Souk And Soccer

Sunday 15th/Monday 16th April 2014

It's not quite 9am and I have just woken. I look down at my ankles (or 'cankles' more like) sticking out from the duvet. They are over twice the size that they normally are. Bits of my feet, along with some iodine stains have been left on the bed. My back is sore, but in a strange way, I feel good. This was to be our last full day in Morocco.

Patrick had just woken too and I could hear Ian moving about in the room next door. Patrick was still in a bad state. His feet were far worse than mine. Part of this is down to the fact that the shoes he raced in were the right size for him, rather than a half a size too big, which is what everyone else brought. The extra space allows your foot to expand during the race, which for most people is the case. On top of that, he had brought no shoes for afterwards except some black leather ones he wore on the way out, so I happily lent him my runners.

Food, as it always is with me, was the priority, so after a quick shower the three of us headed for breakfast, joined by the others from Tent140. I was seriously concerned about my ankles but managed to ignore it while I stuffed my face with fresh bread, cheese, cucumber, yoghurt and hot chocolate. Breakfast of champions!

As we were in Morocco, we said we better do something local, just to say we had seen a bit of the place. The recommendation was the souk or market in the town. After haggling a little with the taxi drivers outside the hotel, Patrick, Ian, Rich and I went to the local souk for a stroll around. It had everything you would need for whatever you were doing in Morocco, all with specialist traders - if you wanted a bucket, you went to the bucket man, if you wanted washing detergent, there was a washing detergent man and if you wanted some livestock, well you could get that there too. We even saw a woman buying some vegetables with a live goat around her neck as if it was some kind of scarf.

The Souk

After we had our fill of down-town Ouarzazate, we went to leave and Rich, Patrick and I headed for the exit and a taxi. No sign of Ian. We got a little worried and Rich headed back in to get him and he emerged with some brick-a-brack (sorry Ian!) which he bought at one of the stalls. I honestly thought he'd been kidnapped or something.



Anxiously Waiting For Ian Outside The Souk

Off we went to one of the other MDS hotels to collect our race t-shirt and go to the MDS Boutique. Again we queued and eventually got in to buy whatever MDS mementos you wanted. More queuing at the check out area before we eventually made our way back to the hotel to watch Liverpool play Man City.

It was now early afternoon, so drinking was acceptable and beers were ordered during the game as Patrick and I sat with Alex and Rich. It was a cracker, Liverpool winning it in the last fifteen minutes. Afterward we headed across to the local shops (more like tourist traps - right outside the hotel), where Patrick, on my sound geological and palaeontological advice, purchased some fossil scorpions from the dodgiest dealers in Morocco. I suppose they were safer to bring back than the live ones his kids had wanted.

After a few more beers down by the pool (which we were not allowed to swim in because of infected feet), we got ready for dinner. My ankles were worse than before at this stage, but the beer was having its effect of lessening the amount I cared about them.

Patrick Bauer joined the group for dinner and a few speeches were made. Claire's fantastic performance was recognised by the British group we had travelled with, along with the top British competitors, before we settled down to an evening of craic. Rachel and Linda dropped in too with a bottle of Jameson (Rachel's employers), which we all helped to finish. The girls had booked through the French organisers and so were in a different hotel.

As with the night before, the drop off rate was pretty high and not to be outdone I was off to bed relatively early knowing that we had a flight back to London the following morning.

Niall and I Fully Rehydrated

Breakfast was a brief affair on the Monday, as we were all heading to the airport. We got a few snaps of Tent140 before leaving and as we emerged out of the hotel, we realised we had missed the bus, so Patrick and I had to get a taxi. We got to the airport at the same time as the bius and then had to queue for almost two hours before going through to departures. Ouarzazate Airport is pretty small, so there were only two security checkers on the way through for 300 people.

Saying Our Goodbyes - Tent 140 Phil, Anj, Patrick, Rich, Alex, Sian and Ian

 Our flight was delayed, so both our own and the second flight took off at nearly the same time. We also had an issue with landing gear on the way into Gatwick, which led to fire trucks following us down the runway after we landed.

Daniel And I On The Last Morning

So that was it. After some hugs and goodbyes at the baggage carousel, I headed out of Gatwick leaving behind me a huge group of friends I had made over the week. It was fantastic to see all the families waiting for their loved ones to come through the arrivals hall. I hopped on a train to Clapham, where I was staying overnight. My ankles were now a ridiculous size and wouldn't be for another day that they would begin to look normal again.

Thanks to Johnny and Jer, my friends from college, for entertaining me that night and putting up with my desert stories. It was a good way to finish the adventure of as lifetime.

Patrick and I finally touched down in Cork the following day. It was an epic 10 days.  

Stage 6: March Of The Blue Brigade

Saturday 14th April 2014
Igadoun Tarhbalt to Aït Ichchou - 7.7km
Not timed

"You can shove your charity stage up your arse, you can shove you charity stage up your arse...". Lying in my sleeping bag utterly wrecked, this is what I began to sing not long after I woke on what was to be our final morning in the desert. It wasn't long before Anj joined in, followed by Tent141. The song took off momentarily before the realisation that we had no choice but to complete the 7.7km stage or we would not be leaving the desert. The song died quickly.

As I sat up to watch the volunteers and medical staff waving at us as they left in a convoy of beeping 4x4s, I remembered that I had no food worth eating and I could not stomach another Power Bar, energy gel or flapjack.

Slowly but surely I began to get dressed. I had slept in my tracksters, so had to put back on my shorts, which seemed to have become bigger since the start of the race. Patrick reminded me that I was significantly thinner than when I started, so that explained the shorts. My brain was suffering from the lack of food. At least we did not have to put back on our racing tops, as the organisers gave us blue Unicef tshirts to wear for the stage.

After dumping any gear that was no longer required and using my last sac-a-caca, Tent140 came together for a final huddle (I swear I washed my hands first). The huddles had worked well all week, giving all of us some extra motivation every morning. Each member of the tent would say something encouraging before Anj would finish with the mantra of "may the odds ever be in our favour" and off we would go to face whatever the desert was throwing at us for the day.



Beautiful In Blue - Tent 140 On The Final Day

We made our way down to the start line at the slowest pace we had moved at all week. Patrick's feet were in bits and I wasn't far behind him. Walking was painful but we had no choice. There were no 4x4s left to hitch a ride with.

Down at the start line for our final briefing, we all agreed to walk the stage. Anj handed me a jelly sweet for breakfast. Nice! We were then reminded that we would be dancing to "Happy" by Pharrell Williams for the second time that week, although I reckoned there would be significantly less enthusiasm than there was on the long day. There seemed to be a problem with the music, so while we waited I started a slow clap, which most of the competitors joined in with.

  

Eventually we danced (sort of, see below) for quite some time before one last blast of ACDC. Over 900 people hobbled off the start line. We looked like a bunch of geriatrics out for a protest march. There were groans and moans. Some of the runners did run to be fair, including Hicham El Guerrouj, who had joined us for the charity stage. I'm not sure how many of the competitors felt charitable at that point.

