A stroll in the Park

This is a very rustic account of my participation in the Marathon des Sables, a foot race that covers 150 miles of the Sahara Desert .

I apologise in advance for the fact that this report is very much me me me - but this is purely my view of the race.

Departure (race day -3) April 6 th

London - morocco

Having arrived in London the night before and sleeping in South Kensington , both myself and fellow competitor Cathy Evans caught the 7.15 train from Victoria to Gatwick. We arrived in Gatwick and by 8.15 had checked in luggage and were now left with a few hours to burn before flight departure. Whilst wondering around Gatwick village it was clearly evident who else was on our flight as all were clinging dearly to their rucksacks. Last minute shopping meant I could purchase the seemingly rare salt tablets and some tubigrip for making gaiters. Most of the wait was spent drinking coffee in the company of the ''army boys'' from Brecon.

We finally flew at 11.40. On the plane I met up with Mark, a seemingly very serious bod and very quiet. (What a contrast to me). The flight from London was fairly uneventful apart from the fantastic views over Spain and more particularly over Morocco especially on the approach over the snow capped Atlas Mountains to Ouarzazate (pronounced ''Where is that'') Airport.

My main concern at this point was how I was going to explain the small white powder bags in my suitcase together with scales. Definite drug smuggler. However, customs in Morocco couldn't give a toss, so it was straight through the airport and onto the bus to the Hotel. Mark and I paired up together in a room. The rest of the day was spent wondering around the town or lulling about trying to look athletic. The temperature being markedly warmer than Britain - but not overbearingly so. A fairly ordinary meal at the Hotel before bed at about 10.

Travel to the Desert (Race Day - 2) April 7 th

Ouarzazate - desert (amsailikh wadi)

The next day started fairly overcast with a few spots of rain. After breakfast (again fairly bland) we boarded the buses to take us to an unknown destination in the desert. Having heard a lot about the standard of Bus driving in Morocco , I was particularly keen to eye up our bus driver to assess his likely merits. On inspection he was late middle aged so I assumed he must be fairly safe to have lived so long and that in all likelihood he had family to get home for. Totally wrong assessment. The pillock drove like a madman possessed particularly along the cliff edged roads. Breaks squealed when he decided to use them and the smell of burning rubber was not particularly comforting. The drive was of about 3½ hours and when you had the confidence to open your eyes the view was over some terrific albeit barren scenery. The drive was also memorable as most of the first half of the journey was through rain and some thunder.

By 1.00 the buses had left the road and were parked up in the desert. It was a slight relief to have your foot on terra firma. After a packed lunch we boarded army 4 toners for the final 18k blast across the desert to our Berber home. On arrival we headed to the British designated ''tents'' where I pitched in with my tent mates for the next 8 days.

In the tent was: -

Mark Clegg

Cathy Evans

Carl (Charlie) Poole

Bob Pratt

Ian Gray

Peter Mackley

Ron Gibbons

Derek ( Del ) McCarrick (Roger Rabbit)

After sorting my stuff out, the rest of the day was spent milling about and meeting the other competitors. In the evening AOI provided a meal and the local Berbers provided a compilation of the latest hits on their bongos and out of tune wailing. By 8.30 it was dark and most including myself had hit the sack.

Registration Day (race day - 1) April 8 th

Amsailikh wadi

I awoke about 4.45. It was still pitch black. As I lay in my sleeping bag with my head poked out the back of the tent I could just make out the silhouette of an approaching person. As this persons headlight shone into my face he shouted ''is that you Taffy, - Martin is that you''. Knowing my fellow tent mates were fast asleep I whispered back 'yes'. He responded by shouting once again ''is everyone awake in your tent'' - by which time everyone was. This was Tony, an Algerian living in London , a real Del boy who, in my opinion, was one of the real characters to emerge from this race.

Slowly the camp awoke to see the first sunrise.

