Smashing the Sand Barrier...4,000 Kilometers of Desert Competition...
After posting a DNF at my first ever ultramarathon...The Marathon des Sables...I had already decided before leaving Morocco that I would be back the following year to get the job done.
I arrived back in Canada after the race in 2000 a complete wreck. I was hospitalized for dysentery, dehydration and exhaustion. It took me almost a month to completely recover from that event...physically and mentally. Although I had come to terms with the outcome of the race, there was still the grieving period to get through. I had fallen short of my goal...it was devastating. But I refused to let one bad week of racing overshadow everything I had learned in 51 weeks of training. There is no shame in trying and not succeeding...the only shame is if you don't learn from the experience.
This year I was part of an International Women's Team. We were being sponsored by Yves Rocher, a worldwide cosmetics company based in France. The concept was that 4 women representing the four continents that Yves Rocher sold cosmetics on had come together because they all used the same products... Yves Rocher of course!
I represented North America. Houriya represented Africa. She was from Morocco and was Islamic. This was her 10th MDS! I found that totally amazing. According to her religion, she had to run the entire race fully covered from head to toe! Yoshiko was from Japan and represented Asia. She was a tough woman and ran her own health club. She was 55 years old and stronger than anyone I knew. And finally there was Martine. She was from France and represented Europe.
I was excited about the race this year! It was going to be fun...and I had three other teammates to share the experience with! There was also a film crew there to follow us. Outdoor Life Television was doing a 6 part series on the Marathon des Sables. The crew was going to follow us from beginning to end.
We gathered at the start and listened to Patrick Bauer give his race day briefing. Patrick is the Frenchman who started the race 16 years ago. (As of 2001) He had a burning passion for the desert and it showed. He was always full of enthusiasm and energy! He loved his event and everyone who helped him and raced it. He counted us down and then we were off!
Houriya and I were pretty much the same in ability. She was a good little runner and we stayed together through much of the day. We finished in good time and waited for the others on the team to come in. The French girl Martine was one of the last runners in that day. She collapsed in her tent and began to cry. She was done. She did not want to go on.
We all sat down with her and began to pick up the pieces. She was a mess. She didn't have enough to eat or drink that day. And some guy had actually been carrying her pack for her. Oh boy. We worked together as a team to help her regroup. We forced her to eat to regain her energy and we made her drink all evening. We propped her up emotionally and provided nurturing and support. Martine finally agreed that she would start on the second day and see how it went. We all knew that she was the weak link in the team right now...and we needed to rally together to get her through this...day-by-day if necessary.
You have probably heard of the analogy that you are as strong as the weakest link in a chain. When the link breaks ... so does the chain. I had been to a great sports psychologist before I did this event...who said that we should think of our team as being a rope. Some of the strands of the rope may fray...but the rope will still hold. We were going to hold together! I actually had a piece of rope with me that year for luck.
The next couple of days were tough...but we managed to get through it as a team. At one point we had to cross over a massive field of dunes. The sun was intense, and unlike last year, there wasn't even a breath of wind. At one point we had to cross over a dried out lake bed. It was intensely white, and incredibly hot...50 degrees. It was so hot that day it actually hurt to breathe. A checkpoint was on the lakebed. The bottled water at this CP was so hot it was like it had just been boiled. Nothing like drinking hot water on a hot day.
To add insult to injury, right after crossing the lakebed we had to climb up a massive hill. The view at the top was fantastic. I could look back and see all the runners snaking along the white lakebed. They looked like little ants. Looking down the other side I could see cultivated fields...and way off in the distance...an oasis! I was with an Italian guy, Bruno. We ran full speed down that hill and toward the oasis. The oasis meant two things. Most importantly, palm trees, to provide some shade from that unrelenting, burning sun. And secondly, something to look at besides sand and more sand.
It was the middle of the day, and everyone in town was sitting in the shade. I wondered what they were thinking about as we ran by. After all, people back home can't understand why we do this...were the villagers thinking the same thing? I noticed there were hardly any men in town. It seemed like there was just the very old here, or the very young. People here are so poor, that as soon as young men are able, they travel to the far off cities to earn some money to support their families back in the desert.
People always say that as athletes we are so tough to go out and run these events over the course of a week in the desert. I say go spend a week in one of these villages and see how tough you need to be to live out here. There is nothing in the village. No running water, no facilities, no cars...nothing. If you go inside one of the homes pretty much all you will see is a rug on the clay floor and a few knick-knacks. The kids play in a field of stones and are usually running around in bare feet. These desert dwellers are the tough ones...not us.
That evening in camp, we prepared for the long stage the following day. The long stage was going to be the traditional 80 kilometer run. It was going to be a long day...and for some...a very long night extending into the following day. I studied the road book and visualized how I would get through the day. Day four was where I had dropped out last year...and I was excited about getting through this stage...although I was very anxious as well.
I had a fantastic day! I was making really good time...and was losing myself in the desert landscape. I was going to get my medal this year!!! I was doing this...and passing people as the day went by. I had gone on ahead of Houriya the last few days...and was on my own running the long stage. As the sun went down...I knew this was my make-or-break time. Last year I had dropped out as the sun was going down.
I headed out with two German guys. Pretty soon it was dark, but the moon flooded the desert with natural light. We turned off our headlamps to better appreciate the beauty of the evening. The breeze had picked up just a little, and was swirling the sand along on the desert floor. It looked almost like a fog rolling in from the sea. It was deathly quiet out, and there was no other living thing around us.
