Smashing the Sand Barrier...4,000 kms of Desert Competition...
The Marathon des Sables was my first Ultramarathon. How did I stumble upon this race... and why did I think I was capable of running in it after having only completed 5 marathons? I honestly don't know...I really never gave it a second thought. Thank God I had just moved to a new city...and didn't have any friends there. Otherwise I'm sure I would have run into people that would have told me that I was crazy. Most people seem to think you need to put in time...that you need to build up to big goals by taking baby steps. No way! You just need to jump right in! Just go for it...Seriously.....You can put off something forever and never think you are "ready". What is that saying..."Never put off till tomorrow...what you can do today." I have learned to listen to my heart and my intuition. It will never steer you wrong.
I had been a television news reporter for 13 years. My last job was working as a National Reporter for Global Television in Canada. I had loved the job ... but toward the end I was getting burnt out. It is a very high pressure career...with constant deadlines. I was always on call. I remember one time making the one hour drive to my station in Calgary...when I got a phone call that I had to head to the airport and book a flight to another province to cover a hostage taking. I drove to the airport, purchased a ticket...caught my flight and landed a few hours later in another city. I rented a car, bought a map and drove out into the middle of nowhere to where the hostage was being held. I followed the story for three days. The first night I stayed at the scene filing updates from the satellite truck that had arrived, along with a camera crew. The following day I was able to zip into town, get a hotel room and purchase some toiletries so I could brush my hair and teeth. That was life in the fast lane!
Don't get me wrong though. It had been a great ride...literally! I mainly loved covering crime stories...along with anything to do with the military. I had grown up as an Air Force brat...my father was a fighter pilot and we had travelled the world with him. As a reporter I was able to line up a flight in an F-18. It was the biggest thrill of my life! I was also able to go up with Canada's elite Snowbird team for a flight...and ride in a helicopter ... and go for a bumpy ride in a tank.
I broke a few stories on the Hells Angels, covered murders and drug stings. I went on ride-alongs with the police, visited a Regional Psychiatric Center (where they keep the really crazy criminals) and even witnessed an autopsy. Reporting opened up my eyes to the world. I was constantly moving...just like when I was a kid in the military. I even put in a one year stint at NHK...The Japan Broadcasting Corporation.
But it all came to a head. I was done. I was no longer having fun. I found myself becoming stressed out, working 24 hours a day, and becoming more pessimistic with each passing day. Speaking for myself...I just found that I was becoming more negative and more cynical. I felt like I was being poisoned by my job. So I quit. I just up and quit.
So what now? I didn't have a clue what I was going to do next. I had always loved flying...I thought maybe I could be a pilot...or maybe a flight attendant? I loved French and thought that maybe I could find a job in Quebec and take a French Immersion course. I know a bit of French but have always wanted to be fluent in it. Maybe I could be a travel agent? I just didn't know.
Then my fiancé at the time handed me a newspaper article about a couple of Canadian guys that were going to be running in the Marathon des Sables. Now that was interesting! I read their story and was fascinated. I had always wanted to go to Africa...and this adventure combined travel with my other passion...running. I decided to follow their progress and see how they did. I was mainly curious about how they would do in the heat. The race is in April...which means they trained through a Canadian winter and then went directly to the desert. Well, they loved it. They did extremely well...and I thought...hmmm...if they could do it...well then, so could I!
The runners lived in the same province as I did, but in a different city. I called one of them...Zac Addorisio. I'm sure many of you have heard of him or know him. A really super guy who has worked with Racing the Planet...and now has his own company, Runners United. I introduced myself and told him that I had followed him in the desert and wanted to do the race. He was very gracious in answering all of my questions...and told me he would be more than happy to help me as I prepared for the race. I was sold. I was going to take a year off and train for the Marathon des Sables. I truly believed that in the process of training for this event, and competing in the race... I would find a new path that would lead me to a new calling in life. I was ready for the journey and anxious to see where it led!
I trained for one year... from 1999 to the race in 2000. Now keep in mind how long ago this was...going on 15 years! I had Zac as my main source of information...and that was pretty much it! I did not have an email address at that time...there was no Facebook...no blogs or forums that I was aware of...looking back it seemed like true isolation! You can ask all the questions you want...but it is a whole new ballgame when you get out into the desert.
