I fully intend to write a complete account of my MDS experience; however this will take a number of months and span many, many pages. I will try and write a slightly shorter account of the event for my blog for those that don’t want to wait or don’t want to waste too much of their life reading about my antics in the desert.
The first thing that struck me about the Marathon Des Sables is just how big it is. The official website describes it thus:
• 130 volunteers on the course itself,
• 450 support staff overall,
• 120 000 litres of mineral water,
• 300 Berber and Saharan tents,
• 120 all-terrain vehicles,
• 2 “Ecureuil” helicopter and 1 “Cessna” plane,
• 8 “MDS special” commercial planes,
• 25 buses,
• 4 camels,
• 1 incinerator lorry for burning waste,
• 4 quads to ensure environment and safety on race,
• 52 medical staff,
• 6.5 kms of Elastoplast, 2 700 Compeed, 19 000 compresses,
• 6 000 painkillers, 150 litres of disinfectant,
• 1 editing bus, 5 cameras, 1 satellite image station,
• 10 satellite telephones, 30 computers, fax and internet,
• A touch of madness...
The only figures there that I'm not sure about are the number of camels, I only saw two, and the ‘touch of madness’, I'm fairly sure it takes more than a touch to enter this event.
However even knowing all this before I went didn't prepare me for the size of the camp when we arrived. It did mean that we had quite a walk around the ring of tents before we found a vacant lot. The camp is arranged in the same way every day so tents near to the ‘entrance’ are at a premium as they will be nearest the finish. One of the many ‘amusing’ little points of the MDS is that after running 35 – 80km you are immediately given 3 bottles (4.5 litres) of water to stagger back to your tent with. If you complete day 4 (the long stage) after the morning water distribution for Day 5 (the ‘rest’ day) you may be lucky enough to be presented with 6 bottles to carry back with you.
One of the most, if not the most, impressive parts of the whole event is the way the entire camp is dismantled, moved up to 80km and entirely rebuilt every day. The competitors sleep in what are called ‘Berber Tents’. These consist of a piece of thick black cloth held up by 2 poles at each side in the centre, with shorter poles and steel pegs creating low ‘walls’ at either end. The tents are open front and back, although it is possible to partly close them if you are brave enough to remove one of the central pole supports. On the floor is a carpet, red and black or yellow and black – it varies day to day. Eight people sleep in each tent, generally aligned front to back or vice-versa dependent (in our case) on which way we thought the wind would blow each night. The Berbers also don’t bother to wait for you to get up each morning; the tents are dismantled around you. They do however leave the carpet until everyone is off it, although if you are taking too long your final preparations will be done under the gaze of a couple of impatient Berbers. This is fair enough considering the vast logistical exercise of moving the camp, there is no time to allow a thousand people to slowly get up and get packed before the tents start to come down.
The eight people you share a tent with can have a huge effect on your MDS experience and I was lucky that I had already arranged to be part of a great group of six other guys and one very tolerant woman.
Admin Day Dawns…
In many ways I was more worried about Admin Day than actually running the MDS. The reason for this was simply that the MDS has a fairly extensive set of rules. However I think the British find them slightly difficult as many of them are not quantified – how big a knife? How much topical disinfectant? How do we prove we have the right number of calories per day? Then of course there was the whole issue of getting the medical certificate signed off and having an ECG signed and stamped exactly as required. Get any of this wrong and you could find yourself starting with a two hour time penalty. However…
The elite runners have specific times to go for their checks and will be fully scrutinised both at the start of the race and at the end of every stage. For those of us in the masses a full check is far less likely – although not impossible. Certainly for me the checks were minimal. I had signed a list of mandatory equipment to confirm I had it and listed my calories per day. The official asked to see my road book, inquired as to the weight of my pack (6.8kg – well it was when I packed it in the UK) and the weight of my food (3.8kg) and that was my equipment check. My form was counter signed and I went on to the medical check.
My medical check was similarly brief, I think if you can stand in the midday sun for 2 hours in the queue for the admin checks you are probably deemed fit to run. My medical consisted of a brief glance at my signed form and ECG followed by the questions ‘Have you done this before?’ Answer, ‘no’ and ‘but you are quite fit, yes?’ Answer, ‘yes.’ I was rewarded with another signature on my form and a small plastic bag of tablets that would have had me answering some very awkward questions if I was found with them at the V-Festival but were actually salt tablets. We were told to take two per bottle of water, going up to four after 5 hours of running. I took them fairly well as directed and had no hydration problems. Given the amount of salt that was encrusted in my running gear and pack by the end I suspect I would not have had such a good time if I had neglected to take the tablets.
In addition I was given a water card to be clipped when I took each ration of water, a transponder, a medical card, a ‘ski pass’ style holder for the water card and a flare. I was given them in that order, which meant by the time I collected the holder for the water card I’d already lost the card because I put it down when I attached the transponder to my ankle so it could be checked…
Anyway I seemed to pass all the checks and managed to hang on to all my kit for long enough to present my fully signed form to the officials giving out the all-important race numbers. The Marathon Des Sables isn't generally considered an educational event but in the course of getting my number (which also has the competitor’s first name on it) I learned that in France ‘Colin’ is both a champagne and a fish.
It was now all very real – I had handed in my travel bag so everything I had for the impending adventure across the Sahara was either in my pack or on my body. We would be served one more meal that evening before we had to be entirely self-sufficient the next day and head out into the biggest sand dunes in Morocco!
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