Marathon des Sables 2007

Prologue

Friday, 23 March
After a 200 mile coach trip over the Atlas mountains from the Moroccan town of Ouarazate, we and our luggage are dumped by the side of the road and herded on to army trucks for the last stage of our journey to the first MdS base camp.

Myself and the 4 other Lincoln boys, Jack, Edward, Dave and Paul bag tent number 90 along with 3 others who will become honorary members of Team Lincoln for the week: Paul A, John and Vicky.

Back: L-R: Dave, Paul M, John, Vicky, Paul A; Front: Edward, Colm & Jack

The camp is arranged in a giant circle of just over 100 open-sided Berber tents accommodating the 750 competitors, of which 235 are British. Only the French contingent is larger. The 400 officials have their own, more luxurious encampment 100m away which is strictly out of bounds to us.

Base Camp

Saturday, 24 March
The day is taken up with kit checks and medical examinations. We also get issued with our emergency flares. All of tent 90 get through without a hitch. My tent mates are surprised when they discover that I don't have a sleeping mat. I am here to race, I have dispensed with everything that is not mandatory. Consequently my pack at 7kg weighs considerably less than everybody else.

At 3pm we have a race briefing. This is very tedious. Patrick Bauer, the organiser and founder of the race, has a tendency to ramble on irrelevantly. It is noticeable that he will talk excitedly for 5 mins in French, which then takes less than 30 seconds for the interpreter to translate into English. There is a moment of unintended hilarity when one of the race sponsors, Jogging International Magazine, is translated a Dogging International.

We are all fidgety and want to get underway.

Stage 1: Ihrs to Khermou – 29.3 km. Max temp 42C
At shortly after 8.30am, we line up for the start of the first stage. Most of the 235 British entries are first timers and don’t know what to expect. The PA system is playing “Highway to Hell”

At about 8.55 Patrick appears and gives one of his interminable briefings. This becomes a feature of the week. We don’t start a single stage on schedule.

Then to mounting excitement we commence the count down: dix, neuf, huit…. A fantastic moment. After 18 months of dreaming, planning and training we are racing in the desert.

I don’t know if our little corner of the desert was representative of the whole, but only 20% of it appeared to be sand dunes. The predominant feature seemed to be broad, flat stony plains, surrounded by jebels (mountain ranges) and punctuated by belts of dunes from 2km to 10 km wide. The first stage has little bit of everything to get us warmed up, flat plains with some climbs and some dunes. We start on a plain with 3 sets of jebels to negotiate before the first CP at 12km. My tactic was to be conservative over the first two days and I start mid field at an easy jog. However even at this pace I find myself moving up through the field. After a few km I settle in behind a group which includes the three lead women: Geraldine Cordesses (last year’s winner) and Laurence Fricotteaux (both French), and the Moroccan Touda Didi. Mme Fricotteaux eventually went on to win narrowly from Didi and finish 20th overall in the General Classification. We hit the first climb and I move through the group and find myself running solo. Three more climbs at regular intervals and we hit the first CP at 12km in just under the hour.

On the road to CP1

The first CP on each stage has 4 channels. I am clearly the first competitor in the 600 – 850 number range which is essentially the GB contingent. I am both alarmed and delighted by this. I collect my 1.5L bottle of water, decant it into my own bottles and am off again.

Now we’re into the business part of the stage, dunes. My speed drops dramatically, but so does everybody else’s. The heat is also more noticeable. After three km which seems to take an eternity we exit. I had taken the decision not to use gaiters and my shoes were full of sand. I stop to empty them for the first and only time in the race. Then it was some small undulating hills and CP2 came up.

After CP2 there was a short flat section then another 4km of dunes. Exiting this, base camp came into view across a huge flat plain. In the desert, distances are deceptive. The camp looked like it was about 5 minutes away, when it was actually nearly 5 km. A couple of Frenchmen overtake me about 2km out, but I resist the impulse to race them. They cross the line about 20secs in front of me. I finish in 2.54.

