The One I thought was going to be TOO EASY

Pre-race

On my return from Alaska in February after completing the Iditasport 130, I entered my now customary blue period where life is so boring and the grass is certainly greener on the other side. Work was a real struggle and as far as running was concerned - well that was well and truly out of the window. My wife could only stick this for so long, so after about a month, I was ordered to enter another race.

The Desert Cup was one of five races on my hidden lifetime Agenda that I intend to complete before I die and as this race was about 6 months away, it fitted perfectly with enough time for training and preparation. The Desert Cup in Jordan is an unsupported race over 168 km (105 miles = 4 marathons) non-stop that includes 41 km over mountains, 23 km of Hilly tracks and 104 km of unrelenting fine Desert sands.

From the start of my preparations I was very confident of my ability to complete this race comfortably. I had experience of the hot temperatures and the sandy terrain from the Marathon des Sables, and I had experience of long continuous effort that would be required from the Iditasport. In fact, this race was going to be too easy to warrant any real respect. Of course, I was not so arrogant to express this view to fellow racers before the race and really it was only my closest friends and family that were aware of my complacency for this event. It was only this complacency that gave me any concern before going to Jordan - I was worried because I wasn't worried. Further, because of my attitude prior to the race, I found it extremely hard to get excited about the event, and had the race been cancelled for whatever reason, war with Iraq for instance, I would have lost no sleep whatsoever. This totally negative attitude resulted in me panicking a few days prior to departure, when I realised that I hadn't finalised my food for the race, and was totally unprepared with what kit I needed to take etc. The organisers of the race require that all racers provide various medical certificates and e.c.g's together with proof that you are carrying enough calories to complete the race within a pre designated time. The last few days ended up being a complete scramble. I pride myself on being extremely well prepared for these type of races, which I am convinced is a major factor in achieving good results - but on this occasion I was sailing by the seat of my pants.

On Sunday 3 November, with my mind in a complete pickle, I travelled down to Heathrow to meet up with 29 fellow British racers and to fly out to Jordan where I hoped I would pick up some positive vibes from the other athletes and belatedly get my arse in gear. In Heathrow I met up with the only British Athlete I knew, Alex Green, who was doing this type of race for the first time. His enthusiasm and excitement was a tonic and I only hoped that I would rise to his optimistic level as opposed to him coming down to mine. As is usual, whilst sat waiting for our flights we tried to pick out some of the other racers. Some were obvious, as they carried their obligatory Moletrack rucksacks, and it is highly unlikely that your normal run of the mill traveller would possess such an iconic item. Others were noticeable by their chiselled toned faces and bodies, which you only achieve from exceptional excessive training. On this basis, no one would have picked me out as I am a little fat Welshman with my old fashioned KIMM sac.

Arrival in Jordan and pre-race

Our flight duly left and about 5 hours later we arrived in Amman international Airport, midnight local time. I had anticipated a short journey to Petra , where we were to camp for the next 2 nights, and like everyone else, I was completed dejected to be told that the journey to the camp would be about 3 hours in a cramped Bus. 3.00am we arrived at the camp and by torchlight we were directed to a large open fronted Berber type tent that was to accommodate all of us for the next few days. Immediately we all got out our sleeping bags and within about 20 minutes we were all settled and many were already fast asleep.

At 5.30am after a couple hours of sleep I awoke to see the first sight of our wonderful camp. I was one of the first awake, so perhaps this was the initial sign of positive anticipation - a bit like when I was a child at Christmas. Our camp was situated in a natural amphitheatre with fantastic wind sculptured stone walls all around. Within minutes I was out of my sleeping bag and along with Alex exploring our new surroundings. This morning after breakfast, we all had the technical and administrative inspections during which our emergency rations of 1 litre of water and 2000 calories of food would be sealed, our medical certificates and e.c.g's approved and where we would be issued with our water ration card, 2 night glow sticks and salt tablets. By lunchtime all 236 athletes had been through the process and now the afternoon was free, with many of the athletes taking the opportunity to visit the amazing city of Petra . On returning to the camp about 5.00pm in darkness I retired back to the British tent and like nearly all the other racers silently lay on my sleeping bag contemplating the next few days. After a little while, the silence in the tent finally got to me and I switched on my torch just to check that I hadn't fallen asleep and that I hadn't been left on my own in the tent. Sure enough my light lite up about 30 sets of eyes. Someone had to break the tense silence, so I took it upon myself to chat to anyone about anything. The rest of the evening passed quietly with Dinner provided by the organisers and by about 9.00pm all the Brits were asleep back in the tent.