I walked most of the way having banter with Alex and for a short period a Frenchman discussing drugs in cycling. It was mostly sandy terrain, with a couple of small hills. Tent140, with the exception of Patrick, came back together for the final walk in to the village of Aït Ichchou.



Competitors Leaving The Start Line For The Charity Stage

As we approached the finish line, I noticed a small boy sitting on the sand, watching us all coming in. He had flies on his face and looked fairly miserable. I knelt down beside him and took off my watch and placed it in his hand. He was a little confused as to what exactly I was doing, but once he realised I was giving him a present, his face lit up. I smiled and walked off. It was an apt way to leave something behind me in the desert. The organisers also left 24 computers to a school in the village, more of the MDS spirit that Patrick Bauer promotes.

As we crossed the line, we were handed some Moroccan bread, a bottle of water and a packed lunch. The finish area was busy with volunteers directing us toward the buses. I spoke to the translator lady, telling her how impressed I was with the fact that she could translate Patrick's long briefings and how I was amused that he would speak for three or four minutes and she would translate for thirty seconds. She was also amused it seemed.

I walked down to the buses with Ian, who had gotten his secretary in London to book us a taxi, but there was none to be found, so I hopped on a bus and grabbed a seat. We had heard it could be up to a six hour journey and the seats were pretty tight. This was going to be a nightmare. On the plus side, the lunch was a good distraction, but I had it finished before the bus took off and was hungry for more.

An English man named John sat in beside me. He was from the Channel Islands and was into hockey, so we had a good chat for about thirty minutes before we both fell asleep.

Surprisingly the roads were quite good and the views driving through the desert were spectacular as we passed over some mountainous terrain. After only three hours, we began to see signs for Ouarzazate (pronounced war-za-zat apparently) and twenty minutes later we had pulled up outside the French competitors' hotel.

The town seemed nice, as if it was built for tourists. The world's biggest film studios, Atlas, is based just outside the town. Some of the films that have been made there include Gladiator, The Living Daylights, The Mummy and Babel, as well as episodes from Game of Thrones.

The Berbere Palace Hotel was a sight for sore eyes. It was the only five star hotel used by the MDS groups, and it was only used by the British and Irish competitors. I was one of the first through the door and had organised a triple room for Patrick, Ian and I in quick time. There was no sign of Patrick, but Ian and I headed up to the room, where I graciously gave Ian the double bed, relegating Patrick and I to smaller single beds in what can only be described as a child-sized room. 

As a reward, Ian ordered some beers, crisps, nuts and cokes from room service and grabbed a well deserved shower. Patrick fell through the door a few minutes later. He was in a bad state with his feet. It was out with the medical kit for both of us, as I decided to cut my sand gaiters off with a scissors as it would have hurt too much to remove them over my feet. Ripping off the strapping on my feet was a less than pleasant experience, made a little easier by the presence of coke, salty treats and finally, an ice-cold beer. Worth waiting for...

Patrick eventually managed to get into the shower, although I have no idea how he managed it. By the time I got in, I had long finished my beer. As everyone in the complex was showering, there was very little water pressure but I didn't care, it just felt good to wash off the salt, dirt and grime. It was a case of shampoo, rinse and repeat and repeat again several times. Eventually I felt clean enough to leave the shower and shaved off my 'beard' in front of the mirror. I barely recognised myself as I looked as if I hadn't eaten food for weeks. I was to find out later that I had lost 9lbs or over 4 kilos through the week.

After putting on our glad rags (and flip flops), we hit the bar, along with the rest of the starving and thirsty masses. We spent the evening hanging out with the Irish contingent and Tent140, drinking beers, eating dinner and having the craic. It was all too much for some and most were gone to bed relatively early. I was not long off to bed after this but my feet and ankles were so swollen, I stayed up sitting on the couch with my feet raised. Eventually I got to bed, ensuring I set my my alarm so that I didn't miss out on breakfast - I had to find a way to put back on those 9lbs!

Banter And Booze - Phil, Eoin, Paul, Claire, Ann-Marie and Patrick

It was an odd feeling to sleep on a mattress with a duvet. The ordeal had officially come to an end. Only one last challenge and that was to find a way to fall asleep through Patrick's snoring. It seems I was so tired, I really didn't notice it and within minutes of putting my head on the pillow, I was gone. 

       

Stage 5: A Marathon, A Hug And The Pepperami Dance

Friday 11th April 2014
Rich Merzoug to Igadoun Tarhbalt - 42.2 km
Allowed Time: 12 hours

Checkpoint Closures:
CP3: 8hours 30minutes

Under most circumstances, if someone says "it's just a marathon to go" you might be forgiven for freaking out. This is what we all would say to each other on the morning of the final official stage, as we tried to reassure one another that we were almost done. The reality is that a marathon is still 26.2 miles, or 42.2km, and it is still a tough challenge ever before you add in the 200km we had already covered that week not to mention the backpacks, the lack of food, the sore feet, the accumulation of salt on our clothing, the terrain and the temperatures.

It was to be a very early start this morning, as we were to leave the start line at 7am, as opposed to the usual 9am. This was to give people a chance to finish earlier, so that everyone would be around for the presentation that night and a short concert from some musicians from the Opéra de Paris. Patrick and Ian, courtesy of their superb performances all week, were sitting pretty in the top 200 and received the news the previous evening that they would be starting an hour and a half behind the rest of the field. I was sitting not so pretty in or around 380th and was determined to finish inside the top 400. The lesson at this stage was well and truly learned - don't expect anything - so I didn't. I knew it would take a lot of effort to complete the stage (just a marathon remember) in a good enough time to achieve that goal.

The day did not start well. I lulled myself into thinking I had more time than I actually had. Because of my lack of 'get up and go', I had taken a lot of time to get sorted. Just before 6am, with slightly over an hour to go, I began to think about breakfast. At that stage, it was too close to the start time to eat the last meal I had, which was an 800 calorie spaghetti bolognese. Given that I had no more 'real' food, I thought it might be better to have it later that day and so I settled on a cup of tea and a couple of power bars, both of which I struggled to swallow. My biggest fear was that this strategy might come back to haunt me and sure enough it would.

Runners Strung Out On The Final Stage

At 6.30am, people started to move to the start line. I was a long way from being ready, so I quickly went to the sac-a-caca filling station, threw out some equipment that I no longer needed or wanted to carry and repacked my bag. I had to change my tshirt as my luminous yellow Underarmour long sleeve was encrusted with salt, which would have caused serious chaffing, so I went with my navy Nike dri-fit as it was all I had. My shorts were also encrusted with salt (and other things too disgusting to mention), but I had no option with those. A quick application of Bodyglide to my nether regions and I was set and ready to go with a few minutes to spare. Quick team huddle and off we went to the briefing, having said good luck to the speedsters.

Patrick Bauer had already started as I arrived. I had agreed to run with Daniel for the day and we met near the giant inflated teapot before the off. He was in good spirits, whereas I on the other hand had a slightly off stomach. No doubt a side effect from my 'breakfast'. Patrick informed us that we were down to 926 competitors. The long stage did not take as many victims as I thought it might, but it made me think of Niall and I hoped he was feeling better.