Breakfast was supplied again by AOI. The rest of the day was spent preparing for the kit check, which for me was between 2.00 and 3.00, and sorting and fine-tuning your kit for the race. At this point I had not sorted out any gaiters. I had managed to leave my tubigrip in the Hotel and so had the wonderful idea of approaching Doc Trotters on the pretence of having a dodgy knee. Surely they would let me have some tubigrip. WRONG. They inspected my knee and decided it was worthy of treatment on their new £20,000 machine. This machine is basically a mini Jackhammer that thumps on the injury. The treatment lasts about 10 mins as this machine hits the knee progressively quicker 2000 times. After enduring this punishment and not getting any tubigrip I was told to come back 2 hours later for a second treatment. My mate Mark who also came along to get some tubigrip suddenly had an amazing improvement in his knee and informed the medics that he was just keeping me company. (Bloody good mate he was). I did go back and the second treatment was in fact a lot worse than the first. Surprise, surprise I declined to go for the third session the next day.

Because of this set back, I spent most of the day making gaiters out of the bottom of some Ron Hill running trousers (incidentally they worked pretty good).

Check in was fairly uneventful. My kit was checked and was weighed in at 10.7 kg (about average - but heavier than I had expected). Food only slightly looked at for calorie content and my medical certificate and ECG briefly scanned.

Meals throughout this day provided my AOI.

In bed by 8.30 spent most of the night up and down piddling.

Race Day 1 April 9 th

AMSAILIKH WADI - EL KHAIT WADI - 28KM

This is what 14 months of preparation was all for - and now it was here.

The previous couple of days had been fairly overcast and not too hot. Today looked like being a scorcher.

I was awake again by about 4.30. This was the start of self-sufficiency - so by 5.30 I was cooking my dehydrated bacon and eggs. I had this same breakfast to look forward to over the next 7 days. It was surprisingly good. By 8.15 the whole camp had been dismantled and everyone was sitting around for the start of the race at 9.30.

After some long garbled French speech by Patric Bauer (organiser) which was shortened and translated into English to say 'have a good race' we were off.

The adrenaline was pumping in everyone, and whilst all were trying to be conservative in there speed, I think, without exception, all around me were athletes panting within 200 metres of the start. The first 9.5k was over gravel and hard earth - however by the time I travelled over the ground it had been broken up into fine sand and ultimately proved hard going. It was a magnificent sight to see the TV crew in the Helicopter skimming over top of the ever-increasing line of runners. I reached C.P1 in 1½ hours feeling pretty good. My plan for this day and every subsequent day was to keep going through the checkpoints slowing only to fill my water bottles strapped to my front pack. This strategy is well worth adopting - as everytime you pass through a checkpoint you overtake about 30-40 competitors with only a handful repassing you before the next checkpoint. Between CP1 and CP2 my pace started slowing dramatically. The heat was awesome and the first small dunes near CP2 were a frightening warning of the difficulties ahead. By CP2 (1 hour 43 min) - I was knackered. After some quick attention to my feet, I joined up with Pete Mackley and walked the last section to the camp (which was visible from 5k out). My feet and hands had swollen uncomfortably - but with the aid of walking poles both subsided enough back into the comfort zone. The last 1k was over substantial dunes, which were extremely sapping and by the finish line I felt nauseous and completely dehydrated. Tony greeted me at the line. Whilst it was pleasing to be met - I was too shattered to appreciate the accompanying Bear Hug.

With my 4½ litres of water, I made the hard trek to my tent where on arrival - all I could do was lie there feeling very sick. My stomach was cramping, my head pounding and whilst extremely thirsty - the thought of water made me want to vomit. I was in a shit state - and this was after only the first day (and a relatively easy one at that). On inspecting my feet I was relieved to have no blisters where I thought I had - but dismayed to find a nasty blister on each heel which until I inspected my feet I had not felt. After about an hour or so of complete rest, I made the brave (and right) decision to visit the infamous Doc Trotters for blister attention - which comprises ripping the loose skin off and pouring iodine over inflamed skin - then covering with compede and plaster.

On returning to the tent I cooked my meal and was hitting the sack by about 8.30.

Race Day 2

EL KHAIT WADI - IRIQUI LAKE - 34KM

After a good nights rest - the routine began again. Up by 5.30 - breakfast of Scrambled eggs and Bacon - pack kit - and ready waiting to go by 8.00. Except when putting shoes on, the blisters on my heels felt ok. The race today started at 9.00. For the benefit of the cameras I ran the first 100 yards and then settled into a yomp. My strategy devised on reflection of the first day was to start steady and then slow down - and most importantly of all - not get carried away with other racers speed (slow or fast) - If I wanted to finish this race I was going to have to take it steady.

