The long-awaited report...

Why and how...

Quite simply, one of the best experiences of my life. Billed as the toughest foot race in the world, many believe that this race can no longer lay rights to this claim. In all honesty, this probably isn’t the toughest race in the World in terms of the terrain you encounter – but who cares? It’s one of the best experiences you’ll ever have in the World and in your life.

I’m not one who likes to enter the dick swinging that can go on in some races. I enter these things to challenge myself, and as a result, the race is as hard or as easy as you like to make it. But isn’t that true of any race? Each time I run ask myself – ‘did I give it my all and leave nothing out on the course?’

Sure, you can get through the MDS on little training, and meet cut-offs by 30 minutes each day if you like. That makes the MDS pretty easy. However, if you want to push your boundaries then this is a hard race. One of the British guys spoke with Mohammed Ahnsal at the finish, the eventual winner. He said this was the toughest MDS he’d raced in.

Given the injury issues I suffered just 3 months prior to this race, I’m very pleased with my position of 345th from 820 starters. It’s top half (tick number one). I’m in the top third of Brits (tick number two). And I improved my position each day, getting stronger as the race wore on (tick number three). As far as I’m concerned, I achieved what I set out to do. I ran the race that was placed before me and the years of training and effort made sure that everything went to plan. One of my best friends told me that ‘luck was for the ill-prepared – you are not ill-prepared, you will succeed by right in this race’. How right she was. There’s no use saying, ‘what if I hadn’t been injured?’ I can’t stand people who make excuses in races. The fact is, you deal with what you are dealt with and make the best of it. So with that, here’s my account of the MDS…

Middle of the pack
Let’s face it I’m not someone to set the world alight when it comes to running. I’m someone who can plod along hour after hour, week after week, clocking up the kilometres and being quite content at doing so – always striving to do my best. Of course it wasn’t always like this. I used to be quite quick, but then you grow up and beer and ladies come into your life!

At the age of 14, I was a decent 5km cross country runner, knocking out sub 4 minute kms for fun. However running didn’t really interest me much back then, and rugby took over my life. I played the beautiful game for nearly 20 years, and achieved some fairly decent things with school teams and clubs alike. But then I heard of the Marathon des Sables, and like most ignorant wanna-be runners, thought that this was a pinnacle to reach. I was becoming slightly ‘tired’ of the rugby. Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but the aches and the pains would take longer to heal, and something about that individual nature and mental tests of running yearned for me back to come and try it again.

A few more enquiries into the MDS saw that applications had to be made two years in advance – this was going to be a long project. The thought of four months marathon training was enough, but two years seemed like a long time. However there are times in people’s lives when the straight and narrow makes a deviation. A close friend of mine died from cancer at the age of 27, that hit me hard. Then my father contracted the disease, and fortunately came through. I also read about Chris Moon, a land-mine expert who cruelly lost two of his limbs in an accident. He went on to do the MDS, and these chain of events confirmed my belief that this was something that had to be seriously looked at – little did I know the world it would expose me to and the vast array of running that lay ahead.

In March 2007, on one grim grey morning in my Hammersmith office, I sat waiting for 9am to come around. It was first come, first served, so I needed to be super-fast to try and secure a place. The British system, is well, a lottery (and a farce as I would later find), and it was survival of the quickest to get the details down. 9am came and I busily typed as fast as possible, whacking down my £500 non-refundable deposit for a race I knew little about, or how to even train for. I was going into this pretty blind, but in hindsight was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

A few days later I received confirmation that I was in. There was a massive sense of elation that I had got into this race. It seemed so wild and plain ridiculous to even attempt to do this, that even a finish for me would have been fantastic. Whilst I was enthusiastic about the race, disappointingly, others were not. A few people whom I thought would share my enthusiasm, did not think I could even complete the race – still it was all the motivation needed to go ahead and do this. But where do I start? How do I train? What kit do I need? Lots of questions and very little answers.

As with most of these things, the internet is a great source of information, and a few searches later saw me come across a forum that had been set-up by one of the other 2009 entrants. Information on how to prepare for this race was few and far between, and the forum was set-up just as the new wave of social media started to hit.

Over the coming years, this forum would not only provide some great advice on what to do and how do to it – it would also serve as the breeding ground to form Tent 92 out in the Sahara. Four Scots (unfortunately) and four English would go against each other like times of old, but ultimately become rocks of support for each other as we all went through out own personal hell at various stages of the week.

There is now a plethora of advice on this forum, and its no coincidence that British runners are getting better and better at the MDS. A few years ago, there was an impression that the Brits in the MDS were a bit of a joke. However, these ‘jokers’ had now turned into seriously well prepared athletes with a great attitude in the true British Bull Dog spirit.

As for the training in the build-up to the race, I owe gratitude of thanks to people in the ultra-running community over in Australia. I’m constantly inspired by the dedication and commitment that some of these people show. I’ve made some good friends too, and although they don’t maybe realise, I really look up to them and they make me push myself harder. I think I just drifted in my training initially, but having found my way into this world, I’m very pleased that I did. Coming to Australia to live was one of the best moves I ever made. To train here and run here with like-minded people is a joy I thank my lucky stars for everyday.