It was now 7.10am. For the penultimate time we went through the countdown and both Daniel and I got away quickly off the start as ACDC played in our ears. My feet were sore initially but once I got going after a kilometer or so, you begin to ignore the pain. No finger socks for me this morning, they wouldn't fit over the taping on my foot, so I had no idea what would happen out there.



Flat Terrain On The Stage - CP1 In The Distance

The two Irish protestants (Daniel and I) made good progress in the early part of the stage. We stuck to a simple plan, which was to run on stony terrain and walk any sandy passages we encountered. The plan was almost too good, as there were few sandy passages and when we did come across them, they were short, giving us little rest. It was a good feeling to hit a sandy and stony oued just shy of 10km and to continue to jog through it. Lads 1 Oueds 0 (at least for that stage).  



Approaching CP1 - The Smile And Thumbs Up Hide My Stomach Issues

CP1 was a nice sight in the distance and as we approached we agreed to be as quick as we could. I was trying to mentally bolster myself by saying only 30km to go in my head, which is only 20 miles. My head was fighting back by telling me my stomach still wasn't great and 30km is still 30km. The mental struggle between what I was trying to think and what I was actually thinking would continue
for the rest of the stage.



Daniel And I Leaving CP1

 

Despite this, we pressed on and the next 11km were relatively straightforward. We ran a series of varying on and off times of running and walking across primarily flat, stony terrain as we pushed our way past several competitors on our way to CP2 at 23km. Before arriving there, it was obvious to me that I was running out of sugar and Daniel handed me half a packet of Fruit Pastilles, which gave me a major boost, even before I had eaten one.     

We were in and out of CP2 quickly and with the sweets, a new electrolyte tablet, a bit of Power Bar, a couple of salt tablets and some fresh water, I was feeling a lot better. Added to this I put on my earphones to give me some motivation (Feeder's "Just A Day" (see below) was the first song on - talk about getting you going), which did help, although I did feel that I was being a little rude to Daniel but he assured me he didn't mind as long as it kept us going. 

I felt I was winning the battle with my head as we headed onto a dirt road and continued to run on and off to cover the ground. The stage leaders, those who had started 1 hour and 20 minutes after us came sailing past. In first position was Abdelkader El Mouaziz, the former New York and London marathon winner, followed a few minutes later by rest of the top dogs one after another.

Daniel was running really well and seemed very strong. It wasn't too long before the sweets and the music had worn off and I began to feel miserable because of my stomach and my energy levels. We had covered close to 26km at that stage, so in my head I knew there was only 16km to go, which I tried to tell myself was doable.

Over the next kilometer or so, I began to fade. My stomach was really beginning to feel uncomfortable and despite Daniel's encouragement and assurance that he was not leaving me, I knew I was in trouble. We entered a narrow, sandy track that led up over a small jebel and I insisted on Daniel pushing on. After a short but friendly 'argument', he eventually did continue alone. I was glad for him because he had the potential to finish well and I really appreciated the fact that he was willing to stay with me until the end of the stage, even if I was going to hold him back.

As he moved off into the distance, we had to negotiate a relatively straightforward 3km section of tracks, dirt roads and trails before dropping down into a rocky gorge that led to a house with crops situated beside an oued. This was also where CP3 was, where we were given two bottles for the final 10km. I bumped into Linda, a Kerry woman based in Cork, who bizarrely had done a lot of her training in UCC's Farm, where I had also trained. "Just 4 loops of the pitches left" I said as she took off.

My stomach was not improving at all and to make things worse we had to deal with a 4.5km oued. By the look of other competitor's footprints ahead of me, this was going to be a joyless march for the best part of an hour. My internal compass kicked in a little here and I could see the other racers further up swinging around the corner to the left, so instead of following the herd, I cut a line straight for that corner. While I did not manage to find harder ground, it was much shorter and I caught up with the group ahead of me after a couple of kilometers. Thinking the oued was over was a major mistake because as I rounded the corner, I realised I was was barely halfway through the section. Lads 1 Oueds 1.

I plodded on trying to keep to what I thought was the most secure ground. In my quest for easier terrain, I again crossed the oued, followed closely and then passed by another Irish woman Claire Morrissey, who was absolutely flying with under 7km to go.

Claire was the Irish story of the race. She finished the first day down in 615th, 61st female overall. She followed this by finishing Stages 2 and 3 in 160th and 68th, good enough for 8th and 4th female respectively. She was 57th on the long stage, 2nd female. On the final day's stage, she had started with the elite group and was now the lead woman on the stage. She would go on to win the stage as 1st female home in 57th place, which would place her 7th in the overall female category, which I reckon is the highest ever finish by an Irish woman. It was an amazing feat considering she was ill on the first stage.



Scars Of Battle - Claire's Back After The Final Stage (The Pink Stuff Is Iodine)

Rachel Nolan and Linda O'Connor also had fantastic races, both finishing inside the top 15 women and Ann Marie, who is a serial marathon runner on her way to 100 marathon club, completed another two marathons (the long day and final stage) to add to her quest. Fantastic achievement by the female Irish contingent.

Eventually the oued came to an end. We were directed up a narrow path, which led to a stony plateau. By the time I got there, my body felt seriously low on fuel and knowing that we only had around 5km to go was not helping. I took salt tablets from one of the medical staff at the top of path and headed off across the plateau, carefully picking my way over the loose and somewhat sharp rocks, as my feet were starting to battle against my brain.

As we came over the top of the plateau, still with a little over 4km to go, we could see the finish line, off in the distance across some sand dunes. "Ah for f*ck sake" I grumbled to myself as I descended onto the sand from plateau. We were left with a series of low sandy ridges, from where the finish would disappear and re-appear as you moved through the undulating terrain.

My body felt completely devoid of sugar and not even the knowledge that I was close to finishing the MDS was driving me onward. Eoin came running past and handed me a boiled sweet, which gave me a little boost and then a nice Frenchman offered me some flapjack, which also helped. Just as I was getting going again, Ian came thundering past. He seemed like a man on a mission and I decided that it was the way to go, so the head went down and I followed him in, albeit at a slower pace.

To my surprise, the finish line came a lot quicker than I expected and as I struggled across the last few hundred meters of sand, the physical tiredness, mental fatigue and emotional strain of the MDS came knocking on my door all at once. I crossed the line in 6 hours 20 minutes.

There were no arms held aloft in triumph, no wild celebrations, no collapsing onto my knees. Instead a brief, quiet moment to myself to reflect and a few tears shed as I thought about the previous days and right back to the beginning of this adventure. It was an intense moment and a great feeling. I smiled when I remembered the day I was horrified when I lost the bet I made to myself as I walked into Waterstones in Cork only to find a book on the MDS (see the post: Marathon Des Sables - What Am I Thinking?).

