Half Marathon Des Sables - Fuerteventura 2019

Where do you start? Probably best to start with the facts: 

The Half MDS is an endurance event, with 450 competitors at the start over 4 days, each having to carry everything they need to get through every single day. 

Day 1 – Stage 1 was 30km starting at noon (so nice and hot), 32% on sand, 65% on trails and 5% on rocks (also known as cliff edge). 

It had 2582 feet elevation gain and I burned 3117 calories. 

I finished in 378 and it took me 6:59:23

10 people failed to complete the stage. 

Day 2 – Stage 2 was an eye watering 54.5km starting at 6.30am, 36% on sand, 35% on trails, 29% on rocks. 

It had 4706 feet elevation gain and I burned 4439 calories. 

I finished in 314 and it took me 13:15:40

21 people failed to complete the stage. 

Day 3 – rest day -  more on that later. 

Day 4 – Stage 3 was 24.4km starting at 9am, 4% on sand, 91% on trails and 5% on road. This doesn’t include the 3.5km walk to get us to the start line. 

It had 1608 feet elevation gain and I burned 2245 calories. 

I finished in 368 and it took me 6:14:45

Everyone who started Stage 3 completed and earned their medal. 

That’s the reality of what happened. The bare facts. I finished in 355th place out of a field of 365 runners – all of whom are amazing human beings each with their own story and who now have a shared experience that we can never forget. This my story. 

We all know the circumstances that led me to this start line on Monday and you probably (if you’ve read my blogs before) know I don’t do race reports. So this won’t be a “race report” about improvements, mistakes, blah blah. There are lots of those blogs out there and this one in particular turned out to be the most accurate if you want that kind of thing (https://www.manvmiles.co.uk/2018/10/05/half-marathon-des-sables-tips-kit-course-distance/)

A couple of weeks before flying out I had been lucky enough to stumble across the Half MDS facebook group full of eager Brits all making last minute plans (some very last minute), sorting issues, asking questions, but also ensuring we actually knew some names and faces before we got there. Well obviously not me as if you know me you know I hear peoples names, see their faces and then instantly forget that information. But I was no longer worried I’d be completely alone at the start. 

The Playitas Resort that hosts the event is a large sun bleached complex on the sea, with breakfast and dinner provided. Registration was easy and painless. No real check of the kit and everything happens pretty seamlessly. Meaning you can focus on getting to know people and sorting yourself out. The most important thing you get at registration is the race book. Which reveals the details of each stage. How far, how high, how technical, how long you have to finish. 

I was delighted to see the longest stage was now “only” 54km compared with the mammoth 66km last year. We had less time to complete it but all of the stages were still manageable. There were some big looking mountains but that had been expected. I realised the hardest part of every day would be reaching the first checkpoint. It was always the tightest time, giving you never more than a couple of hours to go anything from 7km to 10km. That may seem ages in real life but out here with the heat, the hills and your kit on your back I knew it would be a challenge. 

I spent Sunday night working out the distances between checkpoints, how long I had to do them, what pace that meant I had to go at. Committing to memory for Day 1 so I would be prepared. An early night but not an early start and the race would be off. 

No need for me to go through the details of the briefings or the bus to the start, I want to focus on what matters. Arriving at the start line grateful there were portaloos. My worst nightmare had come true and my period had started on Saturday. So by this Monday start day I was now on my heaviest day. I knew this was going to be a challenge. 

You can’t help but feel excited at the start of any race, but this one does feel so much different. With all the kit, the atmosphere of the amazing event team, the runners not sure what is going to face them. Although in the distance I knew we didn’t have far until our first giant climb – 380 metres up a mountain and I could see them in the distance. Thinking how I would never ever complain about the start at Beachy Head Marathon again!  But they don’t leave you standing in the sun for long and after pumping music, loud cheers it starts. 