I am competitive to myself in my training, and that saw me pick up a stress fracture in November 2008, right after the Great North Walk (a 175km continual race in the bush). I bailed at 103kms, and I was livid with myself for doing so. I felt like I’d let myself and my friends down. In fact it’s the best thing to happen to me, as it’s taught me to never give up. I have a feeling that this will be my one and only DNF. Right after the GNW, I pushed myself harder and harder until one evening around the Bay Run in late November I felt something in my left leg ping. I carried on. It hurt every time I stopped training, but I still carried on. I did a 12 hour ultra in early January 2009 and this was the final straw. An X-ray revealed a fractured fibula. The stress fracture had developed further and I had actually fractured my leg. Shit. This was bad news. I rested for three months and three weeks prior to the MDS I started very light training around a grass track near the Bay Run. 13 kilometres was the furthest I ran before the MDS. I was shitting myself on the inside as to whether the leg would hold up in the MDS. So much time, money, effort, sweat, tears and blood had been spent in the 18 month build-up. This could not stop me...

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D-day
Arriving at Gatwick Airport on Thursday 26th March was like arriving at a Raidlight convention. Me, being a smart arse arrived in full running gear including trainers and gaiters, thinking that everyone else would do the same… on no. Muggins here was the only one daft enough and paranoid enough to do this. Everyone else was far more sensibly dressed, but then again I’m not everyone else.

The queuing for the check-in was the first in a long line of queuing that would become our second most time consuming activity after running. It seems we all love a queue, and whilst training is a core part of this event, so is the ability to have extreme patience. Nothing is ever easy, but then it wouldn’t be fun and rewarding if it was, would it? What it does do is give you a good chance to meet with various people in the race, chat to them, and generally get paranoid about the kind of gear they have compared to you!

After the very uneventful check-in procedure, it was off to meet the rest of what was to become, Tent 92 (although it was tent 85 first – more later on that). We had the team from Hot (Fat) running in with us, plus another jock in the form of Rab Lee, chief sleeper and holder of the record for more hours slept than run in an MDS. Additionally we had four from the right side of the border, in Nottso, Ivan and Cavey.

We left the hotel, and it started to rain. Not a good start. But the start line was seven hours away, it would be fine there . However the further we went, the more it rained. After what seemed like an age, we arrived at the edge of a road. It was tipping it down. I was not in a good mood. The thought of being in a tent in that weather was not a pleasant thought. I was more concerned about my kit getting wet more than anything. I could deal with me being wet, just not the kit. Suddenly the idea of packing a Gortex jacket seemed very sensible.

We were transported from the bus to some army trucks for around 7 kms. The camp was already erected, but there were mini rivers running through the campsite. The British end was the worst I think. I chose what I thought was the best tent and put the bags down. The water was rushing past outside. The tent next to us had the river running through it. It was now building up at our end, so drastic action was called for... time to start digging a trench!

We must have dug around the tent for a good hour as night was beginning to fall when we got word that we were moving to the press tents for the night, which were vaguely drier and more enclosed. However no sooner had we been there for thirty minutes when we were told it was evacuation time.

In some respects it was a relief to be getting out. The situation was becoming a farce, and the ground was turning into a quagmire. After some scram, it was time to get out and within the hour we were in a hotel – amazing that they could find us a hotel at such short notice. We were to stay here three nights whilst the course was drastically re-routed and day one cancelled. A disappointment, but the reality is that this race was very close to being called off. The fact that we were going to race was the main thing, so after a lot of hanging around, we set off on the Monday morning, straight to the start line and ready to go.

Day 1: 31kms – 5hr 04mins – 450th
After so much waiting around, it was a massive relief to be ready to actually start this thing. In the build up, I think we all took it for granted that we would actually be doing this race and did not actually realise just how close it was to being called off. The start-line was slightly surreal for me. It wasn’t as emotional as I thought it would be, more one of eager anticipation for a number of reasons. Firstly because of the delays, but more importantly, I really did not know how I was going to hold up at all. The whole issue with the fractured leg was really playing on my mind and there was a very real chance that it could all go wrong today, the first day. I was in a cautious mood, and just praying that the leg would hold up.

There was also the distance too. In the 3 months preceding this race, the longest I’d ran was 13kms. Although I didn’t make it public, I seriously doubted my ability to do this, and with the issues surrounding how hard to go, I was understandably worried.

