The gun shot was loud, even above the sound of the helicopter's blades beating the air some 50 feet above us and 500 yards off to our left, it was still loud.
It was the final act of preparation, all that was needed to start the race, and that gun shot set in motion a course of events that over the next 24hours would force the 24 nervous, adrenaline fuelled runners who crossed the start line to the very limits of their physical and mental endurance and beyond.
In that instant, 24 individual and very personal journeys commenced into a world of pain and agony that was patiently watching and waiting for them just beyond the start line of Across the Divide’s 2009 Namibian Desert 24hr Extreme Ultra Marathon race, and there were going to be casualties!
I was on the start line for my second race. I had finished 2nd last year behind Tom Maguire who runs internationally for Ireland, and just in front of Joakim Jonsson an accomplished Swedish all rounder, both of them had challenged me to my limits last year and both here with me competing again in this years race and I remember how it began.
It began with a gentle gust of hot air, not quite a wind, it was almost like the Namibian Desert breathed a sigh, and “Uncle Spikes” (Kobus’s pet name for the sun) beamed and the Desert whispered…”Let battle commence!” and we were off!
78miles from one line in the sand deep in the Desert was another line in the sand on the infamous Skeleton Coast. 78miles was all that separated us from victory, 3 times the distance of the marathon, which for most runners is the pinnacle of their running success.
The very thought of attempting that distance in the UK is enough to make most seasoned marathon runners wince with pain and shake their heads in disbelief… but these were no ordinary runners… and this was Namibia... something special was about to unfold for each and every one of them, and in that very instant of the gun shot their lives changed forever!
What they were about to subject themselves to would impact every day of their lives form here on. They would never think, act or feel the same way again about any challenge they would ever face in life, for they were all about to learn a lesson in humility, courage, persistence and self respect that would redefine them… and the Namibian desert was going to ensure they learned this lesson natures way…the hard way. It was going to be survival of the fittest, the most determined, and maybe just maybe, the lucky!
Those that wanted it badly enough were about to learn that there is a price to pay for success in Namibia. It is the price of success that cannot be negotiated. In this kind of extreme challenge success would only accept one payment…
It will only take, everything you have to give… and I mean Everything!and the cost of paying that price would push their hearts and minds and bodies so much further beyond their limits than they had ever gone before.
It was hot! Hotter than I remembered it being last time, but that wasn't it... this “Hot” was different. I couldn't put my finger on it then but I knew it was bad, and after talking with Faan & Kobus after the race and thinking about it, I know what it was now.
Kobus explained that the rainy season had only just ended, and for the first time in 10 years the Swakop River had managed to break through the desert from the high ground to reach the sea. This had been the cause of great celebrations and the locals had even assisted by clearing the path for the tiny trickle of water that survived the unrelenting desert to eventually break through the remaining sandy dunes to finally reach the sea. But that was weeks ago, and over 78 miles away form this scorching sun baked place where we were running.
From the start line we ran through waist high grass, patchy clumps of desert grass which deposited their sharp barbed seed heads into our shoes and socks making the going very uncomfortable as we began to sweat within minutes. It was the grass that was releasing humidity! Faan Oosthuizen the quiet Namibian ex-special forces officer who had set the route explained that the increased vegetation would also add risk to this years’ race, as snakes would be out there in the grass on the race route engaged in their own battle of survival.
We were entering into their domain, and our inexperience in identifying them and avoiding them could result in the end of our race.
If bitten by a venomous Horned Adder or a Namibian Puff Adder, it could result in the loss of a limb and potentially death if anaphylactic shock kicked in! Faan went on to explain “It is common that the first runners’ vibrations alert the snake, and subsequent runners would be targeted.” The warning hiss will be your only indication that you are too close, and the unfortunate runner that stands on the startled snake will quickly get the point…two of them to be exact… and your Namibian Ultra Marathon Race will be over and you then enter a very different race… a race against the ultimate competitor… the ticking clock!