I started running. An added incentive was they announced that Selma Hyak and Angelina Jolie had been filming in the village over the mountain….if that didn’t spur me on then nothing would!  A slow plod as it was flattish and after all this is a race. Right? I kept going, but as it got steeper the rule of ultra running came in and I walked. And then it got steeper and steeper and it was midday and hot. And suddenly after 40 minutes at 5k I was knackered. My 11 minute kms became a 20 minute and a 15 minute. As the path wound up the mountain I began to think “what the actual…fffffff” – I decided I would stop for a breather at every bend. Finally at the top with an amazing view I was pleased to be on the down and could start running again. 

It was here that I found myself behind the most amazing group of athletes from France. In front a woman, calling out to the sight impaired runner behind her. Behind him a man who gently touched his elbow or his back if he got to close to an edge, or was stepping on a hazard. It was mesmerising, incredible and made me realise I had no cause to worry about how I was getting down this mountain path! 

Having made checkpoint 1 with plenty of time to spare I was feeling better. No Angelina Jolie in the village sadly, but the Han Solo film had been filmed around there and I set off along the beach feeling good. But 10kms of sand has a way of sapping that out of you! Heavy, soft sand with the tide out and too far to venture off course to get to harder sand it was tough going. Relentless. Hot. Beautiful. That said I would have enjoyed it if I’d known what was to come. As after finally getting off the beach the worst part of the day and perhaps the race was to come. 

I didn’t really study the road book too closely but apparently between checkpoint 1 and 2 there was a ‘technical section’ of 1km. There would have been no explanation of what this meant even if I had studied it. It turns out it is a code word for fucking difficult and very fucking scary! 

We began to climb a cliff. An actual cliff. On a tiny teeny slippy, lava rock, cliff face. It snaked its away around and up. With gaps to leap over, bits to reach up. Slippy. Did I mention slippy? And nothing else except sea below you. Oh and have I mentioned that I hate heights? This was horrific. Beyond horrific. I know the race lost some people at this point as they simply couldn’t do it. I also know one man fell at this point, sliding off the cliff and holding on to a rock with his finger nails as he teetered on a ledge. Only to be rescued by another runner reaching down with his running pole and hauling him up to safety. There is a reason our GPS trackers have an SOS option! 

At points I was too terrified to move, but dug deep and just kept repeating “trust your shoes, trust your shoes”. Hoping that once I’d made it past there would be safety and an easier route. One of those things was true, there was indeed safety. But then a small ravine with rocks to climb. A man lay at the foot of the first rocks I came across, surrounded by medics. He had slid off said rocks and was now being rescued. I began the climb up and out away from any cliff edges. Pausing for multiples swear words at a giant climb in front of me, wondering how I was ever going to get up it. When a British man appeared behind me. I turned and said “I hope you don’t mind pushing my arse!” He laughed, said no and I began to climb. At the appropriate moment I yelled out “NOW!”  and he gave me an almighty shove to get me up and over the rock! 

From there on it was checkpoint two and then home. I had slowed but was still well within the cut off and the last part of Stage 1 was what they call chalky path. Which is a code word for not quite so heavy sand. It was easier to move on and I found myself able to run again. Just gently. But run I did. Doing the last 10k in 90 minutes. Most importantly finishing in daylight for day 1 which I had never expected. 

Now it was a welcome to camp life. You cross the line, collect your 5L water bottle which is to do you until you leave camp the next day. Find your bivouac and do your best to get everything done like eat, toilet, sort out kit, sleep, make new friends. I was in Camp 22 and the easy part was I already new most of the camp as they were all from the Brit FB group. (Bret, Jess, Stu and Emma) Other than my tent buddy to my right Sol, who was a lovely young man who ended up finishing the race in 43rd position! 