So the countdown came along and off we went. As I’d been told, people tend to start with a bang and go out quite hard, and this year was no exception. However I kept telling myself to run my race, not someone else’s. I decided on a run 10 minutes, walk 1 minute for the first 3kms, as it was gravel until we hit the sand dunes… all 14kms of them. This was the section they started off with last year as well, but in all honesty, I was really looking forward to them. And enjoy them I did. You kind of lose the sense of moving slowly because you’re so in awe of the dunes and taking in the surroundings whilst you run/walk. However schoolboy error number one was soon upon me. The previous evening I’d taped a number of my toes. Silly me should have taped the lot, as I eventually did at the end of day one. Should I have taped any of them? Well in hindsight I think I should have left them alone, but hey, it’s done now. The little toe was taped and had started to rub against the toe next to it, giving it a nice blister only 7kms into the race. Fortunately it was only a layer or two of skin deep, so a quick pop and some tape saw it right. However in cutting my toenails, I realised that I’d forgotten to cut one of them, and that had now dug nicely into the skin giving me blister number two. Such an idiot. Whilst in the sand repairing my feet, a lovely French lady came along and helped me apply my tape to my feet. She didn’t need to, and normally I like to do it myself, but she was being nice (for a Frenchie ), so I let her help me, and I thought it was extremely thoughtful of her.

So now taped off, and losing 5 minutes, I was on my way. After 14.5kms I reached CP1 (yipeee, first hurdle overcome and the furthest I’d run in 3 months!). I barely even stopped here and just shifted on. Surprisingly I’d caught up with Ivan and a few others who were taking a breather, I thought they’d be well ahead of me given the stoppages I’d had. So a quick hello and I was out of there like a shot.

The next stage was 9kms of long straight rocky flats. Normally this is where I excel, but I found this quite hard for some reason, and was down to a run 5 minutes, walk 1 minute strategy. I think it had got a fair bit hotter by this stage, but onwards I pushed. It was at this stage I really started to notice the backpack too. Again, due to the injury, I’d done little in the way of training with a pack. I’d done some biggish distances with 9-10kgs on my back, but not for 3 months, and well, it hurt. However I kept telling myself that it’s only pain. The straps weren’t digging into me or anything, it was all muscular. I think I have a bit of an advantage here in that my old second row rugby days really helped out. Game after game I would have the force of the opposition scrum striking through my shoulders. Scrum practice after scrum practice was far worse than 10kgs on the back, I was just being a bit of a whinger!

Towards the end of the 9kms flat I could feel the blisters giving me issues. I was only 1km from the CP, but I had to stop, assess and take care of them. I think I did this pretty well over the course of the week. If the feet needed looking at, I did it pretty much there and then. I think that’s why my feet didn’t deteriorate too badly. Some people where in a right state, and whilst I can’t speak for them, one has to ask if they just kept on walking with badly blistered feet for 20-30kms, because that’s how you get yourself in that kind of state. Who knows….

At CP2 I caught up with Ivan again who’d overtaken me on the flats. We had a quick rest for 5 minutes, got some fluid and a bit of food down us and pushed on. The final section of today’s 33kms, was undulating hills over some quite green territory, and a final 3 kms of sand dunes. I took a painkiller at this point and boy does it help… I felt like I was flying in this last 10kms or so. It was actually a feature of each day for me. I made it my mission to pass as many people as possible in the last section of each day, and very very very rarely did people pass me. It’s not like I was competing against them. I was actually competing against myself and the clock. Which brings me onto another point. You see so many people trying to compete in the last 400-500 yards of each day. The reality is that it’s not about gaining places on one given day. It’s about the time you do each day in. I had worked out a rough speed and time for each day, and in all honesty, it went perfectly. The fact that I set myself a mission to pass people on the last leg of each stage was just a game I played with myself.

So as I hit the dunes at the end of day one with 3kms to go, I felt good. Good that here I was covering 33kms and the leg had held up. Good that it had been a beautiful day’s running, and good that I was just glad to have the opportunity to compete in this race.

After a bit of scram (Chicken Tikka I think), we hit the sack at 7:30pm. It felt weird going to bed this early – it’s not natural. I got some kip, but as was the theme all week, I really only got 3-4 hours of good kip each night. I need comfort, and sleeping rough is not comfortable, but you make do. At least I’d brought a pillow!

Around 4am, it was markedly cold. The wind was also howling through the tent and the PHD minim ultra was not as warm as I had expected, even with a liner in. Still it just about kept me warm enough, but getting up on the morning of day two was very hard.

Day 2: 36kms – 5hrs 34mins – 421st
It was cold this morning, but cold for the desert. It wasn’t going to be this bad all week was it? It took ages to get out of bed, and I think I just stayed on my sleeping bag as I ate my Granola and berries for brekkie.

As the course had been a complete washout, we didn’t know where we would be racing until that very morning. So as I went to collect some water, we were given our route maps. To be honest, as I’m a middle of the pack person, there’s always someone nearby, even at night, so I never once looked at the map or used a compass. For some people they need to, but I was fine.