I was in the last 20 racers to the first CP - but as yesterday I was not intending to stop at the Checkpoints. On approaching the CP I passed a USA racer who was in ragshit order. His knee was obviously giving him an incredible amount of grief. It is a sad thing about human nature - but his obvious discomfort was a source of great strength to me. I believe he pulled out at that first CP. I proceeded through CP1 passing the usual 40 or so competitors (including Cathy and Peter from my tent - I was to play yo-yo with them for most of the day). On the trek to CP2 over large dried up lake beds - being loyal to the British - I was disappointed to see a fellow Brit. throw in the towel - He did not seem to be in any real distress physically but mentally who can tell. I and a few others tried to persuade him to continue - but having finished the previous year - he had little to prove. I continued to CP2 with Gerry a really likeable Scots man who has seen it all and done it all - or so he says. Hell of a guy - sings well to.

A sight I expected to see and was not to be disappointed were the Mirages of lakes and rivers. Mountains appeared to be reflected in the water beneath them. The shimmering mirages distorted the shape of landrovers and other support vehicles in the distance making them appear tall and pencil like- unfortunately photographs could not capture this phenomenon.

Another phenomenon in the desert was the site of Nomadic Children apparently in the middle of no where - where the hell they came from - I have no idea - nor where the heck they were going. We passed 3 kids between CP1 and CP2. It was also pleasing to see the first sight of wild camels albeit somewhat in the distance.

By the time I arrived at CP2 my back was starting to sting with the first signs of rubbing from my backpack. I got a strip of tape put over the offending area and then proceeded out of CP2 after finishing filling water bottles.

The temperature had risen to 45c (113fht) and I was in full swing. My pace felt good and I was comforted by passing many others who looked in far worse shape than me. I had again yo-yo with Pete and Cathy at CP2 but it was only Pete who passed me on the way to CP3 (he was running and feeling good).

At CP3 I again passed Pete and did not see him until the finish. His feet were giving him grief and perhaps with hindsight the running may have been a bit keen.

After 34 k I passed under the finish line (6hrs 47min)

Back to the tent - usual routine of sorting feet out - getting food down you and generally sorting yourself out.

Bed by 9.00

Race Day 3

IRIQUI LAKE - DAYET CHEGAGA - 37KM

After a very restless night worrying about the next 48 or so hours I awoke at 4.30. The morning was the usual cold and with the persistent wind that blows sand into your food, your kit, absolutely everywhere. Cooked the usual eggs and bacon (starting to taste quite ordinary now) and generally sorted myself out for the start of the first really testing day - DUNES DAY

Having never done this race before -I was in awe of this day - this I expected to be a real bollock breaker.

Again the race started at 9.00. This time stuff the cameras I was starting slow. I was again propping up the rear of the race- but the strategy worked yesterday so why change it. The race over the first couple of CP's was pretty uneventful. The ground under foot was baked earth that had cracked into a magnificent mosaic and again this was the foreground to some fantastic mirages.

I covered the distance to CP 2 (15½ km) in 3 hours 5 mins - NOW THE FUN STARTS.