This race would become serious and urgent, it would take place in the world of ultimate survival, going to ground, (trying to get a glimpse of the snake’s identifying markers to eventually help the medics determine the correct anti-venom), reducing activity and restricting the bite area by tourniquet to prohibit blood flow to the heart. Then with the help of any close by competitors, trying to attract attention to your location by signal mirror to the 4x4’s so the Helicopter would swing into its real purpose in response to a radio call, as a Med-evac Chopper, the only way to get a bite victim to a life saving hospital other than a very rough 6 hour 4x4 drive.The humidity was the difference! I remember thinking the heat was more oppressive than last year, but I didn’t make the equation. I was acting instinctively, and I was concerned and encouraged Helen and those closest to us to drink early and sip regularly!
Adrenaline had taken its toll, and the inexperience was going to penalize the front runners, as they got caught up in the early surge of the race and set far too fast a pace as we climbed up to the first interim checkpoint at 6 miles.
The Helicopter with the camera crew swept low over the field blasting everyone with hot air and driving the dust and sand into our eyes and mouths as we breathed deep. Everyone was waiving and trying to smile whilst gasping for air, keen to have their efforts recognized and hoping to be seen in the final edit that would document one very courageous competitor’s efforts to complete what ranks as one of the “Toughest Single Stage Ultra Endurance Races in the World”.
Helen Skelton the only female presenter on the BBC’s Blue Peter had definitely earned her place to stand on the start line along with seasoned ultra runners. Many could have been forgiven for thinking that as the least experienced of only three female competitors, she wouldn’t last the distance, especially as she was a female television presenter and before January had never run further than 13 miles in her 26 years of life.
It is however recognized in the world of ultra endurance science, that the female capability to deal with their pain thresholds somewhat levels the field between the sexes. Helen was no exception to this rule, she wasn’t here to look pretty, and she wasn’t being shown any favours. She was there to compete and would suffer like everyone else… if she was going to prove that she had what it takes to succeed! Your own determination to succeed is more important than any one thing, - Abraham Lincoln
I had the pleasure early in March of witnessing Helen’s early determination and control over her pain threshold and commitment to succeed. I had been invited by Eric McFarlane her producer to share with her my experience of last year’s race, and had joined her for 2 of her training runs along with a piece on camera as we chatted about what would lie in wait for her in Namibia. I remembered thinking then, that she had a long way to go before she was ready.
I had recommended her personal trainer, who’s responsibility it would be to help Helen in her preparation for this event. My very good friend and Ultra running mentor Rory Coleman was deep into his own training routine and focussed on succeeding in completing his 6th consecutive MdeS and as such reaching another record to add to his 9 Guinness World Records for Endurance running. Rory and I had discussed what it would take for Helen to succeed and he had formulated a training regimen that would give her the very best chance of success…but ultimately the responsibility for achieving that success or failure would lie alone with one person... Helen, and she was about to face her very own unforgiving personal hell deep in the Namibian Desert.
The Desert was about to demand respect!
In the first 15 miles the desert claimed its’ first three victims and John Pegg an accomplished expedition leader and Marathon des Sables veteran was first to succumb to the cost of sustaining a pace in the heat.
He was quickly followed by Steve Tidball part of the Men’s Fitness Team and one of the fittest athletes in this years race. Accustomed to pushing himself hard in triathlons Steve pushed too hard too soon, and his body rebelled. The sweating mechanism closed down and Steve was in danger of entering heat stroke. His body was covered in goose bumps in 40c heat, and Amy the race doctor pulled him from the race to administer medical intervention. Steve wasn’t out for long, a couple of hours to re-hydrate and recover, and in testament to his sportsmanship spirit he convinced the doctor to allow him to re-enter the race as a pace maker and accompany his twin brother through the final 50 miles of the race.
I was the third casualty in this years’ race. 28hours of transit by train, very uncomfortable plane seat and bumpy bus ride had aggravated an old injury, and despite my attempts to stretch it out, my sciatic joint was locked and I was suffering from severe nerve pain that caused my glutes to cramp and hamstrings to tighten. 12 miles in I knew that the pace I was adopting to alleviate the pain was not going to be sustainable in order to reach the check points in time. I also knew what the punishing terrain of the next 13 miles held in store and I withdrew myself to prevent the injury becoming more serious.
When I entered CP1 and declared myself out of the race to the checkpoint marshals, there was a look of disbelief in their faces. I was asked twice if I was serious, and I vaguely remember mumbling something about “discretion being the better part of valour”, but really I was gutted and just wanted to distract their attention. My head was down!