My initial guess was that I was in the 40s. I ask the girl on the finish line “Quelle position?” “Vingt deux” is the reply. 22nd , you could have knocked me down with a feather.

The camp set up crew only arrived an hour before us and haven’t set up the camp yet. I am confused as to what I am supposed to do. The two Frenchmen, Oliver and Christophe, who passed me, grab me and show me the ropes. They both competed last year and finished in the top 30. They lead me to the “elite runners’ holding tent” where we sit and wait for the tents to go up and watch the other competitors drift in. Christophe used to be a professional rugby player and is keen to discuss the state of English and French rugby. Tomorrow, they tell me, I must start with them at the head of the field.

Relaxing in the “elite” tent!

I naturally wonder if I have worked too hard today or if everybody else has been saving themselves. But I feel fine and tell myself to trust my own judgement.

The rest of tent 90 slowly come in. Dave is next, an hour behind me. Last of all is Edward in 6.28. He is visibly shocked and demoralised. He later confessed that it was much tougher than he bargained for and he thought he would not get through the week. As we lie in our sleeping bags, the others discuss how hard the stage was. I say nothing, tomorrow’s stage looks a lot harder, and I don’t want to dent their already low morale.

Stage 2: Khermou to Jebel el Oftal – 35 km. Max temp 44C
There were no dunes today, but there was a lot of climbing. This was undoubtedly the hardest stage of the week. I felt fine after day 1, so decided to start a bit more aggressively today and get in behind the lead pack, mostly Moroccans, from the off. The first 4km was over a flat open plain. There are no paths in the desert and we pick our own line. The leaders are going a lot slower than I expected and I have no problem staying within 50 m of them. That all changes when we reach the first Jebel.

First climb of the day

They walk up it (it is very steep) just like us mortals, but when I reach the summit a minute or so afterwards, the leaders are suddenly nearly 400m away.

The view back across the plain after the second climb.

The next 10km is routine. A broad stony plain over which running is quite easy. The helicopter makes low passes over us. It is warm, but not unbearably so, and I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. Again I am first Brit to CP1. At 14 km the fun begins. Our first serious climb of the day takes us 100m above the plain we have just traversed. This is just like a Lakeland Fell run. We negotiate a series of steep rocky ascents and descents. I move with caution. A fall here could be very serious, especially on a section that reminds me of Striding Edge. Eventually we drop to another plain and get our legs back on a gentle 2km downhill to CP2.

Shortly after CP2 we cross a very dry sandy river bed (along which the camp trucks are moving- no way will they get to camp before us!) and CP3 comes into view – over 6km away, framed against an imposing 200m high wall of rock stretching for several kilometres in each direction. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to work out where we will have to go. But first, another plain to traverse, but this one is soft and sandy underfoot. It takes all my concentration to search out the best line, constantly looking for firm unbroken ground. By and by CP3 and the monster climb behind it gets closer. Shortly before 3 hours have elapsed I am through the final CP. Now only 6 km to go, but 6km worthy of a race on its own.

Jack half way up “that” hill

The road book described the next bit as “difficult climb, average 25% slope”. That must have included the 500m to the base of the climb because it was a lot steeper than 25%. The first half was on a huge mound of sand piled against the jebel. This was a backbreaking trudge. Then we were on the rock itself, scrambling on all fours. The last 100m was steep enough to merit a fixed rope which we eagerly grasped. Near the top, Oliver and Christophe overtook me, closely followed by a Brit, Trevor Hughes. Then we were over the top. If the ascent was arduous, the descent was plain nasty. Sharp broken rocks littered the ground. Oliver and co were flying down but I wasn’t taking any risks and didn’t chase.

A steep climb followed by a nasty descent.

Just in case we hadn’t enough, we had a final 2km of dunes to the finish. Total time for the stage, 3.54 for 21st and promotion to 20th in the GC.

