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.