A big clue to how camp life would be was the fact there were several wind farms within touching distance. I was the last to arrive at our night time home for the next 3 nights and most had already eaten or were in mid cook. But you could see several failed attempts at fires. We had all brought our little stoves, fuel blocks, ready and happy to heat our water to rehydrate food. Bugger that. A Bunsen burner would have struggled to stay alight in that wind. The blog that said dig a hole, fill it with wood, make a fire. That was the right one! Thankfully Stu is made of stern stuff and worked hard to create an area that was free of wind so you could get enough heat for water. I was impatient as I was tired and hungry. He helpfully heated my water to a suitable tepid and I added it to my mac and cheese along with one of the essential kit stock cubes. 

All those statements now fill me with dread. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. First rehydrated food. Oh yummy. Oh bollocks. It’s a means to an end and I did not try any of the ones I took with me first. Big mistake. Taste tests matter. Stock cubes do not matter. And they certainly don’t matter when added to an already stodgy goo and make it taste like, oh what did it taste like? Cats piss? No…I reckon that would have been tastier. It was disgusting. Barely edible. But by now getting dark and cold and just wanted to eat. 

If I’m truthful when I finished the first stage panic over the second stage had started to set in. It was so hard. So scary. So near death like that I had begun to doubt I could go on. I went for my tent, ate. Went to the loo where I discovered phone signal and texted my wife. Bugger digital detox I needed her more than I needed time away from phone. Walking back to camp I thought I’d stop and see if I had any messages. There was a queue and I waited. You give your number and they then hand you any printed sheets with the messages people have sent via the website that day. He smiled and said “wow, you’re popular” as he handed me 3 pages…! Taking them back to my tent, now bathed in darkness I crawled inside to read them. Camp life is great if you’re an old woman as everyone goes to bed at 8.00/8.30pm especially as the next day was the longest stage and earliest start. 

The messages were amazing. So many from friends, family, twitter, facebook. I was overwhelmed and sobbed into my 360gram sleeping bag! When you’ve been to the darkest places to discover people care enough to message you, telling you things you never believe in yourself, it was the most incredible feeling. There is no question these messages became the highlight of my trip, I carried them all and will keep them forever. That night one in particular stuck in my brain from Darren it said “you are strong. Stronger than you think you are” – I sat thinking about those words as I hadn’t felt strong. It hadn’t felt good today. It was hard but it felt so much harder. What did I need to do tomorrow if I wasn’t going to die?

And that’s what I did, thought about what I needed to do. In my tent. I felt my fuel had been all wrong, my technique poor. My heart rate had been high all day and I had been tired.  Tomorrow was long and hot and running is overrated. So I re-sorted my food into bags to take between checkpoints, decided I would shotblok every 5k and knew I wouldn’t attempt to run. I then went to the loo and told Keeley that I would do my best to get to checkpoint 3 and make a decision if I could go on. But if it looked like mountain edge I would stop. I asked her to warn people that I may not finish (which she never did) and then I went to bed. 

I will say here and now that what happens over night at Half MDS camp stays at camp. There is no place in a blog for nighttime shenanigans – but suffice to say the loos were nearly a km away there and back and the sand is very very dark at night….

As I stood on the start line for Day 2 – Stage 2 I was terrified. The morning had gone well. My tent was clear of everything other than sand. No risk of a penalty. I’d eaten some food. I had my new routine. But I was convinced the mountain today would kill me and that I couldn’t do it. I had one mission – to get to checkpoint 3 as fast as I could so I had the maximum amount of time to get over the mountain and limit my time in the dark. And with that we were off. 

The first part of Stage 2 was perfect, flat, downhills, hard sand, rocky river bed. I had watched others with their poles yesterday and changed my technique so I was now more efficient and adaptable to different terrain. I smashed my way through checkpoint 1 in record quick time. Suddenly today I wasn’t alone, I was surrounded by people and ahead of people I expected to be far behind. It suddenly meant there were people to speak to. Say hello, check how we all were. And I was feeling good. Checkpoint 2 was passed still well within cut-off and I knew I was giving myself a great chance to reach my decision point in good time. I felt good. I was on a mission. My routine in checkpoints was clear. If I had water left in my bottles pour it over my head and neck. Refill empty bottles. Take some fuel. Electrolyte. Don’t take your pack off. Don’t sit down. In and out as fast as I could.  