It was also short-lived because almost as soon as you had gathered your thoughts you were ushered into this snaking queue to receive your medal and a hug from Patrick Bauer. There was probably about 40 people ahead of me waiting for their hug, each getting at least 30 seconds of praise from the Race Director. It gave me time to congratulate and hug it out with Ian and Eoin who were ahead in the queue, and with Paul who came in behind me as well. Patrick was not far behind him either.

The closer I got to Patrick Bauer, the more emotional I became. Part of this was the magnitude of the situation but it was also Bauer's genuine love for what the MDS is and what it means to those who take part in it. In short, he is the MDS and he seems honoured to have been the facilitator for so many to come and experience what he had found back in 1984, when he crossed the desert alone. He takes great pride not only in the event, but also in the MDS experience.

All this weighed heavily on my mind as I finally got round to shaking his hand for the second time. He congratulated me and told me we would have a drink together on Sunday night, alluding to the 'IRL' on my race number. I laughed through the tears that were now rolling down my face, a common sight for him no doubt. He placed the medal around my neck and then came the traditional hug. I'm not sure if he hugged me or I hugged him, but either way it was a fitting end to a tough week. Just enough time for a quick photo before being led on to have an official photo from the organisers.



Patrick Bauer Presenting Me With My Medal

Hug Time!

All Smiles!



MDS Complete - A Proud Moment

With the formalities out of the way, I got a photograph with the man named 'Fadi', who had completed the event in a pair of light sandals, with the exception of the long stage where he wore a pair of Vibram Five Fingers. What a legend.



Fadi - Check Out His (Lack Of) Footwear

Just as I finished with that, Nikki Kimball came bouncing through the finish area, so I grabbed a quick snap with her too. She was only too happy to oblige. Another legend.

Hanging around the finish line was a good bit of craic. Niall was there with his wife Sinead. He was in good spirits. We saw Ann Marie come in as well as Anj and Sian, as they all joined the growing queue for the hug and the medal.

The Irish contingent, which were now at the full compliment of thirteen, were due to have a photograph together at the bivouac. Eventually we all met up and did the necessary posing to capture some good memories. As we were finishing up, the MDS media woman came and brought us all over to the middle of the bivouac where we were encouraged to do something in front of a camera. Riverdance was out of the question given our physical states, so led by Paul, we sang "Ole, Ole" as none of us could think of anything better to do. Paul finished it off with "Potatoes" in his best culchie accent. As you can see from this video - http://www.tubechop.com/watch/2937022 - the whole experience was a bit of a cringe-fest.

After the shenanigans, the realisation that I only had a spaghetti bolognese to last me from then until the following afternoon hit home. My stomach had eased but the feeling was replaced by hunger and craving and in particular a craving for salt. The best things I had eaten all week were Pepperamis and all I wanted there and then were Pepperamis. Tent140, who were now all together again after Alex and Rich made it home, were out of Pepperamis, so I thought I would earn some.



Team Eire - BR: Phil, Stefan, Daniel, Patrick, Daniel, Paul, Niall, Eoin, Niall. FR: Claire, Rachel, Linda, Ann Marie

"Irishman will dance for Pepperami, Irishman will dance for Pepperami" was my call on my way back to my tent. It got a few laughs, but then I heard, "Oi, Irishman, I got a Pepperami". A pleasant British man looked up from his rug brandishing a Pepperami, to which I dutifully laid down my patented dance moves (all two of them), to be rewarded with said meaty snack. Well worth it!



'Happy To Be Finished' Selfie - Claire, Paul, Phil, Eoin

The afternoon was rounded off with some 'spag-bol soup a la roof de tent', the delivery of emails and one last round of self-administered first aid, a la Dr. Phil. All that was left to do was relax and wait for the prize-giving ceremony and the much anticipated Opéra de Paris.




With Women's Winner Nikki Kimball (USA)

As we were waiting for this, the final results came through and I had finished in 395th, just inside the top 400. Considering I had come to finish the race, I was delighted. Patrick had finished as top Irishman in 119th, an incredible achievement, particularly given the state of his feet towards the latter end of the race.

Once darkness fell, most of the bivouac made their way very slowly down to ceremony stage, where they were showing a video of the race. It was amazing to think they had already managed to edit it into something that was actually really good and a nice way to relive the last week. The actual ceremony itself was less than impressive and seemed to drag on for ages, which was made worse by the fact that we had to sit on the stony ground. The highlight for me was seeing Hicham El Gourrouj, who was going to lead the charity stage. He is the current 1,500m world record holder and a double Olympic gold medallist. A hero of mine.    

Once the many prizes were given out, Rich and I stayed on for the Opéra de Paris, which consisted of about eight musicians and a singer, all impeccably dressed. It was a juxtaposition of neatly dressed, clean and well rested musical talent with a bunch of sweaty, salty, unshaven and downright dirty runners, who were all in their own small world of pain.

The music was beautiful once they got going. The only issue was that it was now very late, people were tired and sore and the rough ground was not helping matters. Along with half of the people there, Rich and I headed back to the tent with some reluctance and we felt bad leaving in the middle of their performance. We were at least able to listed from the comfort of the sleeping bags! It was a little surreal listening to live opera in the middle of the desert.

There was a good hour of banter in Tent140 before we all prepared to sleep, safe in the knowledge that the following morning there would be no need to panic about race strategy, check points or food for the day. Rich calculated that if everyone in the bivouac chipped in their deposit money (€200 you must carry throughout the race), we could get a Chinook helicopter to deliver chips to us all out there in the desert. Expensive but worth it!

There was a slight sense of sadness in the tent as we knew it would be our last night together in that setting but we all knew we were better for the shared experience and that once we had a beer in our hands the following night, the real celebrations could begin. It was a nice way to drift off to sleep. MDS complete.

Road Book for Stage 5:

Maximum authorized time: 12 hours

1st group departs: 07H00
2nd group departs: 08H30
CP3 closure: + 08H30
 
Km 0 : Go West (course 269°) until km 9.9. Flat terrain, slightly stony with a few sandy passages.
Km 9,9 : Cross a sandy, stony oued.
Km 10,6 : Hill to the left. Go S/W (course 234°) until CP1. Slightly stony plain.
Km 12,2 : CP1 in a leafy valley. Go W/SW (course 246°). Plain with small stones.
Km 17,7 : Small valley. General course 271° to CP2. Go West (course 266°) until km 21.7. Slightly stony.
Km 21,7 : End of crops on the right. Go West (course 277°). Leafy valley.
Km 23 : CP2 on the banks of a small oued. Go West (course 264°) to avoid very stony ground.
Km 26,3 : Stony terrain. Follow general direction W/SW (course 240°) until pass.
Km 27, 5 : Follow track which goes up towards Asderm Jebel pass.
Km 28,2 : Leave the track and follow the small path direction S/W (course 216°).
Km 29,2 : Junction with large track. Follow the track then turn left.
Km 30,4 : Start of rocky descent into the gorge that leads to Tarhbalt Oued.
Km 31,7 : Small house beside the track. Follow small path through crops.
Km 32,2 : CP3 in Tarhbalt Oued. Follow general direction West (course 255°) following oued
in bottom of gorge. Crops on either side of oued (especially cumin).
Km 36,7 : Exit oued on the right. Follow small path.
Km 36,9 : Small house. Turn right into small gorge to climb on to plateau.
Km 37,6 : Summit of gorge. Follow general direction W/NW (course 298°) until B6.
Cross stony plateau.
Km 39,3 : Stony sandy hill.
Km 40 : Sandy terrain.
Km 42,2 : B5 finish line after some dunes.