Race Day 1 - Tuesday 5 November

By 5.30am the next morning the whole camp was starting to come alive. This was the start of self sufficiency so any breakfast had to be supplied by ourselves. My breakfast comprised 2 Star Bars and a packet of peanuts - not very inspiring but high in required calories. With rucksacks packed we were transported the 5 miles to the entrance of Petra where the race was to start. Just after 8.00am all the athletes were assembled behind the inflated starting arch. The tension was quite electric and at long last my mind was finally in gear - this race was real. After the customary speech by the race director, Patrick Bauer, just after 8.30am the gun for the start went off.

The Start - Checkpoint 1

234 athletes left the starting pen in a flash, with myself and fellow British racer making up the 2 athletes jostling to be last over the start line. I have made it my tradition to be last over the start, unfortunately for me, it was similarly his tradition too. We compromised and crossed the line together last.

The first 1 km leads down a stone path and then turns left into the narrow canyon that leads to the famous tombs of Petra and in particular the wonderful and world renowned Treasury (of Indiana Jones fame). I doubt there is a more spectacular start to any race worldwide. I was thankful that I had visited Petra the day before, because if I hadn't I would have had to stop to take in the spectacular scenery that was on view. On passing the Treasury the course turns right for about ½ km before turning left up the 570 steps that lead into the mountains. By now the racers were spread out over many hundreds of metres and the sight in front of me of racers stretching up into the hillside was reminiscent of scenes from "The Lord of the Rings". As is always my race plan I plodded on at my own pace, taking little or no notice of other racers around me. Twice I stopped up the steps primarily to take photos of the outstanding view described above, but secondary, at this very early stage, I had no intention of over exerting myself - the longer I could stay fresh the better. Just over 50 minutes into the race I was on top of the main climb and progressing at a very comfortable pace - albeit very near the back of the pack. The course then twisted and turned primarily over semi worn path and tracks, but at times over ankle twisting unmarked routes to the first checkpoint at 8.5km. My pre planned schedule for the race anticipated me arriving here at 2.00 hours, but arriving at 1 hour 38 minutes saw me comfortably ahead of time.

Checkpoint 1 - Checkpoint 2

As is also my plan, I passed through the checkpoint immediately, only stopping to take on some of the water available. This strategy allows me to pass a number of the faster racers who arrived before me and are resting, with only a small proportion of those re-passing me before the next checkpoint where I will repeat the process. Leaving checkpoint 1, for a few kilometres the course follows a main road before returning to the rough stone tracks that were to become the hallmark of this early part of the race. I was making good time and was well within my comfort zone. At times it was hard not to push on a bit particularly when other athletes passed me - but I knew my own pace and I knew that my strategy had worked before in the Sahara and in Alaska. After about 17 km checkpoint 2 could be seen 4 km in the distance. Again the landscape allowed wonderful views of all the faster athletes strewn across the countryside leading to the checkpoint. After 2 hours 14 minutes I arrived at the windy 2 nd checkpoint, a further 15 minutes ahead of my pre planned schedule. Again after collecting my water I passed straight through.

Checkpoint 2 - Checkpoint 3

I was now well and truly into my stride. I had been moving for just about 4 hours now and I couldn't have felt better. On leaving checkpoint 3 I accompanied Laurence Brophy, a fellow Welshman and the oldest competitor in the race at 70 years young. Both of us continued at our own pace, which just so happened to be the same as each other. However, I must admit, I felt, being half his age, that I should be leaving him in my wake, but thankfully my ego never took over and made me push harder than I should have been going. Laurence proved to be faster than me on the flat and on the downhills, but on the uphills I managed to balance the equation. The latter part of this stage over mountainous tracks was predominately up hill and with the benefit of this I finally pulled clear of Laurence.