At 9am for the start, it was still bitterly cold, and I made the decision to wear leggings, keeping them on all day, even as it got hotter. The first leg was another 14km section, and involved 7kms of undulating hills once again. I came to realise over the week that the first section of each day I really didn’t enjoy all that much. I think it just took me that time to get the legs going. Considering the 31kms from the previous day, I was actually feeling pretty good over this first 7kms. However at this point, the blisters started to give me jip again, so stop I did and sort those feet out. I did it right next to one of the French photographers who was trying to take pictures of the French. I don’t think she liked me stopping there as I was in her way, but I thought ‘stuff her’ I’m racing, she’s mincing – deal with it!

I wasn’t happy though. I thought I was going to get real grief all week now because of some silly schoolboy errors on day one. But patch my feet up I did once more and on my way I was. Again 5 minutes of faffing at the start cost me 50 places I reckon. Then we hit some little sand dunes we called dunettes. I was not in a happy place now, and was not enjoying myself one bit. Everything was crap. The backpack hurt (me being a whinger again), my feet hurt and I was moving sluggishly across the dunes. Surprisingly however I did the first 14kms in 2 hours, which was above my average, so I couldn’t have been moving that slowly.

I decided to have a bit of a rest at CP1 and get the composure together again. I smashed down a pepperami (Jesus I wish Id brought more of these. They are the food of Gods). I had a quick drink and off I went. The next 10kms was again, more rocky flat running and here I did well. After a shaky start on this in the first stage yesterday, I pretty much ran the entire 10kms (apart from a few hills), and made good time and places once again. It’s funny because you play cat and mouse with the same runners, and find yourself at their pace throughout the entire race. It is funny though when you keep seeing them time and time again.

After a good second leg on day two, the final leg (around 12kms), was another easy flat and runnable section. However I made a decision here to power walk the entire thing, and with that, be very strict with myself and not run at all. We had the big day coming up tomorrow, and there would be plenty of time to run in that. In hindsight this proven to be a very good decision for me. I can walk pretty quickly, and I managed to knock this section off in way under 1hr 30mins from what I recall. The funny thing here as well is that in walking at around 7.5kms an hour, I was moving quicker than when I was running, and also overtaking quite a few runners on this last stage. I don’t mean to sound like a twat, but I think it really pissed a few runners off that here I was power walking this leg, and I was overtaking people who were running. In all, I passed about 30 runners, and again I played the game with myself. Only this time I pretended that everyone in front of me was a guy called Jan Herrman. He’s an amazing walker on the ultra scene, and walks all of the races he does, and finishes extremely well too. So I made it my mission to try and pass all of the Jan Herrman’s and put in a stellar walking performance to get ready for the big day on day three. Little did we know just how big it was going to be.

I had a feeling they might extend the long day, and how right we were. I was feeling pretty good after two days, and I was no longer worried about my ability to complete the distance. It’s amazing just how much the mental part plays in doing these races. I felt like I’d never had the 3 months off, and physically I was feeling pretty good. I was a little stiff, but given I’d just done the biggest back to backs in my running career, I was feeling positive about the long day. I knew here that I could make up some serious places, as quite a few people would take the two days to do the long day.

When we were told that we were doing 91kms, I knew this would play to my strengths even more. I knew that I was more determined and wanted this section more. I’ll add again that this is not about competing against others, I’m competing against myself to do the best I can. I don’t know the people who are in front of me, but all I wanted to do was do myself justice.

I was actually a little disappointed that we were doing 91kms, they should have just rounded it off to 100kms, that would have been magical, but at 78kms I wasn’t going to complain as we shall see 

Feeling good after two days racing, quads a bit sore

Day 3: 92kms – 17hrs 53mins – 347th
This morning was much warmer than yesterday, and for that I was very thankful. I didn’t have to stay cooped up in the sleeping bag, and could get on with some proper admin for breakfast. The order of the day was two oatmeal bars, coming in at a whopping 460 calories each – although I was a little sick of these it had to be said. They tasted great in Australia, and I’d lap them up all the time, but by day three I was a little sick of them. I think that’s the key to the whole eating thing out there. It’s far too easy to think of calories and replicate food each day without thinking how you’re going to feel after eating the same thing for 5 days straight. If I were doing this again, I’d vary things each day so that I’m not eating the same two things all of the time. Still I got by fairly well and wasn’t too displeased with my food efforts – I know some people who were a lot worse and were plain sick of the things they had by the end of the week.

I have to admit to not feeling the greatest again at the start of what was to be the longest ever long day in the history of the MDS. I was tired, and if I’m honest, a little sore from two 30 plus km days. I kept telling myself however at the start line that this is what I came here for, and in hindsight it was this day that made the MDS this year. I decided from the off that I would pretty much walk the first leg, but needed some motivation. It was here that I used my ipod for the one and only time I ran. I needed something to kick start me, and with Buzz N’ Fly banging in my ears I set-off at a very brisk Jan Herrman-esq pace along the course. In fact I was going so quickly again that I was being held up by runners on some of the single track. I think the distance to the first CP was just a shade under 14kms, and I remember getting sore feet again at about 10kms, so when we entered a field of rocks, I decided to start running at a slow pace to ease the feet somewhat. This seemed to do the trick and I was in CP1 just a shade after 2 hours – it was beginning to get hot. I didn’t want to hang around here as I’d just got the body warmed up, so a quick re-fill of the drinking bottles, a few handfuls of nuts, and we were off.