Up ahead I could see a bit of a bottle neck building as we approached the sea. I figured there was either a great photo point or a bit of a tricky point. It was both. It was time to work your way down to the beach part. Otherwise known as cliff. Sandy. Slippy. Drops that you had to step down, across, with sea to your left and well not very much to your right at times. But it was so beautiful. Magical. “You’re stronger than you think!” And I began to trust my feet and my shoes. With people around I felt safer and there were hands to help you up or across at times which hadn’t happened yesterday. A few times I stood with my heart in my mouth wondering if I could make the gap (I know one woman didn’t and dropped out at this point) but it was also fun, exhilarating, terrifying. 

At the end of beach section I was so proud as I hadn’t slowed too much and I’d made it alive. At this point I was following a man in front with another runner just behind me. We climbed the hill out of the area. Then I stopped. Hang on. Where were the red tags that mark the route? The man in front ploughed on, but myself and my companion both said “no markers?!” – we turned to see several people climbing the hill behind us and started yelling anyone see any route markers. We were off route. They are every 10 metres or so and were none. The man who had been in front of me had ploughed on and was out of sight. But now a swarm of 10 people were frantically searching for the route. I had wasted energy climbing a hill I was sadly trudging down. A cry of delight went up and we saw the markers had taken us off UP another way. So now it was time to climb again. 15 minutes of time lost. But it could have been so much worse. Another mistake I would vow not to make again. 

Now Checkpoint 3 wasn’t far and I knew I would keep going. I had time on my side and I had everyone else on my side too! All the checkpoints were so welcoming, friendly and encouraging. It was lovely to see people who’d been ahead or behind you and just catch up. Take a breather. But I knew this one was to be quick for me. Not just because I wanted it done. But also cause I knew I should take a loo stop before the mountain! 

The first climb wasn’t too tricky, but the road book map had been deceptive – making it look like we climbed and climbed. Instead it was a long slow gradually ascent in a river bed. Surrounded by mountain either side that we would ultimately be on top of. This was some of the hottest parts of the week. My watch recorded 38 degrees in the airless ravine. There was a 15km gap between checkpoint 3 and 4 so it was also important to conserve water. At this point I found myself drawing on where I’d been to get to this point. All the pain, the anguish, the fear and despair. I’d survived it all and found myself here. Now. Alive. Living. I knew I was going to climb that mountain. And I knew I would remember every step. I would remember here and now and how strong I was. Not just achieving this race but everything else too. 

At the point you’ve run a marathon the climb up began, but thankfully no edge. A clambering over boulders, tricky but fun. I felt about 10 years old albeit with a back pack and a strange desire to stand in the shade every so often for a breather…as I got higher the wind started to return and before I knew it was literally standing on top of a mountain. All around you could see for miles, even better it was a track road along the top, wide and flat so no fear factor needed. Yes it was hot, hard and I still had about 4km to go to the check point. But I was so happy up there, banking every moment for when things get hard in life. 

Checkpoint 4 came joyfully into sight with the offer of hot soup (salty broth that wasn’t my cup of tea but I know lots enjoyed it) and then it was the last push for home, back on dusty sand paths. An endless road that went on forever up to the finish but I knew I was going to exceed all my expectations when I reached the last KM to go sign and the sun was yet to set. I was going to complete the long stage in daylight. I had pushed hard, worked hard, dealt with my fears and anxiety and quite frankly smashed Stage 2! This shows in the stats too as I gained 35 places on Day 2. 

Back in the camp, euphoric at finishing I ended up just having my evening chilli meal with luke warm water, too tired to heat up my water and my feet now sore and clearly blistered. This would end up being a big mistake as it never really hydrated properly and sat heavy in my stomach during the night until it wanted to reappear at super fast speed!! But I had rest day to look forward to. 