Checkpoint 3 was situated on top of a mountain pass and as I rose towards it, it became quite noticeably cooler and windier. I had read stories from previous Jordan Cup races (which were run in the opposite direction) of the high winds, and whilst the wind was fairly strong it was nowhere near what I had expected. On approaching checkpoint 3 I had become aware of the first niggle with my feet. A hotspot, which precedes a blister was forming on the pad of my left big toe and it is imperative to deal with such matters before they escalate. I arrived at the checkpoint after 6 hours 12 minutes from the start and was now nearly 50 minutes ahead of schedule. However, instead of passing straight through I retired to the Berber tent to deal with my foot problem.

Checkpoint 3 - Checkpoint 4

8 minutes later I left checkpoint 3 having successfully attended to my foot - but forgetting the golden rule that foot injures come in pairs - whatever happens on your left foot inevitably will happen on your right. This error will come back to haunt me later in the race.

Checkpoint 3 is situated at the highest point on the race and from here it is a fairly sharp descent along mountain tracks to the valley below. The views down into the valley were nothing short of breathtaking and whilst under race conditions it is difficult to justify stopping, I honestly believe it would have been criminal not to have soaked in some of scenery before us. My legs were now just starting to complain a bit, particularly when the descents became more severe and on many occasions it was easier to just let your body fall down the mountains at whatever rate gravity dictated. On hitting the valley floor the route crossed some very minor dirt roads and passed by a tented village. By this time nightfall was closing in, and the final stretch into checkpoint 4 was along a minor road, but in the complete darkness outside the arc of my head torch I could see little else. This stage had taken me 2 hours 49 minutes and I had now been going 9 hours 10 minutes since the start.

Checkpoint 4 - Checkpoint 5

I had been wondering for some considerable time how my friend Alex had been doing. I had trained with him in Britain before the race and had anticipated that I should be ahead of him. I was fairly sure I hadn't passed him - but it puzzled me as to how he could be in front of me. My usual plan was executed at checkpoint 4 - I collected my water and activated my green light stick and without any further interruptions I prepared to leave. It was just as I was about to go I noticed a rucksack in the Berber tent with No 185 on the back. I knew this was Alex's number and decided to go inside to see my mate. Alex was not in best humour. It was fairly obvious from the initial exchange of words that his race was over - he had succumb to the dreaded blisters which at this early stage of the race made it nigh on impossible for him to contemplate finishing. I tried bullying him into going on but his mind (rightfully) was made up. If I thought I could have convinced him to go on I would have persisted - but I wasn't going to get anywhere so with no further ado I made my exit.

Leaving checkpoint 4 alone was quite confusing. The route, which was marked with green luminous sticks, comprised numerous twists and turns - but in the darkness it was often difficult to depict what order the sticks were. It was therefore comforting to be overtaken by 2 fellow British racers (I think Royal Air Force) who I could follow as long I could see them. In the darkness, as before, I had no idea what the countryside look like beyond the light of my headtorch. The route followed a rough track and at one point passed through another tented village and in the darkness it was quite magical to pass these silent semi light fabric homes but was equally unnerving as the owners dogs barked aggressively just out of the light of my headtorch. The only other racer I saw on this stage was one of the Jordanian female runners who was certainly going through a low patch as she could only raise a ughhhh when I passed her and said hello. I was later told she received 2 intravenous drips at checkpoint 5 for severe dehydration. The latter part of this stage became typical of many of the night stages in this race. You can see the lights of the checkpoint a little way in the distance and you anticipate you might arrive in 5 to 10 minutes - but 30 minutes later you appear no closer. Finally after 2 hours 56 minutes I completed the stage. I had now been on the go for 12 hours 16 minutes.

Checkpoint 5 - Checkpoint 6

My memory is completely blank of what checkpoint 5 was like, all I know is that after 10 minutes I had had a short rest, restocked my water and was back on the trail. However, I do remember very clearly that this was the start of the sand. I had 104 km to look forward to of very fine sand - but a slight consolation was that 64 km was under my belt, and relatively speaking I was feeling good. Quite a few other racers left checkpoint 5 at about the same time as me, and initially I followed 3 Italian runners, one of whom seemed to love the sound of his own voice. After about ½ hour of listening to him (I was tired and I couldn't understand what they were saying) I had had enough. I picked up the pace and passed them, leaving them in my wake. Fat chance. The faster I went, the faster they went. The roles had been reversed, I had had the luxury of following in their footsteps initially but now they could sit on my heels. Another ½ hour later, I had endured as much as I could. I stopped in my tracks and let them pass. I let them get a couple of hundred metres ahead and then continued on my merry way. Blow me, 5 minutes later they stopped and when I caught up with them they continued on again. It was a living nightmare (of minor proportions). This continued for the 2 hours 14 minutes it took us to reach checkpoint 6.

