand. It did however, require a degree of concentration, the small pothole-like dips and drops were numerous. I was having to watch my feet, as very often the sand would hide and cover a loose flat stone, that would, if stood on, slide away from under you.
I got overtaken by a couple of runners, one of whom was built like a brick shithouse - the type of bloke that would not look out of place on California’s ‘muscle beach’, not running some Ultra-distance desert race!
Checkpoints 1 and 2 were reached in a fairly quick ‘faff-free’ time. At checkpoint 2 we were given some rather vague instructions. With a slight sweep of the arm, one of the race crew sort of indicated the general direction we should go to get to the next checkpoint. The route from here to the next checkpoint wasn’t marked, it was entirely up to you how you got there!
At this sudden turn of events I switched on, and played for time. Two electrolyte drinks later the runner who had arrived a minute or two before me left. Now for my master plan: follow him at a very discreet distance and I would not let him out of my sight, let him lead the way (I know I know, it’s just not cricket, but hey being a bit of a chicken I didn’t want to get lost!)
Just as I was trying to justify my rather dubious tactics to myself, I got what I deserved: the runner ahead turned around and ran back towards me. Sensing that my master plan had been rumbled, I started to formulate my reason for running in the exact same direction. As he approached, we nodded and he ran past and back to the checkpoint. Now, a thought occurred - I bet that cheeky bastard had decided to follow me to the next checkpoint!
I did the only thing I could do. I carried on. Plodding along, desperately trying to work out in which direction the next checkpoint could be, whilst at the same time scouring the route ahead, I spotted a runner ahead, maybe a kilometre away.
Appreciating this stroke of luck, I attempted to speed up - more out of desperation - than ability, when the runner, who had run back to the last checkpoint, caught me up, explaining that he had left his hat behind and had to go back and get it.
Thank God for that. I hadn’t been rumbled and my cheating ways hadn’t been exposed. Now I could relax a bit and follow the 2 blokes in front!
Richard, with his recently-retrieved baseball cap slowly but surely pulled away from me but he was not so far ahead that I couldn’t keep an eye on him.
Looking up ahead, occasionally I saw the runner in front of Richard running in all sorts of directions, left to right, back and forth and then Richard started to do the same - weaving from one side to the other, leaping and skipping, arms waving around. Then I spotted the reason for this seemingly odd behaviour - we were in what could be best described as a flood plain, there was water everywhere.
The 2 runners ahead were attempting to avoid the water but I could see that they were none-the-less having to splash their way through. I reasoned that one way or the other I was going to get wet feet, so I did the only thing I could - I took the shortest route possible straight through the middle, avoiding all the unnecessary weaving that I had seen the other 2 runners doing.
My tactical running (well all’s fair in love and war!) was now paying dividends, I had saved myself a detour and saved a bit of effort. The wet feet were, I reasoned, a small price to pay!
This was, I decided, the only desert race I had ever raced where I wished I had bought a pair of wellies!
Once out of the ‘lagoon’ it was on to a sandy hill, then shortly after was checkpoint 3. It was at this checkpoint that you really appreciated the true value of the race crew. They were volunteers as were we but they were freezing cold and wet. Unlike us they had no real opportunity to get warm, they could quite feasibly be standing around for three or four hours waiting for a fleeting glimpse of a tired, knackered and possibly miserable runner to pass through, grab something, and shoot off.
And yet, when I approached the checkpoint it was filled with smiling faces, helpful, encouraging crew asking what they could do to help ie fill a water bottle, offer some electrolytes, even the words that are probably said to everyone “you’re doing really well” help.
As I was busy topping up and refuelling, a runner came in. Kristinet was one of those people that was always smiling. Cold, wet, tired and slightly bedraggled, she arrived wearing the biggest smile, the sort of smile that makes those around her smile too.
I left - a minute later she followed and we struggled up the steep sandy hill which, thankfully, was wet, the wet sand made the going a lot easier and had this been the scorching hot desert conditions that it was supposed to be, this part of the run would have been a nightmare. Half an hour ago I was cursing the wet conditions and now I was grateful for those same conditions.
Kristinet slowly pulled away and I was having to work hard to keep her in sight. To make matters worse, she was stopping every so often to take pictures.