Lots of people seemed to find rest day frustrating, not really tired or perhaps with feet in better condition. But I enjoyed the opportunity to not get up at 5am. To rest my feet. Chill out around my tent. Sort my kit. Read my now 11 pages of messages (seriously thank you guys). The good news is my muscles were all fine, it is a different test this event – well maybe not if you run it or really push it, but my feet were terrible. I had felt a blister burst early on Day 2 and I could feel the soles of my feet ache. Sol advised I visit the medical tent so with Nat for company we took the walk there. 

There was a fair queue outside of the tent, they took our race number, had a quick scan of our feet and it looked like we were going to just have to sit and wait. When suddenly the offer came of an english language DIY foot clinic. Nat and I looked at each other “could you do it yourself?” She asked me. I looked at the queue and shrugged – “I think so”. Now to be fair at this point I had no idea what I would be doing myself, but I knew I didn’t want to queue and how bad it could it be. Haha oooooh how bad could it be? We went inside with a very lovely Dr Lady who sat 4 of us down with paper under our feet, gave us rubber gloves and then a syringe and a little pot of iodine solution. Turns out DIY blisters involves injecting your own blister with iodine…okay then! 

Nat was amazing as she was the ‘demo’ doll – we all watched what happened – an un-burst blister gets injected, pull out the pus, pump in the iodine, pull out, pump in. Done. It actually didn’t look painful as it’s just dead anyway. The woman next to me had a more complex blister as it had burst, that just gets injected into the skin. And we were warned it hurts. Well turns out my blisters had pretty much all burst. Plus they were all on the bottom of my feet. Which meant although at the DIY clinic I never did it myself as I couldn’t reach. I did have Nat kindly offering to do mine for me, but funny I decided to decline. We’d never really spoken before this moment but I can tell you we’re close friends now. As when a burst blister that is the size of your heal gets injected it really hurts and when Nat had to have her blister under big toe injected, yep that REALLY hurts!!! We laughed. We cried. We held each other’s knees as we had rubber gloves on so couldn’t hold hands. But most important we left the tent with our feet soothed, covered in gauze and tape. It took over an hour but the team there are amazing, there were some brutal brutal feet and other injuries. This is NOT your regular race folks. 

The remainder of rest day involved gathering to chat in the communal area, which was freezing and like a wind tunnel, so you could only sit in there for short periods or dressed in winter wear! Learning how to fold your tent away (yes that would be our job) and watching a bizarre turn of wrestling from some local school children and finally the all important visit with the coca-cola which came far too late in the day for my liking. My dinner on the rest day was Chicken Tikka, the best of the bunch and I’d put my water out in it’s can with a bag over the top at 11am so by 6pm it was lovely and warm and no need to attempt to heat it. My favourite part was going through my pack and throwing stuff I wouldn’t need away. It would be a lighter day tomorrow. Although I confess I never found my pack too heavy. It was the one thing I thought maybe I’d struggle with but it was comfy to carry and fairly light weight the whole time. 

And soon it was time for bed. Rest day over. I think perhaps camp life I found the most disappointing part of the experience. There were fun moments and I met some lovely people but what I had expected didn’t quite come to pass. But I still had my messages and I fell asleep with them clutched to me, knowing I was going to complete this epic adventure. 

Stage 3 started earlier than we had been told, I expect to give us longer before the heat of the day. It involved a walk, a bus ride and another walk. Packing up camp was pretty easy and we all worked together to help each other. It was the hardest breakfast of the week and I struggled to get any porridge in me. The journey to the start was made easier by finding myself with Ruth on the bus, who ended up the 2nd placed British woman. A very understated, excellent competitor with a keen humour and who came from Orkney so with my Shetland background we had plenty to talk about. I’d woken up with an upset stomach so it was lovely to have something to take my mind off this. Off the bus it was clear we were being walked up to a lighthouse along a tarmac road, which we would clearly end up running back down when the start came. It was a real party atmosphere at the top, chilly in the wind but everyone knowing this would be it. The end was in sight. All of us who gathered there at the start would end up with medals. 