It was here that we entered a long dry wadi for around 3-4kms, and it was fairly slow going. I was still running but at the grand old pace of 6-7kms an hour... nothing spectacular, but nice and steady. We then entered some lush green rolling hills, and by this time I was bouncing and feeling good. The body was up and running and I distinctly remember this section as being one of my favourites of the whole race. I felt alive and so lucky to be here doing the MDS, and the fact that today was going to be a great challenge for us. I remember thinking that everything around me was awesome and it made me realise why I took up this wonderful sport in the first place.

Onwards and upwards I went, and I soon began to overtake quite a few people. By this time, many people had started to walk. It always baffled me this. Many people would start the day running, and within 10-15kms, they’d be battered and begin walking. It was far too early to be walking in my opinion and although we were now facing a very strong headwind of around 50-60km/ph, I decided it was far more comfortable to be running. Again, I wasn’t going quickly, but slowly and surely I was overtaking people and was beginning to move up the field here. Before long I was upon CP 2 and 26kms into the day.

I must admit to feeling a little jaded here. It was getting hot and my food intake was a little low. It was here that I caught up with Ivan, my tent mate and the entire time, there was only 10 minutes between us in the whole race. He was taking a little breather, so I sat next to him, got a bit of food down me and also guzzled down half a litre of Powerade. If there’s anything I would have done differently, it would to have been to bring shitloads more of my powered Powerade. After two days on water and Hammer caps, I was getting sick of water. The taste of Powerade was lush. Fortunately I hadn’t had all of my days quota of the stuff from the previous days, so I was in surplus and used it all to good effect over the course of the next 70kms of so, but boy do I wish I’d brought more of it. If anything, I didn’t bring enough supplements and powders. Because they don’t count as calories, I didn’t see much point in bringing them, but if I had my time again, I would have gone even lower on the solid food and brought more Powerade powder instead. In hindsight it’s how I get through ultras over here as well... but I just didn’t think!

Anyway, not to worry. 15 minutes, a bit of powerade and some nuts later I was feeling good, and off I went just ahead of Ivan. However he soon caught me up and we started to run together across what was now some rolling green hills towards CP3. I kept telling myself that it was CP to CP – don’t think about the big distance, and I was still really enjoying myself here. I began to pull away from Ivan on the flats as this was where I was really at home. Long straight flats as far as the eye can see, and where I could pick up the pace somewhat. The wind was still very strong and straight into our faces, but push on I did, entering some flat sandy areas that were tough going, before once again hitting the lush rolling green hills.

It was just as I was entering CP3 that the leaders started to come through, and the actual leader just beat me into the CP... Amazing given that they’d started some 3 hours after us. They just flew by, it was awesome to watch and everyone would stop and clap them as they went on by.

Ivan had made up some ground as I sat down at CP 3 and we again refuelled and drank some more. I also smashed down a pack of flame-grilled steak McCoys crisps which really hit the spot, and we were off again across the barren land to CP4. This was a fairly long leg of 14kms, and the wind was still smacking us straight in the face. It was tough going here towards CP4 and the 50km marker. I think at this stage, both Ivan and I knew we were going to be sticking together for the rest of the stage. Nothing was said between us yet, but I think we were both comfortable running together and still very much in buoyant mood.

Towards the end of this leg, we caught up with another British female (name escapes me), and we ran/walked with her towards CP4. At around 45kms, both Ivan and I were starting to feel it somewhat and were low on energy. It was late afternoon, and we both needed some decent food in us. We made a call to spend a good hour at CP4 getting some food down us and to get our bodies ready for the final 42kms of the stage.

CP4 couldn’t come soon enough and in the last 2kms before it, I was feeling pretty rank. I needed some energy and rest, but the wind was truly harsh. The CP was out in the middle of a plain and very exposed and despite being in the bivouac, the wind blew strongly through the make-shift shelter. CP4 was to be the resting place of those who couldn’t make the cut off of 1am, and would be forced to rest there the night. I for one would not want to be sleeping in such an exposed place, so was glad that we hit the CP 7 hours ahead of cut-off, which were very generous.

Here Ivan and I decided to have a full blow meal, so I smashed down a Mountain House spag bol. I demolished the thing in just under 3 minutes. Not a wise idea as I was soon to find out. Some repairs to the feet and I was ready to move within half an hour, but I’d already made my mind up in my head that I wanted to stick with Ivan for the long stage – it proved a wise decision.

With bellies full of food and a good hour’s rest, Ivan and I set off from CP4 at 7pm for the trek home. We tried to run, but our bellies wouldn’t allow it... not even at our slow pace. However out running was forcibly stopped within a kilometre when we hit some rather large dunes. The irony was that the first 50kms of terrain had been relatively easy, little did we know that the next 42kms were going to be some of the toughest of the entire race, at night and with tired bodies.