The sandy hill we were on was huge and fortunately we were not having to climb to the top: we were running along its side.
Eventually tufts of grass started to appear, these tufts became more numerous until eventually the amount of grass outnumbered the amount of sand. We were now in a field of grass.
The grassy ground made the going easier and I caught Kristinet up, not because I was getting faster but only because she was taking so many pictures.
We ran along together for a while and she explained that she had done this race last year and had loved it - however, she hadn’t really trained properly and had suffered as a consequence - this year she had trained and was now enjoying herself a lot more.
We continued on and e
ventually spotted the end of the dune and it was only now that I realised that the ‘dune’ that we had been following, was in fact the ‘Longest Dune in the World’.
We started our descent and could now see the end of the dune veering off to our right, then we spotted a 4x4 vehicle approaching us. As it got closer we both moved off the track. It stopped just in front of us and the driver got out, he explained that we were nearly there but was noticeably vague about how far was “nearly there”.
We thanked him anyway and plodded on, the track took us to the end of the dune and a turning to the right. We both scoured the route ahead desperately looking for the checkpoint but nothing. Then up and to our right we spotted someone who looked out of place: he was clean and presentable, he saw us approaching then walked back to wherever it was that he had come from.
We carried on and then spotted the finishing flags and coaches - we made it in 10th and 11th place.
DAY 3
After yet another sleepless night, in a still-damp tent, we were again up early for the race briefing.
The trick was to somehow make your way over to the race briefing when half asleep, in the dark, whilst attempting to avoid the numerous puddles. No one really wanted to start the day’s running with wet feet!
As usual, the briefing went in one ear and straight out of the other. A quick cup of coffee and it was onto the coaches for the drive to the start line. As we arrived at the start, it was good to get off the coaches: the damp, nervous bodies had again steamed up the windows and had made the air slightly less than fragrant!
Standing around in the damp clothes in the chilly early morning air had again made me shiver, and everyone just wanted to get going.
After some quick last-minute final instructions, we were given a countdown and allowed to go. The first part of today’s route was much the same as yesterday: a sort of stony, rocky and sandy jeep track. The track seemed to climb ever so slightly, one of those climbs that was so slight that you really didn’t notice it until you were half way up.
Moving along quite nicely, I noticed that after about 20 minutes the field was already very strung-out. The ground was tricky underfoot and I was again having to watch my feet, unfortunately that meant that I was not able to indulge in my usual ‘sight-seeing’.
Eventually, I reached the turnaround point, a couple of the race crew were there showing us the way.
‘The way’ was a descent, the trouble was that owing to the loose stones, the descent was a lot harder than the assent, causing quads, feet and knees to complain. Following a couple of runners ahead kept me going, gave me something to focus on.
We were now between two big hills, eventually we passed the hills and the whole area opened up before us.
Looking ahead, I could see runners - running in every direction, left to right, right to left, running towards me and running away from me. Some had stopped and one was reading his course notes (a small notebook that we had all been issued with).
As I slowed down it became obvious that no-one had any idea which way to go, then just at that moment someone shouted that they could see the route marker.
We looked and followed. The marker flag could be seen, just, high up on a saddle (a dip between two hills). We all made our over to the marker, but before we reached it we needed to climb a short but steep hill. Getting to the top and reaching the flag had at last got me sweating, I was now warm for the first time.
I stood on the top for a few moments, one to get my breath back and two to take in the beauty of the place and again I realised how lucky I was to be here and to be able to take part in these types of races.
As is always the case with these races, the running was just one aspect!
I personally think that if you have entered one of these races purely to race, you miss out on so much. The beauty, the peace and quiet, tranquillity, the people, camaraderie all go to adding to the experience.
In some ways I am glad that I am not a competitive racer because if I was, my whole focus would undoubtedly be to race, head down, balls-to-the-wall racing.
I come to do the best I can, but I also come to experience: experience a part of the world most people never get the chance to see, meet the people - a diverse group of people from various parts of the world both racers and crew.
I’m not just talking about this race but in all the races that I have ever been lucky enough to take part in. As I stood by the flag, I spotted the next checkpoint way down below. I carefully made my way down, reached the checkpoint and grabbed a couple of electrolyte drinks, topped up my water bottle and moved off.