Five hours later I was sitting on the last dune waiting for Edward to appear. I walked the last 200 m in with him then grabbed his pack – and nearly collapsed from the weight of it. No wonder it had taken him almost 9 hours for the stage! He is clearly exhausted but in a better frame of mind than after day 1.

A very tired Edward

Apart from Dave and I, the rest of tent 90 are nightly visitors to Doc Trotters to have their feet fixed.

Just after midnight the wind suddenly picks up and brings in a sandstorm. I am sleeping on the outside and bear the brunt of it. C’est la vie.

Stage 3: Jebel el Oftal to Jebel Zireg Ouest – 32.3 km. Max temp 45C
On paper an innocuous looking stage. Mostly flat until CP2 at 21km, then 7km of sandy climbs, then a descent to base camp 3. And so it proves. It is noticeably warmer, but the running is straightforward, especially a 3 km stretch across a dry salt flat which was a delight.

The hard work started at CP2. I felt that I had weakened on the last climb the day before and was determined to stay strong today. When on the sand there is nothing to do but work hard and keep going. At least as front runners we had the advantage of being to go for unbroken lines, which is easier than following somebody else’s steps. Each summit was slightly higher than the last and eventually we crested the last sandy climb to another tough rocky scramble to the summit of Jebel Zireg. Then it was downhill for 5km to camp. The heat was starting to get to me on the final run in and I could feel myself starting to go dizzy, but the finish line arrived just in time. 21st again on the stage, but I’ve leapfrogged Oliver and Christophe in the GC to go 18th. They arrive 3mins behind me, so my overall gap is only 1 minute. I’m now 20 mins ahead of Ian Leach the second Brit.

I’m truly loving this race, but for me the wheel is about to come off the wagon.

Our fully air-conditioned tent with en-suite facilities

We are all starting to stink to high heaven, and Vicky gives us some lavender to sweeten us up.

Stage 4: Jebel Zireg Ouest to Ouest du Kfiroun– 70.5 km.
As usual we are all awake at 5.30. The tent had collapsed in the night from the high wind and none of could be bothered to do anything about it. It is too cold to get out of our sleeping bags and we grumble like fury when the Berbers lift the tent off us.


What is “Do not disturb” in Arabic?

I don’t feel quite right. I eat my breakfast but without any real appetite. As one of the top 50, I have to start at noon today, 3 hours after the main field. It was my ambition to be in this elite start. As the morning goes on I begin to feel queasy. I try to convince myself that it is just nerves, but I’ve had to dip into the only pills I’ve brought with me, Immodium, and I’m worried.

At 9 am I stand on a mound 200m from the start and wave the Union Jack as the main field trundle off. The rest of the camp has been dismantled, bar a handful of tents for us to rest in out of the sun. At about 10pm one of the French officials, the lovely Claire, comes round and draws a flower in green marker pen on our running numbers to signify that we are “elite” competitors. A proud moment for me.

Four of the British elite: Colm, Tom Adams, Ian Leach, Trevor Hughes

There are 5 Brits in the elite start (the most ever) and four of us agree to run together while the sun is up, i.e. to about 50km.

At 11am I try to eat a second breakfast, but I gag after a mouthful and give up. At least the Immodium is working.

Finally we are off. Trevor obviously decides to make a bid for glory and is off like a rocket, which leaves me, Ian and Tom. I suspect that Trevor’s pace is unsustainable and I am right.

I feel increasingly nauseous but keep up to CP1. A few km out of CP1 we catch the first of the backmarkers. Incredibly it has taken them 4 hours to do what we have done in 1 hour. I don’t envy them, 70km must be a hell of a long way at their pace.
Patrick gives me a cuddle at CP1

By the time we reach CP2 I am struggling to even maintain the pedestrian 9kph we have been doing. I let Ian and Tom go. I try to eat a Nutrigrain but bring it straight back up after 1 bite.