I anticipated 4 ½ hours to cross EL RHOUAL erg a distance of 18½ km of total sand dunes. We were given 3 litres of water for the crossing - so logically calculated a bottle every 2¼ hours. It was going to be a case of head down and go. I was confident of my ability in these circumstances as I reckoned the sand dunes was going to be very much a mental ordeal - right up my street. I learnt very quickly how to move on the sand. Where runners had gone before me the sand was broken up and hard to slog through. By walking along the edge of the cut up dunes the sand was fairly firm and was far simpler going. It was amazing to see how many competitors continued to plough through the cut up ground - but that was fine by me - as I was passing runners consistently. On the up hills in the dunes the best method was to place your feet in a preceding runners foot marks - the sand beneath had firmed. On the down hills - I never worked out a strategy - I think you just had to go with the flow. My water rationing was working a treat - by 2¼ hours I had finished my first water bottle - I just hoped that my prediction of 4½ hours for crossing the dunes was going to prove about right. At my predicted ½ way point my feet were in real distress, with my shoes having filled up with sand. I tried in vain to ignore it as I was concerned that stopping was going to significantly hinder my progress. Its not just the time you stop - it is also the considerable time you loose in trying to regain your pace when you start again. However, it was killing me. I stopped on top of a dune with a clear view in front and behind. The stream of runners was visible for miles both ways. Emptying my shoes of sand took 1 min - but putting my swollen feet back into my shoes with the added problem of the blisters on my heels took 15 mins of bloody agony. I also had some sunburn on my right calf, which I covered with a knotted hanky. Starting up again was NO fun either. My feet were so very tender and the softness of the sand made sod all difference. After about 20 mins I was back into a stride. As I proceeded through the dunes I saw a few competitors being treated by medics (the significance of these sights was not going to be apparent to me until I reached Camp) After about 4¼ hours in the dunes the cruellest of tricks was to be dealt. In the distance quite visible was a tent that was logically going to be the next CP. My timing had been spot on as it was about 15 mins away. On arriving at the tent I like every other racer was dismayed (to say the least) to find that the tent was nothing to do with the race but in fact was tourists (or TV crews - depending which story you believe) tent. What the hell would anyone being doing in this Hellhole!!! For same strange reason I had thankfully not finished all my drink - don't know why - but I hadn't. An AOI official informed us that we had got 2 km to go to the official CP. Alongside me was a Jap called Akeo. He was absolutely going delirious. He had finished his water about 15 mins before the false CP and was gasping for water. I had about 1'' of electrolyte and about ½ '' of water. I guessed that I could manage 2 km on just my electrolyte so gave up my water to Akeo. This was not an easy decision, as I didn't want to f##k up my race for anyone else and it is amazing how precious water is in these circumstances. This decision was to nearly prove costly - as that bloody official was talking crap - the CP was nearly 4km away and over some evil dunes. Akeo remained so very grateful and stuck with me to CP4 - His English was none existent and could only say ''ah Wales rugby'' - funny at first - but after 1 hour of tortuous dunes I was ready to strangle the little git. We reached CP4 after 5 ½ hours - I had been without water for ¾ hour and the temperature was very hot having cooled from a high of 50c 129fht. I could not stand continuing with Akeo - so whilst he stopped for a quick rest I bombed off toward the finish which was visible 3 km in the distance. I finished in 9 hours 5 mins coming in 480 th and moving up to 475 th overall.

On arrival at the camp the drama of what had and what was happening in the dunes started to become apparent.

I had seen the helicopter passing over our heads many times during the day. I had assumed that it was just checking the line of racers as they passed over the dunes. What I now found out was that the helicopter was responding to flares being let off by competitors in distress. 35 flares went off that day and I believe a total of 42 competitors called it a day. I was told by a former competitor that in the races previous 14 year history only 1 flare had been used in distress - today 35 - what a day. Reports also came back of a German competitor breaking his leg - apparently as he descended a dune his leg buried in the sand and the weight of his rucksack pushed him over against his knee. Other reports were of competitors having multiple IV's (intravenous drips) - usually 2 IV's and you are out - today 3 IV's were being given and racers being allowed to continue.

I found all these stories quite amazing - I had had a brilliant day - yes it was mind-boggling hard - but heck that was what I had expected.

As the darkness descended over the camp many competitors had still not finished. The cut off point was 21.00 and it was a moving moment as those safely at the camp cheered the distant headlights of competitors as they raced to beat the clock. I believe some discretion was given by the organiser to the cut off - it had been a lot harder day than they had imagined. The medics had been stretched to their absolute limits.

My routine that night was similar to previous nights. The only exception was having an all over wash with alcohol cleaner whilst standing naked in the middle of no-where - what luxury.

Sadly 2 of the members of our tent called it a day - to their credit they stayed with us throughout the rest of the race and offered any help we needed. I am a stubborn git and as I had set myself the task of finishing this race in its prescribed manner - I could not at any cost have accepted such help - but they were brilliant for offering.

Race Day 4

DAYET CHEGAGA - JEBEL MEGAG - 76KM

Had a pretty crap night's sleep. Woke in early hours with my bottom lip all swollen. My mind was going barmy as I thought my lip swelling was flies burying their eggs inside my skin. It wasn't till I fully woke up that I realised how stupid this was. My lips were very painful and were swollen as a result of sunburn. By 5.30 I was up and trying to prepare for what was likely to be physically and mentally the hardest day of my life.