  

Stage 4: One Long Day

Wednesday 9th/Thursday 10th April 2014

Ba Hallou to Rich Merzoug - 81.5 km

Allowed Time: 34 hours

Check Point Closures:

CP3 Closure: 11hours

CP4 Closure: 16 hours

CP6 Closure: 30 hours

Well the big day had arrived. The routine was as normal with 2 exceptions on my part. Firstly I ate a Beef and Potato Hotpot (from a Ziplock bag) for breakfast - it was so nice not to have something sweet for once. Secondly because my feet were swelling I thought I would just wear my outer double layered 1000 Mile sock and not my inner Injini toe socks. When I tried this in the tent, I immediately got a blister on one of my toes. Not the best of starts but out with the medical kit, removed the blister, cleaned the area and put back on my toe socks. Sorted (well kind of)!

I had thought I would approach this stage with a sort of 'GAA-style dressing room motivation' where if I had brought a hurley, then I would have smashed it off a chair in an attempt to psyche myself up. What actually happened was a far more nervous affair where I kept going over my plan for the day in my head and continually reassured myself that no matter what happened, I was going to stick rigidly to it.

The plan was as follows: Go easy for the first 10km to CP1 - walk a lot of it. Get over the big jebel in one piece and run on and off to CP2. From CP2, the plan was again to run on and off until I got to the dry lake, which I would run across to CP3. There were then 3 jebels to tackle before CP4. Run on and off to CP5 and then on to CP6. Depending on my state at CP6, run or walk to the finish. At CP4, I was going to eat a freeze dried chocolate chip desert (500 calories) and throughout the day I would snack on Power Bars, a sugary flapjack or two and some energy sweets. Simple as that!




Patrick Bauer And His Translator Giving Us The Low Down On The Stage Before The Off

We were informed at the morning race briefing at the start line that we would be dancing to Farrell Williams' "Happy" to help us "loosen up". Given that only 938 competitors took to the start line (Stage 3 had taken its toll on the race), this seemed like a good way to cheer everyone up! Sure enough before we left for the day, before we heard ACDC in our ears, the song kicked in and all of the runners, led by Patrick Bauer and the translator lady, began to dance. It felt a little odd but the vast majority got with it and it created a bit of an atmosphere, which for the guys videoing in the helicopter above our head, must have looked good, because we danced for ages as they circled and circled and circled. We would dance to the same song on the final 'fun' charity stage, but, due to severe tiredness and pain, it would not be so good.

The countdown was on and the longest single distance I would have ever covered on my feet in one day was upon me. Survival was the major priority. Where I finished didn't really matter but I had set my sights on 16-20 hours to complete the stage. Of course in these sort of events the MDS lesson of "don't expect anything" is especially true - you never know what is going to happen over a full day of racing like this. You can feel great one minute, terrible the next. This was common - it is meant to be "the toughest footrace on earth" afterall.

I left the start line slowly. It was the first time where I felt I was really being passed by a lot of the field. Part of my reasoning to go out slowly was to use the first few kilometers as a check to see how my body was and to let it warm up slowly. I was a little concerned at the numbers passing me but kept reassuring myself that I would make inroads in the latter part of the stage where my plan of not stopping at checkpoints would pay off.     

The first 10km to CP1 went smoothly but slowly. I power walked my way along stony terrain and into another oued. It was primarily soft dried mud, so you could move well enough through it without any major sinking of the feet.

2 bottles of water here - I refilled my bottles, poured some over my head and then looked upward and gasped in horror at what was awaiting me. It was the El Otfal Jebel, a 2km trudge up the most difficult jebel we would face in the race. It had a 12% gradient for the first 1.5km and then a 30% gradient for the last 500m. It was so steep in some sections that they had installed climbers ropes to help the participants. 

The Approach To The El Otfal Jebel After CP1 - Zoom In To See A Long Line Of Competitors

You could see a long line of runners stretching out over the ascent route and there was nothing to do but join the queue. The first sections were fine, sandy climbs where you had to work hard to ensure you were moving up and not slipping down. As we neared the end of the steep sandy section after around 20 minutes of torture, we hit a rock face, which we were expected to rock climb over and along to reach the next sandy section. If you are not good with heights and steep drops like me, this is not a good place to be as runners were climbing over each other looking for the best routes, rather than staying in line and waiting. One wrong step and you were going to break many bones on the way down to the foot of the jebel. Looking down I could still see plenty of runners coming into CP1, still with the ascent of the jebel to begin.

Eventually, after much clinging and climbing, I made it to the rope section and the Road Book proved to be extremely accurate again as the last 200m would have been near impossible without the aid of the rope. Standard stuff from me at the top, head down and go, no waiting around. I hit the rocky bed of a river channel coming down the mountain and walked my way off the jebel. The ordeal of the jebel was over. The realisation that I still had 68km to go after putting in what felt like a huge effort already was sinking in.

View From The Top As Competitors Ascend The El Otfal Jebel

We had a small dune section to negotiate, which I negotiated very well thanks to my internal compass and my desire not to follow the herd. I emerged on a stony plain, which was easy going, with CP2 around 6km in the distance. Halfway across the plain, we were greeted by a cheery MDS official from England. I deduced that this was Steve Dietrich from Running The Sahara UK. Steve had helped my get a place in the 2013 race initially (and subsequently into 2014) and I was very grateful for his help (see post "Arse Biscuits and My Saviour Steve"). I introduced myself and thanked him. He was rather pleased!

CP2 was another two bottle station, which at that stage I was glad of. It was 11km to CP3 and the terrain was going to relatively flat, with very few sandy sections, followed by a dry lake to cross. It was time to start running. I walked away from CP2 and took out my MP3 player, which immediately gave me a boost. It was here I passed Sian and Anj, both still going strong as I power walked and danced my way off the soft sand and on to a stony trail. The trail allowed me to pick up my pace and it was the first time on the stage that I ran without interruption.

After a further 3km, I caught a glimpse of what it takes to be in the top 10 at the MDS. The leaders had eaten up the advantage that we were given that morning and came cruising past - they had yellow marks on their numbers to say they had begun after us, but you didn't need to read their numbers to see they were in a different class. The Moroccan Elmorabity and Jordanian Al Aqra flew past with smooth running styles that seemed effortless. Not far behind was Mohamad Ahansal. All three offered words of encouragement and appeared to appreciate it when it was returned.