I trained through a freezing Canadian winter. I put in long runs and slowly purchased all the gear I would need. I registered for the race with the U.S. rep for MDS...Mary Gadams. You may know of her now as the owner of Racing the Planet. I do remember that 3 months out from the start of the race I started to panic. Oh My God...what have I gotten myself into? But I think there was more excitement than panic...along with a healthy fear of the unknown.
I had never travelled by myself to another country. I had never camped before...I had never slept in a sleeping bag before...I had never been in the desert before and I had never run an ultra before. I was on a very steep learning curve!
Here is what I brought for gear. I had running shoes and socks. I had gaiters that I found in Canada to keep out the snow! I brought a cotton t-shirt with my sponsor logos on it. I actually had a great pack...Moletracks...but the company went under a number of years ago. I had a Sony Walkman with two cassette tapes to play. I also had a small camera along with several rolls of film to take pictures! I carried massive quantities of Gatorade powder and more than enough food to feed an army. And finally, I had a 2 1/2 pound sleeping bag for comfort along with a giant blowup thermarest!!!!!! I was set! I think I was carrying about 30 pounds that year...no lie! I don't even think weight occurred to me at the time...it was just stock up and make sure you have everything you might need!
I arrived in Morocco a week early to acclimate to the heat and get over jet leg. I stayed in Marrakesh. What a fantastic city! I had never experienced anything like it. I used to spend hours shopping in the old souk. You could buy rugs, pottery, lanterns, jewellery and leather shoes. And there was the world famous square...Jemaa el-Fnaa. Here you could watch snake charmers and monkey trainers, listen to story tellers and musicians... and find something to eat or drink at the numerous food stalls.
I used to sit at the Café Argana and drink mint tea. I don't know if it's still there or not. In 2011 a bomb went off in the café that killed 17 people. Dozens more were injured. The bomb was hidden in a bag and it went off just before noon. I was shocked when I heard the news. Morocco was so peaceful! It could have been me sitting there...I could easily picture it.
A night before I was supposed to hook up with the other runners I came down with dysentery. I was up all night long retching into the toilet and convulsed with stomach cramps that led to massive bursts of diarrhea. I ended up just lying in the bathroom all night, curled up by the toilet. I got up in the morning, severely dehydrated, and hooked up with the other runners.
There were a series of glitches in our travel arrangements. Our bus never showed up and we all piled into jeeps to head out to the edge of the desert. Then we transferred into these huge trucks with benches on either side in the back. I was in pure misery. I had to yell at the driver over the noise of the engines to stop the convoy about every 30 minutes. By now it was dark out...and I would squat down by the side of the truck and let loose with more diarrhea. It just wouldn't stop. Any modesty or dignity I had going into this race was now gone.
We arrived in camp in the middle of the night. No one was up waiting for us. We were told to just make our way toward the tents and find a spot to sleep. Normally all the nationalities are assigned to the same tents in a certain zone in camp. I crawled into a tent and tried to get some sleep. I felt sorry for the people I joined because I was up all night getting sick.
The following morning...I met my tentmates and discovered that there were two more Canadians in my tent...the only other Canadians in the race if I remember correctly. As far as I know...there were only 3 Canadians that had been to this event before us. You just didn't hear about the Marathon des Sables at that time. It was a rather obscure competition and one of a kind.
They spent the day trying to convince me not to do the race. They saw how sick I was and didn't believe I would ever make it. After all, people that were feeling 100 percent dropped out regularly due to injuries and illness. To start the race this sick was not a good thing. But there was no way that I was going to drop out before the event even started. I had trained for too long, and had travelled too far...and spent too much money...to even think about not starting.
So there I was at the start on Sunday morning...listening to ACDC "Highway to Hell"... and I knew this was going to be rough. But I was still excited! The countdown went down in French...Dix, neuf, huit....trois, deux, un...Go!... and we were off. I actually made it through the first few days and started to feel better as time went on. I was loving every minute of this experience! And then came Day Three...traditionally Dune day in the race. This was the 15th Anniversary of MDS and organizers wanted to make this the toughest race ever. Go figure...my first time here and it was going to be toughest ever....Quelle surprise! Not.