Stage 3 was much more about running – as it was a road start, steep downhill once the off went everyone shot off. If it is about running I’m never going to be in the frame. So unlike Day 2 I was almost immediately at the back. Not least because my feet were now super painful. I had strapped them into socks and my shoes but it was going to be a very painful day. I could see the others I knew who had sore feet also walking the hill down. I ended up with a slow plod for as much of it as I could. But the field spread out very quickly and I would see less people today than before. But today I was much more emotional than other days and spent much of the time thinking deeply about life, what I would change, how I would live. More open. Less afraid. And I would have no regrets from this experience. I remembered how I felt after RTTT and what a mistake that was. How dark a place was I in, even then?

The checkpoints came and went, I was still in touching distance of the Von Trapps (ask me about it sometime) and Sara was also in checkpoint 2 when I went through. It was now the home straight – just the two mountain climbs to go over, but both much smaller than the previous days. It was a hotter day with less wind so it still wasn’t easy going but I left the final checkpoint with plenty of time and only a short distance to go. Now after the event was over I had a conversation with Karen, who I’d been telling on the rest day about my fears of cliff edges and heights. Proud of what I’d overcome. She told me afterwards she knew that she couldn’t tell me about the final day. She had done the race before and knew what was ahead and just decided it best I didn’t know. She was right. 

It was a steep climb, but I felt good as I could see people I knew ahead and a man on a buggy had gone up to the top, so it was obviously wide and safe. Stepping out on to the top though everything changed. We had only 4kms left but the next 2km would take me 90 minutes and I would cry the entire time. Fear, anxiety, dread, despair, relief, hope, laughter. All mixed up in those tears. I would sing songs from the Sound of Music. I would say over and over “trust your feet, trust your feet”. I would mostly be alone, desperately looking round to see if Sara was close enough behind for me to wait. She would eventually pass me and it would be the only time I sat down. After the worst of it to let her and some others pass. Tears of relief as I could see the last climb ahead behind which I knew we’d see the finish down on the beach. 

When I look at the photos now it is hard to see what I was seeing. It’s hard not to think – really? Was it that bad? I’ll never know as I’ll never go back. But it was a tiny goat track, that snaked around and up and over. Wind blowing hard. Rocks to climb. Slippy under foot. Sheer drop to my left. I slid on my arse. I held on to rocks. I just wanted to make it alive. “You will not die now” was another of my favourites in that 90 minutes. I knew the anxiety was causing adrenaline overload, I used water on the back of my neck to try and calm my now racing pulse. I thought “what would Santosh do”. I thought of Keeley. She’d be so cross if I slipped and fell now. 

It was the hardest finish to any race I think I could ever do. I’ve done Beachy Head and that last 10k is brutal but you never think you may die. I was terrified I would. But I didn’t. I made it. I rounded the last hideous climb and saw the finish below. A scrabble down on slippy path with sore feet was all I needed then it was the last KM sign. I would finish. And that’s all I’d ever wanted to do. 

The rest of the details don’t matter, ice bath at the finish, medals, t-shirts, gala dinners. Friendships cemented. Drinks drunk. Memories shared. Flights home. Reality. It is a great experience, not really a running race, an endurance event that turned out to have actual life risk involved. And it leaves you with euphoria with the risk of dropping like a stone. 

But I will never drop like a stone. It wasn’t a life changing experience. My life had already changed. It was a life enhancing experience. It took me to places I didn’t expect. It took me deep inside myself, it gave me time to reflect, to put into practice what I’ve been learning. There was no darkness there. There was strength. Resolve. Resilience and as Cat said to me tenacity! And then there were those messages. Those messages which must be true otherwise why would you all take the time to write them?

I went out and climbed mountains, stood on the edges of cliffs, hung on to rocks, waded through sand. It was epic, amazing, but in the end it was me that made this week. It was me finally believing that I am good enough.