Mohamad Ahansel Passing Me - He Made It Look Effortless

 We tackled some undulating terrain before finding ourselves on a dirt road passing an oasis, the Foum Mharech Gorges Oasis to be exact, which was literally in the middle of nowhere. We skirted round a set of palm trees and some buildings before finding more undulating dirt road, which led towards the dry lake. Just before the lake, I spotted a large, isolated building on the hillside, which turned out to be a hotel called the Riad Nomad (http://www.riadnomad.com). It was bizarre. The roads were awful and it seemed to me that we were miles from anything resembling proper civilisation!

Passing The Foum Mharech Gorges Oasis

On I plodded past the hotel and down onto the dry lake, where I could see CP3 in the distance, around 3km away. It was a real Sahara moment - you could see the finish, but also the shimmer from the heat which would cause it to blur it as you moved - it was either that or I was becoming dehydrated.

As I got closer, I decided to drink everything I had in my bottles, so that I could start afresh at CP3. Anj arrived in just behind me, full of cheer with a big grin on her face, which made me smile. The smile was wiped off my face as soon as the nice French lady handed me just one bottle of water. I knew we had over 13km to CP4, including jebels and sandy terrain and it was still extremely hot. I was told I could take a second bottle along with a time penalty for taking that bottle, but I declined it. I should have known not to drink all my water before the CP by checking my water card - once again don't expect anything.  

I left CP3 immediately and headed straight up a narrow sandy gorge, which opened onto a steep sand ridge, which took a huge effort to climb. At the top I was struggling and was conscious of the fact that I was consuming a lot of fluid. The descent led into a stony valley before there was another sandy ascent to negotiate. Having two climbs in a row really took its toll on me but it did at least level out into a long plain with a slight incline, which thankfully was fine to run on.

The course skirted around some rocky heights before opening into a long straight stretch that brought us to Mhadid Al Elahau Jebel. You could see it in the distance - it did not look pleasant.

Along this section, the women's leader, Nikki Kimball, came bouncing past. She was full of energy and was smiling away and ran beside me for a short period to say hello. Again an elite athlete offered me words of encouragement and motivation and thanked me for returning the favour. She bounced along up the path to another competitor and ran beside him for a bit, no doubt cheering him along as well. Then off she went into the distance. It was a little surreal that the race leader, who was trying to put distance between herself and second place Laurence Klein, would be so kind as to stop and say hello mid-race. That's ultra running for you.

The jebel was not really what I needed at that stage - I was tired and running out of fluids. As I approached I spotted a man having a rest under a tree. It was Eoin. He looked so peaceful in the shade enjoying some food. I decided not to disturb him too much and kept going, taking out my earphones for a quick chat. I told him I was listening to Aslan on my MP3 player, to which his response was "It's a Crazy World"! Brilliant (if you know your Aslan) given the circumstances.

The jebel was nasty. It started with a long, slow, sandy ascent, which developed into a gradient of 13%. As you got higher it became rockier, but the rocks were flat and slippy, so you aimed to stay on the sand. On it went for what seemed like an age and as it started to level out, it felt as if my lungs were on fire. More fluids were taken to help myself get over the side effects of the climb. I was beginning to worry about making it to CP4 with what was left in my bottles.

For once, there was no major descent and instead I found myself running along the top of mountain following a trail that undulated up and down over the troughs and peaks of the jebel. It was a beautiful place to be and despite my fatigue, I actually enjoyed my surroundings as I ran along on my own. Eventually the trail led to a sharp sandy drop, which allowed us to plunge down into the valley below. What I was greeted with as I neared the valley was more sand. As you had to come off the jebel and move across a sandy slope, moving at pace was difficult as you were side on to the slope, as opposed to going up it. It was important to pick a line that wasn't too steep and follow it across and up the hill.

At this point, I had 4km to go to CP4 and both my bottles were very light. I was joined by an Englishman named Alex, who kept me company all the way in and helped to keep my mind off water. He was in a similar situation with regard to fluid - we were both empty. It turned out he had been engaged until a few weeks before the MDS, had gone through a break up and was pretty gutted about the whole thing (as you can imagine). That can not have helped him given the mental stress the race puts you under.

I felt sure that the lack of water coming from CP3 would take its toll on the field. I was to find out later that this was the case. 

CP4 could not have come sooner and the two bottles we were given were a real relief. I knew I had to eat but didn't want to spend too much time at the CP. My feet became very sore any time I stopped, so keeping moving was a priority. I hauled out my chocolate chip desert, poured in the water and let it soak. Bottles were topped up, electrolytes added, salt taken and I gave myself a mental once over.

I tried my level best to eat the dessert but it was lumpy because the powder hadn't mixed right. My only option was to mix it again and wait and seeing as I don't like waiting, I opened my mouth and shovelled it in.

Now eating powdery, watery, chocolatey gloop is a difficult challenge at the best of times, but in my then state of mind, it was next to near impossible. I came close to vomiting it back up but I flushed it down with more water but could still feel the powder sitting in my throat. To finish my meal, I ate a handful of nuts and off I went.

As I was leaving, I met Daniel, who had been ahead of me and had taken a rest. I told him I'd keep going slowly and he would catch up to me. Alex joined me but because my feet were still sore from the rest, I told him to push on, which he reluctantly did. After a bit of a chat with Richard, who I met on the bus from the airport, I was left alone as he pushed on as well. It wasn't long after that that I began to loosen out and started moving more freely.

I caught up with Alex and was chatting to him when Daniel came past and urged me to run with a small group he was with. It felt good to move with a bit of pace again and the sand began to ease off into more stony ground.

The race marshals had mounted a bright green laser at CP5, which pointed back to CP4 as a way to help with guidance as we were traversing a set of small rolling dunes. It would have been easy to get a little lost, especially as the sky darkened very quickly quickly. The head torches went and the mandatory glow sticks we received at CP3 were snapped and attached to our bags. It was a bizarre sight, seeing moving glow sticks ahead of you.
 

On Route To CP5 - The Sun Was Rapidly Descending So For First Time That Day I Could Take My Hat Off

I stayed with Daniel's group as long as I could, but I was struggling again and let them go ahead. We were well over 50km in now, so less that 30km to go. My brain was starting to tire because I started saying to myself "that's just ten trips up and down to the shop at home in Ardnacrusha, you'll do this easily..."      

Music makes my legs work it seems, because once I had put my MP3 back on, I got moving and was moving well. I passed Richard from the bus, then an Australian girl who was with Daniel's group, then Daniel's group who were having a meeting around a Road Book, before passing the Moroccan army trucks, who were supporting the race.

With about 3km to go to CP5, there was a slight incline and the ground became sandier (despite what the Road Book said). I was reduced to marching through the sand and running whenever the ground was hard enough. The laser grew closer and closer and Daniel and company passed me with about 2km to go, again urging me to run with them, but I was spent. I arrived at CP5 to a bottle of water and a brief medical check. Despite the fact that at night the desert is a cold place to be, the heat remains for a while after sundown as the sand and rocks release the heat stored up during the day, so there is still a risk for competitors.

After a quick a stop at CP5, I felt I was hitting the home stretch and this spurred me on to run out of CP5 along a sandy track. I knew there was 11.5km before I would get to the final CP before home and I thought I would try and run the entire section and see how I felt at CP6.