We kept going up and down over some big dunes, which was pretty energy sapping. However before long we were back into some desert and if I’m honest... loving it. The night was clear, the stars were in full force and Ivan and I stopped to take in the amazing night view. This again was one of those moments which you remember for the rest of your life. The night stage of the MDS, a sky covered in stars and some awesome sand running to get your teeth into. Sand soon turned into rock however and in the distance we could see the little lights on the backpacks of other runners which were compulsory to wear at night. The lights were heading upwards and we knew that we’d be going over a mountain, or jebel as they call it.

The going was tough and slow here as you watched your every step in an attempt not to go over on your ankle. Running soon turned into climbing, and up we went. We caught some other runners, and if I’m honest, it was very slow. I wanted to overtake, but as it was single track, you couldn’t, so patience was the order of the day here. Up we went, the route being difficult to make out, but in a schoolboy error, we just followed the people in front. Silly idea. We got to the top of the mountain and could see people on the far right way down below. Shit, we’d gone too high up this bloody thing! I was really pissed off at myself for following others, and really thought that we were going to lose around 45 minutes back tracking and getting down the other side. I decided to sod those in front of me and push on. Ivan fell however and I wasn’t about to leave him alone. I know what it’s like to fall, especially in the dark and your confidence goes momentarily. I waited for him, we found a way down and before long we were back on track. I reckon we only lost 15-20 minutes as a result.

However I do what I always seem to do in these situations, and that’s try and make up for lost time – which I know I shouldn’t. I think Ivan was still a little shaken, so I took the lead here and the going was great underfoot. Although it was sand, it was downhill slightly and we could really move, so we pushed on fairly hard here. We hit some more dunes, and by this stage, Ivan was back in play and we were both loving this section.

However, the sand went on forever, in fact we had a whole 14kms of sand here and the sight of CP5 was very welcome. I was beginning to feel a little crap here though. Not sure why, but as we stopped and re-fuelled, I could tell that my body after 65kms was starting to throw a little tantrum. I’d been here before though, and can’t stress enough the virtues of getting out and doing some big mileage so that you know how your body reacts and what you need to do about it. For me, it’s simply about pushing on. You want to stop and rest, but you have to say ‘no’, and move, no matter how slow. The DNF I had in the GNW 175km race told me about this. I pulled out there at 103kms, having taken 2.5 hours of wrong turn. That DNF taught me about how to say no – I’m glad I did DNF in that race, because it mean that I knew how to cope with the tantrums my body would throw at me.

We left CP5 and I was getting worse. Ivan was in good spirits I could tell, and started to talk to me. It was here I just had to tell him that chatting was not an option for me at the moment. I remember telling him that I would be OK, he would just have to lead me (almost pacer like), and I would just get my head down, focus on one step in front of the other and just get through this little bad patch. To make matters worse, this was some of the worst terrain of the entire course. It’s now infamously know as the ‘field of rocks’. Imagine you’ve run 70kms, your body is fecked and you want to stop and get your head down for a bit of a kip. Then you enter a wide expanse where all that is in front of you is little rocks and no clear footing. Each step is agony as your feet twist and turn and mash up the blisters already present on your heels. I hated this bit (at the time), and Ivan was just pulling away from me. It was all the incentive I needed to just keep him within range.

I’ll be honest here, Ivan dragged me through that section. He kept on pushing, and I just knew that I had to keep pace with him no matter what. He may have been 10 yards in front of me, but this was good for me. I didn’t feel the pressure of having to run beside him, just keep in touch.

Also, I’ll add here, get yourself a fairly decent head torch. I took the Petzl e-lite, which is fine around camp, utter shite across this terrain. Again, it was all the incentive I needed to keep in contact with Ivan to use his head torch as well!

The field of rocks came and went, and I the distance we could see the long laser beam they put out to signify where the checkpoint is. Normally they reserve this for the finish on the long day, but this time they’d put it at CP5. I thought they were playing an April Fool on us, it was after all April 1st, and maybe they told us that we were doing 92kms, but really it was a CP less. Still it was a hindrance more than anything else. You kept thinking that you were getting closer and closer, but it took an eternity to reach the damn thing.

The going underfoot was good here, and Ivan now started to really up the pace here and push it. I was weak at this point, but I wasn’t going to let him get away. I kept pace, but boy did it hurt. Eventually we reached the past CP, before the final 12kms home. I was pretty spent by now, and again, my head was saying ‘stop here, have a rest, finish in a few hours’. I needed something and like a saint he was Ivan boiled up some water for me, and I quaffed down a galaxy hot chocolate drink... beautiful!