On arriving at checkpoint 6 many racers were bedding down for a few hours (or more) rest. Fellow Brits, Chris Chittell (Eric Pollard of Emmerdale fame), his mate Peter Quinn and one other (whose name escapes me) were amongst them. I had been passing and re-passing this trio most of the day with them stopping longer at the checkpoints than myself but then being faster between the checkpoints than me. I had no intention of stopping here, my pre race plan was for me to stop at checkpoint 7 at just over half way. I stopped temporarily to sort out my water and briefly say hello to the trio and it was at this point that Peter remarked something along the lines that my presence beggared believe or possible that I was really starting to bug him (in the nicest possible way). I took this as a compliment, and psychologically I knew I had beaten them, and promptly put my sack on my back, said my goodbyes and disappeared into the darkness towards checkpoint 7. It wasn't a particular aim to beat anyone in this event, completing it was the main focus, but every scalp you can take is a bonus in a race and making the most of any advantage is paramount (i.e. in this case an innocent comment making me feel so strong). Thankfully, I had also dropped my Italian friends.

Checkpoint 6 - Checkpoint 7

Leaving checkpoint 6 the desert sands continued, as they would now to the end. 2 km in the distance was a major highway elevated above the desert sands. I continued alone on this very uneventful stage initially counting the minutes until I passed under the road and subsequently counting the minutes until the sound of traffic passing along the road subsided. Again checkpoint 7 was visible from many miles away. By now I was anxious for some rest. I had been on the move for over 17½ hours and my pre race schedule anticipated me arriving at checkpoint 7 at 18 hours. Grinding on through the sand the lights was not getting any closer in the darkness. As my 18 hour time approached, I started to believe I would never reach the unchanging light. Then suddenly, I was only 100 metres away, everything suddenly came into focus and I finally reach my goal at 17 hours 59 minutes and 51 seconds - I was 9 seconds ahead of schedule. I had scheduled a 2½ hour stop here, but now my racing head was on, I decided to cut this by 1 hour to 1½ hours. Within a few minutes I had found a clear patch on the edge of the Berber tent, my sleeping bag was out and I was curled up inside. The tent was full of racers with plans similar to mine. I enjoyed a fitful sleep for about ¾ hour.

It was markedly colder now I had stopped moving, so getting out of my bag was a major effort in itself and took a further 15 minutes. 20 minutes later I had packed my bag but it took me a further 20 minutes to put my shoes back on and to prise the warm clothing off my back. It was still pitch black. Putting my shoes on was quite a worrying experience in itself. I had not noticed any real problems with my feet over the first half of the race with the exception of the minor treatment I carried out at checkpoint 3, but on putting my shoes on I suffered some considerable pain in both my heels and under the big toe pad on my right foot. I wasn't going to let this worry me. I have had blisters in the past and I knew that once I got going again the pain would subside. After 1 hour 55 minutes I finally left checkpoint 7. Over half the race completed and I was buzzing.

