Running time: 8h30m
4 blisters and Achilles ugly
Awakening again to the sound – and sudden cold – of the turbans pulling down the tent around us, something inside me snapped and I completely lost it, yelling in a redhead rage that –despite the language barrier– proved immediately rewarding. Which while leaving us more comfortable for the first hours of the morning routine, soon left us a slightly uncomfortable spectacle, as the rest of the camp was taken down around us. As we left the start line, our tent remained the only thing still standing. I quietly wonder if it’s still there.
Karma already had its eye on me. It has become increasingly difficult to get my Injinji socks (ingenious socks with a little ‘nano-sock’ for each toe) on over my bandaged feet and then worse, trying to fit my feet – which seem to have swelled to Yeti-like proportions, into my trainers. However today, sock-stuffing proved only half the problem as – despite it constituting one of only about 7 possessions, I have managed to lose one. Not the disaster that the temporary loss of my shorts proved yesterday (which went unmentioned for ..reasons) but one that – unlike yesterday, was not resolved. Great. Great un-comfortableness and blister juice.
Nonetheless, with the compensating benefit of a lighter pack, I was feeling strong and determined to get a good marathon time, starting fast over the soft dunes at the opening. Which lasted all of 800m before the suspected Achilles injury became a confirmed one, shooting hot flashes of truly breath-taking pain every step I took. Slowing to a stop, one of my tent mates soon caught up with me and – God bless here – basically bullied me to checkpoint 1. But by the time I arrived, I was in tears of pain and the enormity of the 32km still ahead of me felt like an impossible task.
However, after a sit-down, 2 packs of jelly beans and 2 painkillers, I felt strong enough to at least get to the next checkpoint, and we marched off. And so set the form for each checkpoint and the rest of the painful, frustrating but ultimately very, very rewarding journey on.
Others too, were clearly at the physical limit of what their bodies would tolerate: in the last 6km, we saw 2 flares go off ahead of us. Both runners had collapsed from heatstroke and had their flares set off by other passing competitors. The first was a guy from the tent next to us – but after a rest and an IV, he got up and finished it. The second, we passed about 40mins later and about 1km from the finish line. Again it was heatstroke but he was in a much worse way and there was a medical team surrounding him and a helicopter just landing, as we passed. His last 6 days -blown out by a disqualification in the last km… No words, no words.
I cried when I crossed the line and – after initial protestations that I had sand in my eye, had to confess the full extent of emotion and exhaustion when I stated hiccupping. No ‘finishers photo’ to frame, thanks.
*
Running time: 8h30m
4 blisters and Achilles ugly
Awakening again to the sound – and sudden cold – of the turbans pulling down the tent around us, something inside me snapped and I completely lost it, yelling in a redhead rage that –despite the language barrier– proved immediately rewarding. Which while leaving us more comfortable for the first hours of the morning routine, soon left us a slightly uncomfortable spectacle, as the rest of the camp was taken down around us. As we left the start line, our tent remained the only thing still standing. I quietly wonder if it’s still there.
Karma already had its eye on me. It has become increasingly difficult to get my Injinji socks (ingenious socks with a little ‘nano-sock’ for each toe) on over my bandaged feet and then worse, trying to fit my feet – which seem to have swelled to Yeti-like proportions, into my trainers. However today, sock-stuffing proved only half the problem as – despite it constituting one of only about 7 possessions, I have managed to lose one. Not the disaster that the temporary loss of my shorts proved yesterday (which went unmentioned for ..reasons) but one that – unlike yesterday, was not resolved. Great. Great un-comfortableness and blister juice.
Nonetheless, with the compensating benefit of a lighter pack, I was feeling strong and determined to get a good marathon time, starting fast over the soft dunes at the opening. Which lasted all of 800m before the suspected Achilles injury became a confirmed one, shooting hot flashes of truly breath-taking pain every step I took. Slowing to a stop, one of my tent mates soon caught up with me and – God bless here – basically bullied me to checkpoint 1. But by the time I arrived, I was in tears of pain and the enormity of the 32km still ahead of me felt like an impossible task.
However, after a sit-down, 2 packs of jelly beans and 2 painkillers, I felt strong enough to at least get to the next checkpoint, and we marched off. And so set the form for each checkpoint and the rest of the painful, frustrating but ultimately very, very rewarding journey on.
Others too, were clearly at the physical limit of what their bodies would tolerate: in the last 6km, we saw 2 flares go off ahead of us. Both runners had collapsed from heatstroke and had their flares set off by other passing competitors. The first was a guy from the tent next to us – but after a rest and an IV, he got up and finished it. The second, we passed about 40mins later and about 1km from the finish line. Again it was heatstroke but he was in a much worse way and there was a medical team surrounding him and a helicopter just landing, as we passed. His last 6 days -blown out by a disqualification in the last km… No words, no words.
I cried when I crossed the line and – after initial protestations that I had sand in my eye, had to confess the full extent of emotion and exhaustion when I stated hiccupping. No ‘finishers photo’ to frame, thanks.