I needed a rest though and Ivan was happy to oblige. Thirty minutes in total we had, far too long given that we only had 12kms to go, but hey, I guess I needed it. When we got up to go, I was still be a negative bugger inside my head, but push on we must. It was here that a guy called Chris was with us too. Ivan had done some climate chamber sessions with this guy, who was also a part-time cage fighter! Hardcore man! We started to run a little, but it was mainly uphill and better to walk at a brisk pace. We also came across one of the infamous camel spiders. Only a small one, but I was far too tired to pay much attention of grab a shot of it. Ivan and I pushed on fairly briskly and I was beginning to feel much better now. Chris, being slightly vertically challenged (!), was starting to fall behind our pace a little, whereas Ivan and I were striding forward now!

We started to chat more as we knew the end was in sight. The terrain became slightly difficult again with more ‘fields of rocks’, but nothing could stop us now as we walked at a healthy 6-7kms/ph. Before we knew it, the finish was in sight, and after 17hrs and 50mins, we had crossed the line and embraced each other. We’d done it, got through the long day, and in fairly good time as well.

I knew in my heart that today would make or break my MDS. If I could keep pushing and keep putting one foot in front of the other, I would make up a lot of places today, and make them up I did. In total, I jumped around 70 places, which was what I’d hoped for. Full credit to Ivan for digging me out of a hole for 15kms or so between CP5 and CP6. I was in a dark place, and he was great, just letting me deal with my own private hell, whilst taking us forward at a good pace.

We arrived at the tent just after 3am, and collapsed. Jamsie was already home, along with our South African import (who was a very good runner), and after a brief exchange, pulling out of kit I climbed into my bag and was asleep within seconds.

No sooner had I fallen asleep, did my eyes open in the early morning light to the sight of Jeremy arriving home at around 5:30am. He was breathing very heavily and just lying beside me having just got in. In looked in a bad shape, and was as we were to find out. He’d eaten just 6 liquorice allsorts all day, having succumbed to the sickness bug the previous night. How he’d done that stage on that little food I’ll never know, but he did. I told him to get into his bag otherwise he’d freeze to death. With that we fell asleep for another 2 hours, before another of our crew, Keith arrived home.

To say we were surprised at seeing Keith was an understatement. None of us knew what he’d been through that day, but he’d almost pulled the plug halfway just after starting the day. He’d been ill the night before too, and was suffering badly with dehydration. He made it to CP1 and was about to chuck in the towel. He was offered a drip and took 7 bags of IV – it made him a new man. Apparently one of the elites was with him, also suffering badly and the two were in almost dead last position, propping up the camels.

Onwards they marched for the entire route, simply walking the whole way and came home at 7:30am. We were all so pleased for Keith as he suffers badly with his body throwing him loads of curveballs. It was one of the highlights for me, seeing him finish and having battled through his own private hell. Races like this change people’s lives, and I’m sure it was change Keith’s.

One by one the guys arrived home, with chief sleeping beauty, Rab Lee getting in just after midday. The whole of tent 92 had made it through the day, and we were in buoyant mood ahead of the last stage, the marathon.

Day 4: 42.2kms – 5hrs 40mins – 331st
Today was the give it all and fuck it day. The time had been made up, and whilst there was not much to be gained in terms of placing today, it was more about pride and leaving everything out on the course for me. Others are happy to take it steady and just finish, which is equally fine. It’s all about what you want to achieve. For me, it’s testing myself once again.

Pretty much the entire day was run, bar the odd mountain climb and 4-5kms of sand dunes which made running hard, but from the start to CP1 was some good running to be had, bar the one jebel climb. I went through the first 11kms in 1hour 20mins, so we were moving fairly sharply here. I quick filling up of water bottle, some nuts and it was off again. Whilst only a short section of 7kms, at least 5kms of this was energy sapping dunes. They were tiny, but they were so bloody hard. I was really grinding to a bit of a halt here, and my own personal target of a sub 6 hour desert marathon was fading quickly, especially if we had more of the same for the rest of the course.

The next 9kms or so was much better in terms of terrain, but it was beginning to get hot now – around 40 degrees I reckon. I was feeling the heat, and the blister, which had now engulfed my entire little toe on my left foot was hurting a fair bit. The plan was to get to the final CP and sort it out.
This top couldn’t come soon enough, and Ivan and I reached it together, again a testament to how close we were for the entire race. He moved on fairly sharpish and I told him to go as I needed to do some running repairs, which I’m glad I did. It put me 10 mins behind him, but without it I would have been useless in the last stage of this year’s MDS.

So off I went at 1pm on the last leg. This was it. The last stage we would run, and there was just 15kms between me and the finish. I decided right from the off that walking was not an option for this leg, it has to be run (bar some steep hill climbs). We had around 5kms of dried wadi to cross first and it was very hot. The pace here was not quick (around 6.5km/ph), but I again started to pass people. I knew that in order to get this sub 6 hour marathon, the terrain had to be kind and I had to be a lot quicker. The current pace wasn’t going to see me do this.

Luckily for me, we hit a gravel road... finally the terrain I was made for! Others around me carried on at the same pace, I decided that the last 9kms of the MDS needed pushing as hard as my body would let me. It was here that I upped the pace to around 10-11km/ph... I was flying now. I was steaming past people, people I hadn’t seen all week.