It was now getting warmer and the route was slowly going downhill. It did look as if finally the race was going to become a desert race:- the sun was at last promising to make its first appearance. Things were starting to look up, my clothes were now dry for the first time, the sun was out, I felt good and the route was relatively easy.
Eventually I spotted a building up ahead. I focused on it, hoping that it was the next checkpoint, it wasn’t. A bit further on I saw a couple of the race crew, they were just showing the way and helping us to cross what appeared to be a main road. Once across the road, the trail seemed to get more sandy. The sun was now out and the temperature was on the rise.
The one problem with this was that I was now drinking a lot more than I thought. My water bottle was getting emptied at an alarming rate.
For the time being this was not a problem, I still had some electrolyte drink in my camelback. Though warm and unpleasant-tasting, it did mean that I wouldn’t be dying of thirst just yet.
Moving along and sipping on my diminishing water supply, I scanned the horizon ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the next checkpoint, but nothing.
I now realised that I had grossly underestimated the distance between this next checkpoint and the last. I moved along and spotted a large and prominent mound of rock. I sort of speeded up, guessing that the checkpoint would be on the other side and out of sight, however, I was wrong - nothing.
Carrying on and cursing my complete inability to listen to race briefings, I took my last swig of water.
During the ‘Augrabies Extreme’ in 2010 I had run out of water and vowed there and then that I would never run out of water during a desert race again and here we are just one desert race later with no water!
I was taking small sips of my ‘electrolyte drink’ a drink that was warm and tasted like a rather unpleasant infusion, but hey, I hoped that it would, fingers crossed get me to the next checkpoint.
After about 45 minutes I spotted a white something, I couldn’t make out what it was, but whatever it was, it was out of place in the desert landscape.
And, of course, I was willing it to be the checkpoint.
As I got nearer, I was able to see that it was indeed the next checkpoint. I started to speed up (again), attempting to make another one of my impressive entrances and look as though I knew what I was doing, instead of the shuffling wreck that was suffering from dehydration that was the unfortunate reality.
I sped up, raised my hand to the crew and promptly went arse over tit, tripping over my own feet. I felt a complete prat, but was too relieved to have arrived at the checkpoint to really care.
Fortunately for me, the crew were far too polite or professional to mention my comedy entrance. I gratefully took a bottle of water, took two big swigs then had a couple of electrolyte drinks, which were cooler and better-tasting than the luke-warm infusion in my camelback!
Just before leaving, I was told that there was only about 10km to go and most of that was on a fairly decent road. I thanked them and was on my way, wanting to get today over with.
Moving on down the trail, which had now become more sand than rock or stone, I noticed some large beach hut type huts. These were obviously some sort of holiday chalets.
Moving on through the huts and onto a dusty track led me onto the “fairly decent road” I had been told about.
From the road, you could see the minaret that was
at the Soussveile lodge ie: the finish!
Running, or should I say shuffling along the road, one or two drivers waved. I waved back and, as I did so, noticed a runner behind. He seemed to be running better, by that I mean faster, so pride being what it is I sped up, just beating him across the finishing line.
It was good to finish and the fact that the sun was at last shining was a delightful bonus which in turn meant that we could get some stuff dry.
Stripping off my race kit and jumping into the shower was bliss but to step out into the sunshine was absolute bliss.
I set to work, sorting and drying out kit. Damp, musty sleeping bags, smelly, stale and musty tents opened and aired. Soon the whole campsite had been transformed from race HQ to refugee camp. Kit and shoes hung from every available hanging space - socks, shorts, knickers and shirts adorned every inch of fence. It looked like the day after a carnival day, multi-coloured bunting festooned the whole place.
Runners and crew were likewise sunning themselves. It seemed to be that we all assumed that the sunshine would not last and were consequently taking this opportunity to work on our tans.
For the first time, we were all able to mingle, up until now we had been virtual recluses, forced to hide away in our damp tents, hiding from the elements and each other!
Unfortunately for Nic, he became a medical emergency and was carted off to the nearest medical facility. He had kidney stones and was in absolute agony - they took him off, gave him a shedload of painkillers and told him to rest.
DAY 4 - THE LONG DAY
Today’s route had again had some changes - owing to the flooding, large parts of the original route had been rendered impassable.
Fartleks & Flatulence Page 21