Pretty much the entire day was going to be spent in the dunes. This is where I truly fell in love with the desert. Waves of sand as far as the eye could see. I felt like I was on another planet. Every picture of me to this point in the race showed me with a giant smile on my face. Despite being sick...this was everything I had dreamt of and more. I was in love with the desert. I gathered up a handful of sand from one of the dunes and carried it with me for the rest of the race...and brought it home with me.
But I made a fatal mistake that day. As we entered the field of dunes there was a final checkpoint where we were told that we had to carry two 1.5 liter bottles of water...as there would be nothing in the dunes. I forgot my second bottle. I was in a hurry to keep up with two other runners who were leaving and I left it behind. I actually didn't realize it for about a half hour. I told the others and they said I should go back and get it. That would mean a whole wasted hour. I decided not to go back. After all, how bad could it get? I had no clue about dehydration.
People started dropping out left and right that day. Emergency flares were being shot off everywhere you looked. It was almost like a fireworks display. People were dropping like flies because it was just so hot and there wasn't enough water. Someone said it was 50 degrees in the dunes that day. We could see the emergency helicopter flying in and out of the dunes all day long...rescuing people and bringing them back to camp for the doctors to work on. Somehow...I manged to make it through that day on half the amount of water that everyone else had. I couldn't even tell anyone else that after awhile...because no one could believe it. Of the 600 runners that day...100 dropped out.
But I paid for it the next day. I awoke in my sleeping bag and was sick all over again. I felt completely spent and exhausted. I was severely dehydrated and didn't even know it. But I didn't want to go to the Medical Tent because I was afraid they would pull me out of the race. Day four was the long stage...we had to complete about 80 kilometers. Everyone had sort of been dreading this stage...but once you are through it you are home free. You can begin to think about the finish.
I was getting slower and slower as the day progressed. By dusk I was really dragging my ass. I was not going to be able to make the cutoff time at this rate. I knew I was done...but what to do? I couldn't see anyone in front of me...and there was no one behind me. I didn't even think about using my flare...it simply didn't occur to me. So I kept walking and eventually I could see a Jeep coming toward me. I started waving my arms in the air and it soon pulled up beside me. A Frenchman with silver hair leaned out the window and asked if I was okay. I said no, that I was very sick...je suis tres malade. And then he said it... tu es fini? You are finished? The words hung in the air and I nodded and said, Yes, I am done.
He got out of the vehicle and gave me a big hug. I felt like my heart was broken. And then came the shocker...right then and there he started unpinning my race bib. I thought I was going to be sick. I was really done. I got into the back seat and they drove me back to camp. They confiscated all of my race food so that I couldn't give it away to any other racers. (We were supposed to be self-sufficient) My name was written down on the notice board they had in camp for all to see. It is where they posted the daily race results. My name went on the sheet that read...Quitters Nice. Then I went back to my tent to lie down. There was nobody there yet...all my other tentmates were still out on the course.
I held my own pity party. Why me? I had trained so hard and had wanted this so much and had done everything right....how could this have happened? And right then and there I knew that I was going to come back and do this race again next year. I couldn't help it that I had come down with dysentery. I was pretty much done before I even started this race. This hadn't happened from not enough training or planning...this was just pure dumb luck.
I felt much better after I made that decision and I spent the last few days of the race helping out my tentmates and cheering them on. Everyone in my tent finished except for me! I looked longingly at their medals and held on to the thought that next year I too would cross the finish and have a medal.
It was a huge lesson for me to learn. Just because you put in all the hard work doesn't ensure that you will have a guaranteed outcome. You may fail once or twice or many times. You aren't automatically entitled to succeed just because you made the effort. You have to learn to pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and go after it again. And if necessary, again and again and again. If you have a love for something...if there is a fire burning within you...you will never give up.
And I did go back. I took another year off and went back in 2001. Believe it or not, another hardship was in store for me at this race...one that literally dropped me to my knees halfway through the event. I will post about that next week.