Checkpoint 7 - Checkpoint 8

Leaving in the darkness at about 4.30am I continue to follow the now diminishing green lights towards the next checkpoint. I was aware that the Sun would rise at about 5.30am , a factor that I looked forward to tremendously. My feet continued to throb, but I was ever confidant that in due course the pain would subside. It always had in the past - no reason why it wouldn't this time. But it didn't. The pain got worse and worse and my pace was noticeably slowing. The Sun rising didn't lift my spirits - I was in pain and was severely questioning why the hell I was here. After 2½ hours I finally reached checkpoint 8. It was decision time - either I just grit my teeth and endure another 70 km in absolute agony or, I let the infamous Doc Trotters loose on my feet. Doc Trotters are the medical back-up team who cover these bizarre races. Their reputation is renowned for uncompromising butchery - but in my humble opinion, I believe that their experience covering this type of race for 17 years and their unquestionable intention to aid every racer to finish was a good enough reason for me to allow them to have a look at my wounds. Up to this point I hadn't seen my blisters - so it was with some trepidation I removed the sock from my left foot to reveal an enormous blood and puss filled blister that encompassed the whole of the left side of my foot - it was an absolute cracker. On removing my right sock I was equally enthralled to see a similar blister on my other heel but with the added bonus of a weeping blister the size of an old 50p piece on the pad under my big toe. The kind doctor informed me that treatment was necessary and promptly got his scalpel out. The treatment is totally barbaric - slicing away all the dead skin from the blister, exposing the raw flesh beneath. Then pouring a strong antiseptic over the wound before dousing the exposed flesh with Iodine. At which point I have tears coming down my eyes and am screaming expletives that are unrepeatable. A French and Moroccan racer looked on in some amusement and must have thought I was a total wuss. Then to add insult to injury the kind doctors places compeed plaster over the exposed blister whilst with great delight placing great pressure on the wound to ensure it sticks. Looking on the bright side - it was ONLY 3 blisters he treated in this manner - it could have been 4 had I not looked after my left foot at checkpoint 3.

Checkpoint 8 - Checkpoint 9

An hour later I was ready to leave. My feet, to say the least were extremely tender. My race plan was in tatters - finishing this race was the absolute best I could now hope for. Whilst I never timed it, I anticipate my pace on leaving the checkpoint would seriously not have been faster than 4 minutes for 100 metres. I gingerly walked on tiptoes trying in vain to keep all pressure off my heels. Only 70 km to go is all I could think of. The course continued across flat sands but occasionally interspersed with dried up lakes. The route crossed another road and an adjacent railway line and then still more sand but this time undulating. The only thing to focus on was reaching the next checkpoint. A long way in the distance occasionally the sun would reflect off the vehicle that marked the checkpoint, but similar to the night, it just never seem to get any closer - this was partly because of the vastness of the desert but in my case was also largely due to the incredibly slow pace I was going. Eventually 2 hours 54 minutes after leaving checkpoint 8 I arrived at checkpoint 9. This was 54 minutes slower than anticipated. However, my race plan in part remained the same - I collected my water and left toward my next goal (checkpoint 10) 7 minutes later.

Checkpoint 9 - Checkpoint 10

Once again I was alone wobbling around the desert. The last British competitors I had seen was back at checkpoint 6 and it had been surprising to me that in the 10 hours since I had not been passed by any (or less likely in my condition - that I had caught and passed one). By now all the racers were spread out thinly across the inhospitable surroundings. Many hours could pass without seeing another racers with the exception of the checkpoints. The terrain was similar to the previous 3 stages fine sand interspersed with rock hard shrubs, often undulating and usually flanked by fantastic sculptured rocks. Checkpoint 10 was visible from about 5 km out. Looking behind I could see another athlete closing relatively fast upon me. Predictable, with about 2 km to go he finally caught up and it was a relief to have someone to chat to - both to counter the boredom of talking to myself, but also to take my mind of the pain in my feet. I chatted to the French athlete, asking about his plans for finishing this race - was he going straight through to the finish line or was he planning a break? His answer amazed me. Remembering we are in a race situation - he replied that he intended stopping for a long break 1 or 2 checkpoints from the finish in order to be able to finish in Wadi Rum as the sun was rising the next day. On our current pace it was realistic to finish about 2.30am - 3.00am - i.e. in darkness. I couldn't comprehend this attitude, as my firm intention was to finish as fast as I possibly could. We continued together to checkpoint 10 with my time covering this stage of 2 hours 59 minutes and an overall time 29 hours 25 minutes. My feet were incredibly sore - so unscheduled I stopped for 30 minutes during which time I massaged some life back into my feet, got some food (predominately honey coated cashews) down my throat and generally tried to take stock of my enviable position. I had paid to go through this torture - so I could hardly complain.