So off I went into the night alone, with only the sounds of my MP3 and the little voice inside my head for company. Occasionally a race 4x4 would come past and spray dust and sand in my face, but for the most part I was alone. I could see some runners behind me, but no one in front of me - no one to follow except for the fixed glow sticks the organisers had put in to help guide us. Despite this, I felt pretty good.

After about 5km, I had to turn off the trail I was on and entered a dry mud area with loads of small crevices. Concentration was crucial here as you had to keep an eye on your feet, the terrain and also your navigation but I found that after 62km, your mind tends to wander. Mine wandered off to The Farm in UCC (the sports' fields of University College, Cork) where I did most of my MDS training. I could see the grass I was running on and the white lines on the ground that marked out the pitches. I could even hear the grounds-keeper's tractor and the barks of dogs being walked. For all intents and purposes, I was in Cork running around a soccer pitch.

It was then I got a shock as I headed over a steep bank and barely managed to maintain control of myself. Gone was the grass, the tractors and the dogs and it was replaced with the realisation that I had no idea how long I was in dreamland for and what distance I had covered. I had entered low rolling dunes and oued country, reducing me to a walk and putting a big dent in my moral.

It was a very tiring 4.5km to CP6 and I could do nothing only walk as steadily as I could. I was really feeling it now - pain in my feet, tired muscles, sore back and low spirits. A few people passed me on the way in to the checkpoint, I am not even sure how many. When I arrived, I was offered one or two bottles and I took two. It was cooler now and I wasn't drinking as much so only need one but with the second, I gave myself a bottle shower. It was a great feeling to get a lot of salt off my face and hair and despite feeling a little refreshed, I was fading slowly.

I left CP6 tired but not emotional! I was numb from any feeling other than tiredness. Oueds were now the bane of my life. Every time my foot slipped on the deep sand or if I moved across the oued with the hope of finding harder ground only to be disappointed, I was made even more tired. i was beginning to become quite  annoyed with the desert.

Belgians are good for a lot of things - chocolate, beer, hosting MEPs in their capital city and now you can add 'motivating tired MDS competitors' to that list. Peter and Tommy came powering along behind me. I had just been spooked by a local who walked into the oued out of the scrub land and frightened the life out of me. It was just midnight and this guy just emerged into the oued in silence. I said to myself "where the f*ck was he off to?" given that there was nothing around us but barren desert and I hear "out visiting his friends" said a deep Belgian accent from behind me. The brothers were moving faster than I was and I thought to myself it was going to be a long trek in on my own, so I picked up the pace and powered along beside them.

The boys were flying it and had a good grip on remaining distance. Tommy, who was lagging behind us a little, talked about eating a bag of French fries and drinking a cool beer. He had resisted the lure of alcohol for over 8 months in preparation for the MDS. I told him I had a glass of wine with dinner on the night I arrived (which was delicious I might add)!

The oued eventually ended after over an hour of hard work, made easier with some Belgian banter. We left the oued and climbed over a small sand bank and there it was, the finish. It was miles away in the distance, all lit up, looking very inviting. One last lull hit me as I slowed down to a stroll as I realised the distance I still had to go.

I didn't care at that point, I was happy to stroll in. Once it hit me that 'strolling' was going to take an age, I decided running was a better way to go and took off after the Belgians who were now about 500m ahead of me. I caught up with them just at the finish line and 16 hours 24 minutes after I left the start line that morning, I crossed the finish line on what was the most difficult physical day I had ever experienced.

After a few handshakes, a cup of Sultan tea and collection of my water, I made the long journey back to Tent 140. There were a few groans from the tents as I passed them on the way down to our tent, but the vast majority were at least half empty.

Patrick and Ian were already home and sleeping. The lads put in some great performances, both in the top 200 overall, with Patrick not too far away from double digits. Patrick and I exchanged some tired pleasantries and I inflated the thermarest and struggled with my shoes, gaiters, socks and calf guards. Food wasn't an option at that point. My entire body was in pain and all I could do was haul the sleeping bag over me, put my feet up on my bag and shut my eyes. Apart from five minutes at CP4, this was the first time I had taken the weight off my feet since the morning start. A minute later I was upright again as I felt a sharp pain in my back and once it eventually eased off, I nodded off to dream of green grass, tractors and dogs barking. My long day was finally over.

I had no idea how long I'd been asleep when I heard my favourite Scot and my favourite former Olympian coming home. There are vague memories of saying well done to the girls before rolling over to avoid another back spasm to try and get back to sleep. I still hadn't managed to actually get inside the sleeping bag, but at that stage I didn't care.

I was dead to the world until I was woken by the Brighton Boys. Alex and Rich once again made it 7 out, 7 in as the lads arrived back at 6.40am. They had slept at one of the final checkpoints before making the long journey in. Tent 140 was complete again. It really was a great feeling to have everyone in back together.



Just Home - Alex And Rich Make It 7 Out, 7 In For Tent 140 On The Long Day

Much of the 'off' day was a bit of a blur between sleeping in the tent, having a chicken korma (in soup form) during the afternoon and trying to sort out my body so that it would move again the following day.

My feet were in dire straits. Patrick was in a similar boat and both himself and Ian made trips to see Doc Trotters and returned with positive reports. I decided I could rely on Dr. Phil no more and headed up to the medical tents. I took a brief pause to wait by the finish line, hoping to cheer on any of my fellow competitors I knew coming in, as I had been told that Niall had not returned yet.

The medical tent ran fairly smoothly. First you were directed to an assessment tent, where you were checked to see if you were in bad enough a condition to require the doctors. If they felt you were in a reasonable state, they encouraged you to solve the issues you had yourself using their first aid equipment.

Luckily I was deemed a health hazard and directed to the tent where I was given a number and was asked to wash my feet with disinfectant and water. I was told it would be about 40 minutes, leaving me time to go back to the finish line for a while and watch as person after person stumbled in under the mid-morning sun. Still no sign of Niall.

Back I went to the medical tent, where I was eventually called and was directed to sit on the ground in front of Flo, a pleasant French doctor who had clearly seen too many feet already that day. She gestured for me to lie on the ground and give her my feet on her lap. I was already feeling sorry for her as I pointed out the main areas of concern - the blisters on the outside of both heels, under my right ankle, the ones on my big and small toes on both feet, the two under my feet, the one breaching the big nail on my right foot and the hard skin where I had punctured blisters earlier in the week.

She took a scalpel in her hand and smiled telling me "you can look to me or you can close the eyes". I opted of the latter, occasionally peeking to see what she was doing. The process was straightforward - she would puncture all existing blisters, followed by cutting off all of the dead skin and already-punctured blisters, followed by carefully adding iodine to guard against infection. She would then tape my feet so that I would be able to run the following day.