The day started badly as the wind was whipping up a real sandstorm. The sandstorm was to continue well into the race. The race today was due to start at 9.00 - but the sandstorm pushed the start back to 9.45. This was the one day that an early start would have been appreciated. Again once the race got under way I propped up the tail end. Only those in ragshit order followed and by now a few others had cottoned onto the idea of going steady. Within 2 km we were crossing dunes again. I had foolishly not read the road book for today and so was unaware of these dunes and a worse section that was to come later in the race. At the start of such a hard day, dunes were a cruel choice of route - but you just have to get on with it. Out of the dunes and onto the hills, which were covered with cricket ball sized rocks. Progress was slower over this terrain than it was over the dunes - My gut feeling was that this was going to be one hell of a day. The wind and sand continued to blow right into our faces for the first 1½ hours only to be replaced by scorching heat. Reached CP1 in 2hours 25 mins - much slower than expected - but as usual passed many competitors at the CP's. From CP 1 we crossed more small sand dunes before dropping down onto a vast open plain. Just before we left the dunes I saw a magnificent site of a camel train on the horizon - unfortunately by the time I had got my camera out the train had all but disappeared (only 2 camels visible). Crossing the plain was great on the feet as the ground was firm and level - but was hard on the mind as you could see forever and I never seemed to make any progress. I was only about ¼ way across the plain when the first of the front runners (who started 1¾ hours after us) passed. Their speed over such terrain was outstanding and the ease with which they moved was gutting to watch. Whilst I wobbled they floated. Someone described these runners as stick insects with size 15 feet - very apt description. The last 5 km into checkpoint 2 was over more sand dunes. This was the first time I wanted to cry. I only wished that I had read the road book - If I had expected them they wouldn't have been so bad.

I stopped at CP 2 for 10 mins to sort my feet out and then proceeded to plod to CP3. The terrain had changed once again. We now passed over a lunar landscape - small rocks, level but hard going. Midway between CP 2 and 3 I caught up with 4 of the squadies from Brecon. John was in a bad way - totally dehydrated. I passed them quietly not wanting John to see me - I didn't want him to get more cheesed off with a Civ Pop (squadies name for civilian population) overtaking him. The lads from Brecon had been extremely supportive of me and the last thing I wanted to do was cause any one of them any stress at all. I continued at good pace to CP 3. CP 3 was sited near a solar well - whilst many competitors washed in the waters I continued with my strategy of passing straight through. I was feeling good. Unfortunately John who I passed a little earlier was at the CP having been withdrawn from the race.

Leaving the checkpoint things soon changed. The ground under foot changed to soft and very uneven. Within about 5km I was feeling shattered and tired (very tired). My aim now was to reach CP4 within the 16 hours allowed (I was well inside that time) and to rest for the night and to continue in the morning. With about 3km to the CP the remaining 3 lads from Brecon passed me and I was very grateful to them for pulling me along all the way to CP4. The idea of stopping out the night was going right against the grain for me. Like the army boys I got some food out and cooked a massive meal. I knocked back a mega carbo drink and I took 4 Ibuprofen tablets. No way could I stay out the night. Within 1 hour I was packed and very tentatively I continued. I was in a bad way when after about 2 km the army passed me again. This time I could not keep up - I was in agony. After 4 km we entered MAHMID EL ROZLANE Casbah. I hobbled in. The narrow high walled street was way marked with candles. On each side of the street and on corners groups of Berbers (all male) stood around small fires. It was quite an eerie yet mystical experience. About ¾ of the way through I was aware of someone following me. A large man in a white robe was walking directly behind me about 3' away. There were no other racers in sight. I speeded up and by the time I left the Casbah I was flying. The adrenaline was running; the food had kicked in; the ibuprofens were now working and the carbo drink was doing its job. I felt absolutely fantastic - felt better physically than I had felt during most of the rest of the race. I caught up and passed many competitors. I was conscious of not wanting to burn out with still 26 km to go but I felt really really good. I continued along a maze of roads following the green light sticks that had been placed to mark the route and which each competitor also carried. After a further 3km the route went off road and across more small dunes. These continued all the way to CP5.

Again I passed straight through the checkpoint. Unbeknown to me the squaddies had stopped for a tea break as I passed. I was told later by them that the transformation in my progress from when they had passed me some 2 hours earlier when I was hobbling as a crock and the sight as I passed through CP5 was unbelievable.