It’s funny because on each day, you always see the same people i.e. those people close to you in the rankings. Today however I was in another place. Approximately 100 places up that on previous days and these people were alien to me. It makes me think that maybe I took it too easy on the first couple of days. But I can’t say that, as I didn’t know how my leg was going to hold up. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, so I can’t think about the what ifs.

I motored on and the sub 6 was definitely on now. I was even running up hills that earlier in the week I would have walked up. I could see that the people I was passing though I was stupid running up hills, but I was proving things to myself, not them. All the years of training hard, of pushing the body, of nearly being sick over the finish line, or smashing my quads to bits and through nearly fainting through sheer exhaustion were about this moment. I wanted to make sure that all that work paid off on smashing myself to bits in the final few kms.

We approached another field of rocks and had a climb up a hill in the distance. I knew we were close, and for some reason, I knew that just over that hill would be the finish line. I bounded up the hill, and as I came to top, there she was in the distance, about 2kms away. I have to admit that this was more emotional than actually crossing the finish line for me. All that sacrifice, all that not drinking, all those early morning starts, all those thousands of dollars spent competing in races and travelling to far flung places. I thought of the time I went to bed at 8pm one Saturday night to get up at 1:30am and drive 3 hours to the start of the Mudgee marathon, 3 hours from my home in Sydney. I remember nearly hitting a Kangaroo on the way as I made the desolate journey for the 7am start to a place I’d never knew of been to before.

I remembered how cold it was and the sacrifice I’d made. I remembered how I’d laboured round the course as I completed my second marathon in 7 days. All that effort and pain that I went through was for this moment.

A short, sharp run down the side of the mountain along the sand and I had a straight run in of around 2kms. Switch to 6th gear and engage quick running. I started to pass people and I felt bad. I don’t believe in taking other people’s places when you’re on the home straight. Or rather what I’m trying to say is that I’m not competing against them in the slightest. I’m competing against the clock and myself, so to all those I passed, please don’t think I was competing against you there, I was chasing my own tail.

I think I did those last 2 kms in just under 9mins... there’s still some pace in the old dog yet. And across the line I was... the medal was duly placed around my neck and before I knew it, a camera and microphone were in front of me and I was being interviewed. God knows if it made it to anywhere, but it was all a bit of a blur. As a PR professional I advise people on this shit all day long. Here I was the perfect example of how not to be interviewed. Long winded answers and generally just a mess. I didn’t care though. The medal was round the neck and it wasn’t coming off. Far too much time, effort and money had gone into it. No-one was taking it away. Others came to congratulate me and those who had finished around me. What was very special was those who had been pulled from the race came to shake my hand too. It must have been torture for them to see people finished and so happy, but I certainly appreciated their goodwill and strength for doing so.

So that was it. Job done. It felt kind of strange. I had a sense of calm elation as I’d finished. No heroics or fists in the air... it was all rather sedate and an air of quiet satisfaction. I said at the start that I’m not here for any dick swinging, and maybe that’s just my character to just sit there and take it all in. Sometimes I think that gets perceived as arrogant. I don’t mean it to though.

So am I happy? At the time of finishing, yes very much so. When you reflect on the race, you start to analyse and think what could have been done better. I said I would never go back. I’m already planning an assault in 5 years, where hopefully, if I can stay injury free, I want a crack at the top 100. I know it can be done, I need to train hard and have a bit of luck with no injuries. But for now, I’m very happy and so should everyone who finished. There’s no point getting caught up in the race against others. You should race yourself and your own goals, and in my case I felt I did just that.

So some thank-you’s? It feels like some kind of acceptance speech! But my fiancée Melody deserves a medal for putting up with me. I’m hard work when I run. We as runners are hard work, and she makes me see the balance I need to have. Sometimes I would get too caught up in running. She would be on the receiving end of some of my tantrums and she just deals with them. I owe her the world and hope that I can be everything she wants from a husband. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her.

To those who made me get off my ass and do this in the first place. Running was always a part of me, and whilst rugby has dominated my life so far, I was always curious to get back into it. One of the reasons I signed up for the MDS was the extreme nature of the event. Natalie my friend my university was one of the reasons I chose to do this. She died at just 27... twenty bloody seven. That had a major impact on me. Why her? She went through utter shit. The MDS was easy compared to her suffering. Cancer is horrible, both my parents have had it and they survived. There’s a fair old chance it will strike me in the future I’m sure. But I’m ready for it if it wants to come my way. Life is for living and whilst this might sound like some happy clapper bullshit, you really do need to grab it by the bollocks and live it. I feel so lucky to have done this race. I am privileged to have competed and to have even graced that course. Even the times when I felt like shit and hurt like hell were an honour to be a part of. The truest judge of oneself is oneself. I live by the rule of ‘when I look myself in the eye... have I done and given everything... have I done myself justice?’... If the answer is no then I’m ashamed of myself, and I have to get back out there until I am proud.