Checkpoint 10 - Checkpoint 11

Shortly after leaving the checkpoint, darkness descended very quickly and once again I was confined to the measly sphere thrown up by my head torch. After about an hour the route passed between 2 high walls of rock, which could only just be made out against the star splattered sky. The route ran about 100 metres from the base of the left wall. I was again alone and quite happy until a pack of dogs started yelping and barking. At least my first impression was that these were dogs, but my mind soon changed as I noticed that there were no lights of any accompanying owners and more worrying was that the numerous dogs were spread out over many hundreds of metres along the base of the wall. The dogs in my opinion were coyotes. There was bugger all I could do about it - I just kept my head down remaining ever so sensitive to any movement that might occur in close proximity to me. After about half an hour I was finally clear of the howling and generally felt a lot lot safer. It was time to retire into my own little world and plod on. Once again the checkpoint was visible from a long way off. I was feeling as happy as one can feel in these circumstances - when all of a sudden I had the scare of my life. From out of the darkness, about 2 metres to my right this voice said to me " Do you mind if I follow you?" Once my heart had recovered from missing several beats I discovered that a French runner was stood alongside the trail in complete darkness. His head torch had packed in on him and with no moon it was practically impossible for him to proceed. He had seen my head torch behind him and had waited about 15 minutes for me to catch up. We proceed up the hill together reaching the checkpoint in 2 hours 55 minutes. Ironically for him, after playing with his headtorch for 30 seconds on arrival it started to work perfectly. Again my body insisted that I rest a little while, so it was 24 minutes before I was packed up and leaving the checkpoint.

Checkpoint 11 - Checkpoint 12

Whilst I was absolutely shattered, I was maintaining a steady pace, albeit slower than I would have liked. I predicted a finish in the early hours of the morning. It was midway between checkpoint 11 and checkpoint 12 that I started considering the Frenchman's idea from checkpoint 10 of stopping before the finish in order to enter the supposedly spectacular Wadi Rum in daylight. Coupled with the fact that my feet were in agony and my whole body was complaining of total fatigue I decided there was merit in the idea and vowed to stop for an extended break at the next checkpoint. This put a bit of a spring in my step (not) as I proceeding in haste to checkpoint 12 arriving there in 3 hours 37 minutes and a total elapsed time of 36 hours 52 minutes.

I was not the only one opting to rest so close to the finish line. The tent was part full of similar minded athletes curled up in their bags. In minutes my bag was out and I fell asleep instantly. I calculated that in order to finish in daylight I could afford about 2 hours break thus allowing about 1½ sleep. As planned 1½ hours later I awoke, reluctantly got out of my bag in the cold and was back on the trail after 1 hour 54 minutes.

Checkpoint 12 - Checkpoint 13

It was now the middle of the night and the cruellest of stages was about to be contested. As was my choice, I again left alone in order to plod on at my own pace. Half an hour after leaving, the route topped a slight hill and in the far distance the lights of the next checkpoint could be seen. I knew from the road book that it was a long way off - but it was an immense mental struggle to be looking at the light of checkpoint 13 for 2½ hours solid without it appearing to get any closer. After nearly 3 hours one of the official back up vehicles approached me - by which time I was totally and utterly cheesed off. With a deep sense of anger and frustration I asked the driver how far the blasted checkpoint was away. His answer infuriated me even more when he responded " You can see it up there". My response was short and to the point "I know, I have seen it for the last 2½ bloody hours - but how far is it". His laughter didn't help matters until he said "its about 100 metres". I think he thought I was completely off my trolley and sure enough 2 minutes later I entered the final checkpoint before the end. I was now 41 hours 47 minutes into the race.

Checkpoint 13 - The Finish

My body was completely shattered and forced me to stop for 30 minutes. I finally pulled my body and kit up off the ground and left the checkpoint a couple of minutes behind an Indian runner. This was the final stage, but any thoughts of a sprint finish were far from my mind. Slowly but surely I gained on the runner in front and eventually I caught him up. We continued together. Both of us were beyond exhaustion and our progress was certainly all over the place as opposed to the optimum straight line. As planned, at 5.30 am we entered the start of Wadi Rum just as the sun was rising over the high canyon walls. The spectacular view did not disappoint. Even in the state we were in it was impossible not to be impressed.