The route continued to CP6 across a multitude of small dunes. I was caught up again by the squaddies between 5 and 6 and proceeded with Rick to CP6. Barny was now struggling so Terry continued steadily with him. CP 6 was visible from a long way off. When first sighted it seemed only a few hundred yards away and would be reached in a couple of mins. 38 mins later we reached the CP which was illuminated by this massive arch. On looking at my watch I noticed that I had been going 18 hours to this point. I had 6km to go to the finish and so the competitive streak within me took over - I wanted to finish within 19 hours. I quickly filled up my water bottles, changed the batteries in my head torch and headed out of the checkpoint across more lunar landscape. I left alone as Rick was going to wait for his teammates. The Moon was going down so I was becoming more reliant on my torch. Again I followed the green night lights. My speed had increased significantly resulting in me stumbling and wobbling over the rocks. Whilst competitors were struggling over the ground -I was like a man possessed - I don't know why - but I was in great shape and finding the latter stages of this days race - ''A real stroll in the park'' . With 3km to go the ground changed to large dunes. They presented no obstacle at all - I ran up and down them. To a degree I felt guilty passing with ease competitors in crap order. Out of the dunes I could see the finish line. According to the road book it was 1km to go and I had over 20 mins to finish. The line never seemed to arrive. I ran towards it at good pace and passed under the banner in 19 hours and 52 sec. (If that was 1km I am a monkeys uncle). [The official time given 19 hours 2 min 58 sec - subsequently changed to 19 hours 17 min 58 sec. The official timing was all to pot - everyday the time on my watch differed to that given.]

It was still dark when I finished. I collected my water and wobbled over to the tents to find tent 55. I was 4 th to arrive at the tent - which was really pleasing. Mark had had a bad day. For 2 days he had suffered from a stomach bug. Charlie and Bob I believe had a hard but fairly good day. All of them had only arrived a matter of an hour or so before me. (on reflection by my standards - I had had a good result)

I was still on a real high and had to force myself to go to bed. Once in my bag I dropped off to sleep immediately.

Race Day 5

REST DAY - JEBEL MEGAG

After only a couple of hour's sleep I awoke. Today was a rest day. Perversely I was not to keen on a day off - I usually find that I stiffen up and any lurking injuries come to the fore. However, I was so chuffed at having done the 47 miles in 1 day that today I strode around like a proud peacock. (albeit a crippled shaky hobbling peacock). Racers continued to come in all during the day. Some of them completed the course in the most incredible pain. I know that I can be extremely stubborn - but I honestly don't think I could have endured some of the injuries I witnessed. Ron from our tent had been beating me in all previous legs of the race. The 47 miler took its toil. He came in about 10½ hours after me and was an absolute physical wreck. His feet were in a disgusting state and I cannot describe the level of exhaustion he was in. I don't say this lightly - I really thought he was going to die. He was dehydrated and completely on a different planet. Over the next 2 days, at 61 years of age, Ron performed the most incredible feat of endurance that I am ever likely to witness. How he did the marathon the next day and particularly the 12 miles on the last day I will never know. A real stubborn old git!!

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful and by 8.30 I was in the land of nod - only 2 days to go!!

Race Day 6

JEBEL MEGAG - JEBEL BOU DEBGANE - 42KM

Expected to be the last hard day. I awoke as usual about 5.30. Same routine - bacon and eggs about getting on my nerves. By 8.00 I was ready for the race to start. 9.00 was start time - so as in previous day sat around waiting for the sun to burn. This was Marathon day (26.2 miles). The distance was not at all daunting. I was breaking each day's race down into sections between CP's. These distances were generally about

9-12 km apart (i.e. about 2 hours).

Predictable, I started slow (as was my plan). Today, however, there seemed quite a few more people behind me - the race was taking its toll. The course was kind on us - generally level hard packed earth with stones. I was completely focused on the finish line and nothing was going to interrupt my progress. About ¾ of the way to CP1 Peter Crossman (the man in Pink) caught up with me and asked if I minded if he tagged along. I was not going to be distracted from my own pace and politely told him that it was fine but on no account was I going to slow down for him nor speed up to keep with him (I was in selfish mood). We kept together through CP1 and again on to CP2 and again through to CP3. Peter was wonderful company and in hindsight helped me through a tough day - I think I was the same for him. From CP3 to the finish was 6km of horrible torturous stony ground. My feet were in comparatively good condition and I was able to cover the ground with ease. Peter's feet were in crap order and now the terrain had changed he was struggling badly. We had been good company for each other over the day and I could not possible have stridden away to finish ahead of him. We finished the day's race together in 8 hours 22 min. I was chuffed - the MdS was all but over - only a sprint of 12 miles to go. The remainder of the day followed the same previous routine. Water boiled on Hexi - dehydrated food mixed - get loads of fluids and salts down you - sort your feet out - joke and take the mick out of everyone else's misfortunes (camp banter was a real leveller) and finally hit the sack by about 9.00.