I plod on. Three km before CP3 we enter the most beautiful dunes section on the entire course. Pure white sand. Here I catch up with my pals from tent 90, Jack, Ed, John and Vicky. They have decided to stay together for this long stage. They tell me I look like sh*t. I sit with them for 15 minutes in the CP – a novel experience for me!

I catch up with Jack and Edward, but the tank is almost empty

So far it had taken me just under 4 hours to complete 30km. If I could keep it up I could complete the whole stage in 9 – 10 hours which wouldn’t be a very competitive time but wouldn’t be a complete disaster. So I press on.

Another 12km of dunes to CP4. Initially, I walk up the dunes and run down them. But as the stage progresses I’m doing less running and more walking. I finally reconcile myself to the fact that my dream of being first Brit is dead.

The 12 km to CP4 takes me 2 hours and I’m dead on my feet. 6 hours have now elapsed and I still have almost 29km to go. I spot Mark Wallace and sit beside him. He has made some coffee with sugar in it and offers it to me. It is the nicest thing I have ever tasted. (When I see him the next day to thank him he tells me that I looked so bad he was convinced that I wouldn’t finish).

Mark Wallace. My ginger saviour at CP4.

It was starting to get cold, the temperature drops quite rapidly when the sun goes down, and a sandstorm was starting to blow up, so I climbed into my sleeping bag to keep warm. My plan was to rest for a few minutes before moving on. The next thing I know is that it is 10.30pm. I had fallen asleep for over 4 hours. I lie there feeling cold, sick and miserable. All of my rivals would have finished 2 hours ago. It all seems a bit pointless. I contemplate retiring from the race. The thought of getting back to camp in a comfortable 4x4 is very seductive. I quickly reject the idea. For a start I am booked in to give a talk at my sons’ school on Wed to thank them for raising £500 for my charity. How could I explain quitting to them?

Second option: spend the night there, hope I feel better in the morning and complete the stage then. I don’t like that much either. It is still a race and I have to do my best, even if it isn’t very good. So I get up and walk.

If I forget the rest of the race, I’ll always remember that night. There was a cold northerly head wind so I used my sleeping bag as a shawl. For the next 6 hours it was just me, the night and the desert. Because of the lack of moisture and pollution the air is extraordinarily clear. The moon was almost full and shed so much light that a torch was quite unnecessary. And I have never seen so many stars in the sky.

The way to CP5 was lit by a giant green laser. It was stationed at CP5 and aimed over the dunes to CP4. So it was simple matter to follow it. I reached CP5 just before 1am and was surprised to find Patrick, our race director, there. He immediately spotted my elite number and was concerned. Was there a problem? Was I OK? Did I need medical assistance? Was I going to bivvy down for the night or keep going? Maybe it was an act but I felt his concern was sincere. He clearly loved his race and I was impressed by him just being there. Heartened by this encounter I moved on.

The laser

Navigation was now by light sticks placed every 200m or so. On reaching one, you could just make out the next one. Every now and again a 4x4 would come slowly by. Shuttling back and forth between CPs to keep an eye on us I guessed.

I only saw two other competitors in the 12km section from CP5 to CP6, Lucas Bateman and girl with him who was clearly struggling. I exchanged a few words but wasn’t in the mood for socialising and pushed on alone.

There were a surprising number of people at CP6 considering it was only 6.5 km to camp. I didn’t linger at all, I was keen to end my ordeal. There were yet another section of dunes to go through first. The moon had gone down now and I had my head torch on. This gives a very flat light and makes it difficult to judge depth. This makes life difficult descending dunes and more than once I ended up flat on my face.

Finally, just after 4.30am, I crossed the finish line. I thought I might cry, but I had no energy for any emotions. I collapsed gratefully into my tent and was relieved to note that everyone else was back.

The stage had taken me 16.20 and caused enormous worry back home when my results didn’t appear. My stage position was 454, which incredibly meant that there were almost 300 people slower than me. Overall I had sunk to 186 on the GC.