The flat red sand plain that passes between the high rock walls was dotted with the ever present rock hard shrubs that litter the desert floor. Looking at one of these shrubs it suddenly appeared as a duck reaching out for some food in front of it. The next shrub was a dwarf on a surfboard. The next shrub appeared as a pig with a piglet on its back. All of this was amazing, I was hallucinating like never before. My running partner, who was about 4 metres in front of me, appeared to be carrying a plastic patio chair. I tried blinking these images away - but the more I tried the more I hallucinated. Looking across the desert now, nearly all the shrubs turned into animals of one sort or another. None of this worried me - I found it highly amusing. Continuing on towards the finish line one of the shrubs to my left turned into a baby rhinoceros, which as I passed its head turned to follow me. Suddenly it dropped its head in order to charge and immediately I raised the stick in my hand to defend me. Wow this was getting too much and not a little scary.

The finish line was getting closer, but it was hard to believe it. Every step was a struggle. An approaching official in a car informed us the finish was 3 km away. This was all I needed to hear. I decided to dig deep and run to the finish. I announced my plan to my running partner but added the caveat that this proposed burst of energy might only last 100 metres. He declined to join me, so off I ran. I had read the road book before leaving checkpoint 13 and knew that we had to go to the left of the village in front of us. I proceeded with all due haste in that direction. After about 10 minutes I became aware that my footprints in the sand were the only ones about. Stopping to take stock of the situation I glanced across the valley and noticed that all the other footprints were about ½ km away on the right side of the valley. I quickly decided that all those runners couldn't be wrong so I hot footed it back across the valley to the right hand side. By now I had been running for about 15 minutes, but because of my detour I was a mere 100 metres ahead of my Indian friend. Checking the road book after, the route is described as "Go alongside village on your left" which I had misread as to go to left of village.

After passing by the village the route turns left and the inflatable finish line could be seen 300 metres away. I mustered all my strength and attempted a sprint finish. There was no one to contest my sprint finish with - but pride told me I had to be as fast as possible. Eventually after 45 hours 53 minutes and 30 seconds the race was over.

 The Finish

PHEW!!!!!! I had finished at last. A number of racers wobbled to the finish line to greet me. Theirapplause made the race for me. I didn't know any of them - all were foreign but they were genuinely cheering me across the line. I felt very humble at that moment and was well aware that I would certainly not have the energy to greet subsequent finishers in the same manner. I was completely spent.

I was 139 th out of the 236 starters and more surprisingly 10 th out of the 30 British entrants. No Brit had passed me since checkpoint 6 - a fact I find amazing. It goes to prove that I wasn't the only one suffering out there.

Half an hour later, the bus arrived to transport us to the Hotel in Aqaba, which was a stark contrast to what we had endured over the previous 2 days.

This race surprised me immensely. It was not the walk in the park I expected. It is the hardest race I have done to date and I say that with no hesitation . This was certainly my opinion at the end of the race, and that opinion has not altered in the 12 days since that I have had to reflect on the matter. It is also the first race that I have competed in that I really want to go back and do again, preferable in the reverse direction. Previous races of a similar nature have been brilliant, but on completing them I was very content to be able to say "Done that - got the T shirt" and then move onto the next race. But the Desert Jordan Cup has something magical about it - I will be going back sometime in the future.

The Future

Before going to Jordan my entry had been sent in for the Yukon Arctic Ultra that takes place in Canada in February 2003. This event is a 300 miles self supporting race across the frozen isolated Yukon landscape with climatic conditions at there very worst. To a degree, I believe my early entry into this race somewhat overshadowed the Desert Cup and was probably a major factor in my complacency towards the race. I will not make this mistake again.

Thanks

A big thank you must go to my family who have got far more patience than I give them credit and for allowing me to pursue my dreams. I like many other racers would find it impossible to achieve such unusual ambitions if it were not for good family support and encouragement at home.

Collectively I would like to thank the many well wishes from my home town of Hay-on-Wye that are constantly asking about my exploits and always offering their support and congratulations on my achievements. I am certain the vast majority think it is highly amusing that a little fat Welshman participates in a sport that is so far beyond what the general public think is normal.

Finally, a great big thanks is due to all my fellow racers particularly from Britain who on completion of the race finally pulled down the walls that existed prior to the race and open up into some quite extraordinary characters. I would have great pleasure with racing with any of them anywhere in the world. (I am not sure how many would want to race with me though!!) . An absolutely brilliant
bunch of athletes and friends.

Cheers and best wishes to you all

Martin November 2000.