Race Day 7

JEBEL BOU DEBGANE - TAGOUNITE

Same routine as in previous days. The rucksacks were now all but empty - 5 kg of food gone makes one hell of a difference. The slowest 150 competitors were scheduled to start at 8.30. As I watched them leave I was astonished to see the speed at which some of them were going. One Brit, who had carried a large Union Jack all the way, made one hell of a site as he sprinted past everyone - his flag flying out behind him. Later he told me that he lead the race for 20 mins- a feat I think he was chuffed to bits with. The remaining racers were scheduled to start at 9.30. Before this start, the organisers had asked for competitors to arrive at the start line in order to form a heart shape so that a photograph could be taken to adorn the cover of the new book about to be published on the race.

I had not got a plan for today. I was still feeling competitive so my aim was to at least maintain my position on the results board. The man in front was 3 mins ahead - the man behind was 6 min adrift of me. It was not until the start that I unconsciously decided to run. My feet were hurting but my mind was telling me that it was only going to be about 2 hours - so get on with it. Most around me were of a similar mind as they were running like the wind. After only 2km I passed Ron, who had left in the earlier group. I calculated that at the pace he was going it was going to take him over 10 hours to finish (thankfully he finished in about 7 hours - just inside the cut off point). I ran all the way to the first checkpoint. My attitude had had a complete change round. Now my mind was saying slow down you are going too fast - but my legs and body was saying your feeling great - keep going. I was through CP1 in about 1 hour 5 min (10km out of 18.5km). I did have to slow down and so came up with a system of running between the Union Jacks. I would run from a racer displaying a Union Jack to the next racer with the Union Jack. I would then stop for about a minute and walk with that person whilst getting some drink down me - then continue again to the next Union Jack. The system worked. Apart from the first couple of kilometres of today's course the route passed through small villages. The ground beneath us was the dirt tracks that connect the settlements. However, at the pace I was now going this terrain still proved hard to cover. The wheel tracks that make up the roads comprised a thin layer of sand which made progress hard work. A lot of the locals had come out to see the race as it snaked through the villages. The children tried grabbing at racer's water bottles - it was a fantastic experience to be finishing this race in this surrounding.

As I approached the finish line I got my Welsh flag out and held it high in the run in to the line.

Crossing the line was not the moving experience I had expected. I crossed the line and that was it. There were no fireworks or fanfares - it didn't sink in until the next day - and then my internal fireworks and fanfares starting playing. Passing through the funnel at the end I had my kiss off Patric Bauer (that's all I came for) picked up my medal and t shirt, got my pack lunch and then joined the scrum for the buses.

The journey back to the Hotels at Ouarzazate was possibly the most frightening thing I have ever gone through. The driver was completely bonkers. At one point we were nearly on 2 wheels and I swear that at times we were cms away from going over the edge of some high cliffs. I gather that the Moroccan attitude to life is that when it is your time to die you will die - so if it is not Allah's wish that you will die today you wont. Very scary attitude.

POST Race

OURZAZATE

We arrived back at the Hotel in Ouarzazate by about 17.00. The British were being housed in a crappy hotel. The food was awful and I swear I lost more weight in the 2 days after the race in Ouarzazate than in the previous 9 days in the desert.

I had not gone to Morocco for a holiday, I had gone there for the race - so the fact that the food was beyond a joke and that the accommodation was dreadful - it wasn't going to spoil the experience for me.

Whilst I can not knock the organisation during the race - post race it didn't come up to much. The handing in of flares and survival blankets was chaotic and the much hyped Gala evening was an unmitigated fiasco. But what the heck. Had great fun bartering with the locals for trinkets and the like - great bargains - but definitely the sales men had the better of us.