Gradually I started to realize that I was feeling sick. I thought maybe I was dehydrating, so I started sipping more water. That didn't help. My new friends suggested that maybe I needed more calories. I ate some food and they kindly gave me some of their snacks. But that didn't seem to help either. As time went by I was starting to double over with nausea. I decided that at the next checkpoint I was going to stop for a bit and take a brief rest by the fire. It was the last CP before getting back to camp. I was almost done the stage!
As soon as I arrived at the checkpoint I collapsed. I think my mind kept my body going until I arrived at the CP, and then mind and body just gave way. I began to vomit. My teammate Houriya had arrived, and she helped me into a medical tent. I couldn't stop throwing up. The Doctors intervened and dragged me over to a makeshift bed...no, not a real bed...it was an empty space on the carpet.
They tried to get a needle into my arms to get an IV going, but they couldn't find a vein. By this time I was actually drifting in and out of consciousness. All I knew was that I didn't want to get disqualified. I remember screaming at the Doctor..." Don't do it! If I get an IV am I out of the race...Stop!!!!"
By now the film crew was there and getting this all on tape. What I recall as being screaming I later saw on tape was barely audible whispering. Crazy. I needed 5 IV's. Once they were done filling me up...I had to force myself to crawl out of the tent. I had explosive diarrhea. God, not again. This was a nightmare. When was I going to wake up?
I made it through the night and the Doctors allowed me to leave in the morning. I still had severe diarrhea and had to stop every once in awhile to relieve myself. Testing done afterward in Canada determined that somehow, once again, I had contracted dysentery. But this time it had incubated in my body until Day Four of the race. That was what I was told anyway. Can you believe it?! Dysentery again! And again, I was sick on Day four...the long stage! Give me a break.
Houriya helped me get through that day. I was now the weak link. We only had 14 kilometers until camp...and that was the longest 14 kms of my life. It took hours. At every step, my mind and body were screaming at me to rest. But I knew that if I stopped and took a break, that I would not be able to get up again. I was dry heaving and pausing every once in awhile to rid my body of waste. I was running out of toilet paper. I was going to need to beg and borrow more. I was going through hell. I was sick, hot, dirty and half delirious. What is that line from the movie The Predator? "If you lose it here, you are in a world of hurt." I was in a world of hurt.
All that mattered that day was taking another step. Don't look back at what I had gone through, and don't look ahead to the finish...just live in the moment...live in the here-and-now. Somehow... Find A Way. I have used that as my slogan ever since. I did Find a Way. With the help of Houriya I was able to make it into camp that day. I spent all afternoon eating, drinking and resting.
I couldn't sleep that night. If I dozed off the diarrhea would leak out of my body. The first time it happened Houriya got up with me and showed me the desert way of cleaning my sleeping bag. We scrubbed it with sand. I was in misery. The last couple of days were not going to be good.
The next day we had to run a marathon...42 kms. I had no strength left at all. My poor little body was just wracked with agony. It was another day of just trying to put one foot in front of the other. It didn't help that the landscape that day was particularly desolate. My day was filled with miles and miles of nothing. When your mind starts to falter...the desert goes from being beautiful...to being ugly. That day I hated the desert. It was ugly and dirty and savage. All I could think about was trying to find a can a Coke. I was praying that we would go through a village and there would be Coke...or even better...Orange Fanta. No such luck. I learned a good Arabic expression that day. "Inshallah" "God willing"... God willing...you will finish. Oh God, let me finish. Please! I did not want to come back here ever again...
It was a good word...and I did finish. I made it!!!!!!! I crossed that finish line and Patrick gave me my medal! I got the bling! And now I would get my finisher T-shirt too... Life was good! I had worked toward this goal for two years and now it was accomplished. All of the girls on the team crossed the finish that day...all had fought their own demons to do so. But I knew that I never had the opportunity to put all that training to the test at this event. I hadn't raced across North Africa...I had crapped across North Africa!
My mind was made up. I was going to come back and do this event again! Stupid? Yes. Crazy? Yes. There was just something within me that called me back here for more. I ended up doing the Marathon des Sables 9 consecutive times. Every year I would train to go back to the desert. Every year it seemed like something went wrong. I cut my teeth in the ultramarathon world at this event. It was a love-hate relationship. I loved the race...and I loved the desert.
But the desert ate me up and spit me out. It turned my feet into raw hamburger. It made me sick and it made me tired. Every time I went there to compete, I felt like I aged a year in a week. But I always came back for more. The desert was an unrelenting task-master...but she made me older and wiser. She toughened me up. After all these years, I know that I am mentally, physically and spiritually tough enough to take on anything that is thrown at me. I will succeed at what I am passionate enough about...at almost any cost.
Everyone asks me if I will go back again one day to make it an even 10 times at MDS. I really don't know. I can honestly say I am almost scared to go back to that event! I have had so much more success at other desert races. Maybe one day...but then again...maybe not.
I do have a love-affair with desert racing and it seems to have taken over my life. What is it about the desert that is so compelling to me? I will share that with you next week. Thank you for taking the time to read my blog...and may you always FIND A WAY in what you take on in life.
1 comment:
Loving the blog Sandy. I only had to content with blisters on the MDS but what you went through took real determination. I can't imagine how miserable you must have felt in the heat and with the lack of washing facilities when you were I'll. but you succeeded. :-)
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