Thing were very soon put into perspective. Mid morning we were summoned for an urgent announcement – the shocking news that Bernard Jule, a French competitor, had died in his sleep. None of us in tent 90 knew him, but we were still upset by this.

At around 3pm, the last competitor finished, a USA lady. The whole camp, competitors and officials came out to clap and cheer her across the line. The whole stage had taken her 31 hours. She was so tired she could barely lift her head. It was an oddly uplifting moment.

Stage 5: Ouest du Kfiroun to Erg Chebbi – 42.2 km.
Marathon day. I haven’t eaten anything for over 48 hours so this is going to be a long plod. The stage is basically flat with just a few km of dunes. A day for the speed merchants.

I plod to the first CP at 10.5km but I am out of energy again. I walk to the half way CP and try to enjoy the view, but fail. Hundreds of runners are overtaking me and I hate it.

At CP2 I meet up with Andy Pocock. He is also suffering from whatever is ailing me – feeling nauseous and cold. Andy used to be a junior international 1500m runner, but persistent injury problems had highjacked his career. You would never hear him moan about it though. We decided to jog/walk together. Despite both of us desperately wanting to stop, neither of us wants to be the first to suggest it. Somehow, with the aid of some anti-nausea pills donated by John, we manage to run the whole of the second half.

Andy Pocock, seated, and John our drug dealer

Along the way we overtake Vicky, who had started brightly but was now struggling. She was beginning to succumb to the bug that had got the rest of us and ended up spending the entire night in the medical tent on a drip.

Vicky at CP3

Our total time was 6.17, which sucked, but we had essentially finished the MdS. The last stage ought to be a formality. My stage position was 371, and I had declined to 206 in the GC.

Vicky was not the only one from tent 90 having problems. Jack and Edward stagger in after 9.12 hours. They have been spending over an hour each night in Doc Trotters and their feet are completely mashed. I can only admire their tenacity.

Does anybody know of a good chiropodist?

That night we are treated to the orchestra of the Paris Opera playing a selection of light classical music. Surreal.

A double treat – I manage to eat my first solid food for almost 3 days.

Stage 6: Erg Chebbi to Merzouga – 11.7 km.
We wake up as usual at 5.30. For once we are not disturbed by the Berbers dismantling the camp. I feel surprisingly good. Chocolate Mousse followed by a Chicken Curry makes for a very tasty breakfast.

My plan had been to walk the last stage with Jack, Ed and Vicky, but now I’m in the mood to give it a lash.

The stage is simple. 5.4km across the usual rocky plain, then 6.3km through the 150m high Merzouga dunes, the highest in Morocco.

It is like a stampede at the start. I get myself to near the front and we hammer it across the plain. The lead runners are disappearing over the horizon, but my little group reaches the base of the dunes in 18 mins – 34min 10k pace! Again being near the front has distinct advantages. The dunes are enormous and being able to choose lines of unbroken sand is a big help. Thigh burning ascents are followed by exhilarating plunges down the other side. I gain a couple of places and lose a couple of places. 50m from the finish I look over my shoulder. The next runner is Ian Leach and he is 30m back and won’t catch me. Ian is now the leading Brit but hasn’t actually been first Briton on any stage. I stop to let him overtake me and finish ahead. I had forgotten that Peter Fairhurst was ahead of us both, so it was a wasted gesture. My official stage position was 21st in 1.05, pushing me back up to 196 in the GC. Rubbish really, but marginally better than being 200+. Finishing strongly made me feel a bit better about the whole race.

I had no real emotions has I crossed the line. Apart from being ill I hadn’t found the event particularly arduous. Before the event I had taken finishing as a given and was only really interested in a top 50 finish. Having had the opportunity for a top 20 spot, I could only feel disappointment at my failure.

When all is said and done though, the MdS was enormous fun and a fantastic race. I would do it all again next week if I could. My boys were enthralled by the whole thing, so, who knows, Team McCoy might feature in 5 years time….

Arrrrr. Prepare for boarding.

Colm McCoy