The scalpel was not the most pleasant experience I have ever had but Flo cut quickly to minimise discomfort. I had a good laugh/wince/cry with an American who was going through the same experience. He was from San Francisco and had visited Cork and when I mentioned my friend Elmer, he remembered the incident in which he died. After twenty minutes and a bit of stinging from the iodine, Flo smiled and said she was done. My feet were clean, pink (iodine) and neatly taped up. I thanked her several times before leaving to go back to my tent. I was beginning to feel better.

My Feet After Dr. Flo, A Scalpel And Some Magic Tape

The queue for the email was busy during the day, but once it died down I went across to report home that I was still alive. I had just sat down at the pc, when Niall walked in to the phone section of the tent, just beyond the desk I was sitting at. "Good man" I said, "how did you go?". "I'm gone" was the reply, to which I assumed he meant he was wrecked. "Sure we're all gone" says I, referring to how tired and sore we were. He replied "No, I'm gone, I'm out, I didn't make it".

Niall was a victim of dehydration, a major part of which must have been the lack of water received at CP3. He had made it to CP4 before he had to enter the medical tent there, where he was given a drip (two hour penalty) and then a second drip (six hour penalty) before sleeping and vomiting. He then took an extremely brave decision to leave the race. It takes a lot of guts to continue in a race like the MDS when you are close to breaking point, but it takes even more to put your hand up and say enough is enough. I cannot imagine what a difficult decision it was but for him, it was the right decision and that's all that matters. I shook his hand and told him I was sorry, it was all I could say. I deeply admired what he had done and felt it took real courage. He was allowed to stay with the bivouac, partly because the medical staff needed to keep him under observation, but also because it was the latter part of the race and his wife was flying out to see the last couple of stages. 

Back in Tent 140, we all relaxed and chatted about the stage and as we all missed proper food, what we would consume once we were finished and back in the real world. I only had eyes for a Big Mac meal from McDonald's!

There was a sense of satisfaction knowing that we had all broken the back of the race and with only a full 42.2km marathon to go to complete the official race, we were well on our way to achieving our goals. The magnitude of what we had done already was brought home when a klaxon went and all of the competitors made their way to the finish line to welcome in the last few still out on the course.  This is an MDS tradition. It was amazing to see the respect shown to those still making their way in by those who had already finished. Over 32 hours had gone by since we began the long stage and these guys were still out there battling away.



Emotional Welcome: Waiting For The Last Competitors (Sunglasses To The Left Of The 'U')

The welcome they received was inspiring. All of the athletes, including the elites, clapping and cheering as they completed the last hundred meters or so - it was enough to bring a tear to the eye. Waiting at the finish line was Patrick Bauer, from whom they received a well deserved hug. The sweeper camels, the camels who walk behind the competitors each day with their 'driver', also got a huge cheer. The driver was lifted up by the Berbers and thrown into the air repeatedly. It was crazy when you thought about it. The driver, who looked like he was getting on a bit, was also completing the MDS, and not for the first time I'm sure!  


Some Of The Last Competitors Crossing The Line To Huge Cheers Of Applause

After returning to the tent and receiving our emails, which again lifted our spirits, we were told that we needed to collect new race numbers. We all knew it was a bit of a ruse, as in previous years competitors had received a surprise ice-cold can of coke on the rest day and this rest day was to prove no different. The can was indeed cold as I pressed it to my forehead. I considered exchanging it for some food, but quickly put that out of my mind as I opened it and knocked it back. Savage!

All that was left to do, was to take stock of the last two days and get ready to sleep. One last big effort and we would officially complete the "toughest footrace on earth". The mood in the tent was great. Despite sore bodies and tired minds, there was a sense of impending elation, but it would only come after one last hurrah through the Sahara! We told jokes and laughed before turning in to reflect on an epic couple of days. 

 


Road Book for Stage 4:

Maximum Authorised Time: 34

1st group departs: 9H00.
2nd group departs: 12H00

Km 0 : Follow markings to keep very stony terrain on the right. Km 3 : Cross small sparse dunes for 1.6 km. Then flat terrain with small stones.
Km 6,8 : Cross Rheris Oued. Loose soil, oued vegetation and small dunes.
Km 8,3 : End of oued, keeping oued to the right go N/NO.
Km 9,7 : CP1. Go SW (course 217°) for difficult climb up El Otfal Jebel.
12% average slope up to summit, then 30% for the last 500m.
Climb alternating rock and sand.
Km 11,7 : Summit. Panoramic view. Turn left.
Km 11,8 : Turn right.
Km 11,9 : Rocky oued bed. Descent.
Km 13,2 : End of descent down oued bed. Cross very stony plain.
Km 14,3 : Enter dunes. Take direction 215°.
Km 15,6 : Exit dunes. Go South (course 184°) until CP2. Flat, slightly stony terrain.
Km 21,3 : CP2 on small hill. Continue South (course 177°) until km 24.7. Flat, few stones.
Km 24,7 : Rocky peak to the left. Terrain more stony.
Km 26,4 : Well to the left. El Maharch Pass. Sandy.
Km 29 : End of pass. Go S/SW (course 195°), cross dry lake.
Km 32 : CP3 at end of lake. Small ascending gorge.
Km 32,5 : Sandy summit. Descent then stony valley.
Km 33,2 : Sandy passage through slightly hilly area.
Go South (course 174°). Deceptive ascending slope, sandy.
Km 34,7 : Sandy descent.
Km 35,3 : Bottom of descent. Go W/SW (course 250°) until km 39.7.
Alternating stony and sandy terrain.
Km 38,8 : Small hill. Sandy ascending terrain.
Km 39,7 : Climb up Mhadid Al Elahau Jebel (13% slope).
Go along crest looking over 2 valleys, one on each side.
Km 41,9 : End of crest, turn left, sandy descent.
Km 42,2 : Valley. Go West (course 263°). Sandy ascent.
Km 43,3 : End of ascent. Go W/SW (course 257°) until CP 4. Sandy descent.
Km 45,3 : CP4 in valley. Go West (course 260°) until CP5.
Succession of oued beds with vegetation and slightly stony terrains.
Km 51,6 : Hill and military post to the right. Less sandy then small stones.
Km 55,3 : Taourirt Mouchanne Jebel to the right. Terrain increasingly stony.
Km 58,1 : CP5. Go West (course 281°) along the Mouchanne to the right.
Km 60,5 : Mouchanne ends, passage through small dunes. Go N/W (course 311°). Stony terrain.
Km 61,6 : House to the right. Stay on course (course 310°) until large fallen tree.
Km 62,7 : Crevices and uneven dirt track. Stay on 310°.
Km 63,6 : Large fallen tree. Go N/W (course 307°) until bed of Bou Khechba Oued.
Stony terrain then dirt track and small dunes.
Km 66,2 : Enter the oued. Turn left, general direction W/NW (course 283°).
Sandy oued bed lined with trees.
Km 67,4 : Follow oued to the right.
Km 69,7 : CP6 in the oued. Stay in oued, general direction W/NW (course 296°) until km 76.5.
Km 74,3 : Well.
Km 76,5 : Leave oued on the right side, direction N/NW (course 333°).
Row of small dunes then plain with small stones up to bivouac.
Km 81,5 : B4 finish line