The harder you work toward something, the more difficult it is to give it up, by coming up short but I had suffered with this pain before and it had cost me 3 months off training and there was no running through it with what lay ahead. The sciatic nerve is as thick as your thumb, and it has a fast track to the brain when it comes to signalling pain. What lay ahead in the desert for the next 13 miles was nothing but pain and I was already in a great deal of that!
As I reached the water table I remembered making the decision that this was now not about me, my race was over! In the instant I had decided that my race was over I knew I could make a difference to those still in the struggle. After all I had finished in second place last year. I knew what they were still going through for the next 21 hours. I don’t know why I did it, somebody said something about being happy, and I launched into a chorus of “If your happy and you know it clap your hands!” it brought a chorus of claps and a few laughs and Helen smiled as she picked up her water bottle and headed off back into the heat, where unknown to her drama was unfolding as the desert exacted its price.
My decision was final, but I was determined that I still had a part to play in this race. I asked Mark Hanaford the MD of Across the Divide who was patrolling in one of the roving 4x4’s if he would allow me to be a part of the ground crew, and take on any menial task that would release a more valuable member of the ground team to patrol the race. Mark looked at me and said sure, you can release me from CP5, and then with a second thought he said “No , do you know what, you can man CP3”, and in that instant he made my day. I was dreading the thought of being ferried from CP to CP as a spectator when I knew I could be a much more effective supporter.
As we left the check point the radios were busy with chatter. Reports were coming in thick and fast about the progress of the front runners. What seemed like an eternity passed as I was subjected to brutal jolts that took my breath away and my sciatic nerve complained as Mark forced the 4x4 over very difficult terrain, then Amy the race doctor who was riding one of the fast quad bikes broke through my thoughts as she declared that Tom Maguire, last years winner was down! He was projectile vomiting and dehydrated and she had him lying in the shade of a scrub bush short of CP2 the not yet at the first marathon point. I knew Tom was tough, he runs a 100km road race in the Uk in 7hrs 5mins, but he wasn’t winning in Namibia this year! As we approached Amy’s position I could see him lying motionless off to the side of the dry river bed we were driving through. I willed him to look up, but he was out of it deep in his personal hell and deep in the battle with the desert…pure mind over matter willing himself to regain control of his body before pushing on.
We reached CP2 and I got my first look at the race leader Tom Adams. Tom and I were friends and had shared a tent and a lot of time during our successful 2007 Marathon des Sables race. Tom finished that race 27th out of an International field of 800 runners and was the 2nd British competitor to cross the line that year. He dropped into a seat at the CP and I could see that he was fighting hard. I made a stupid comment, it was more in shock of seeing him reduced to this state, he had never looked this Knackered in the Sahara. “How do you feel Tom?” I knew it was stupid the moment I said it. His look said it all… followed by a few choice words that reminded me I should have known better… I’ll leave the expletives out!
I refilled his water bottles for him, and left him to regain his energy, we shook hands as he pushed on out of the CP with a smile back on his face as he quipped “ When I read your blog of last years race you said this race was hard…I didn’t think you meant this bloody hard, see you later” and headed off toward the first marathon point and up into the Messum Crater.
Jerry Heywood was 2nd into CP2 and instantly I knew he had learned the lesson of respect for the desert. Jerry runs a 2:50 marathon in the UK and this 1st marathon in Namibia was taking him 7 hours. It just didn’t equate, and he was just so far out of his depth. The look of realization of what this race was going to demand for him to cross the finish line was one of shock. I liked Jerry the first time we met…and I liked him even more right there and then humbled in the desert but determined to succeed. Jerry was paying the price and earning respect.
Tom Maguire walked into CP2 shaking his head! He didn’t have a word to say, he didn’t need to. Knowing where he was and how he was feeling right there and then only 33% of the way into the race, and also knowing what was still to be achieved was taking him to a place in his mind that he didn’t want to visit., but it wasn’t going to stop him. As the runners came in each of their shirts, shorts and race packs all showed the results of sweat evaporation and the residual salt lines, (as you will see if you enlarge Tom's picture)
I witnessed that from every competitor I saw enter the checkpoints. Each of them deep in their own personal battle to come to terms with the enormity of the task. I encouraged and supported each and every one that I could. I couldn’t share what knew from the radio traffic, and speaking to the support team, that they were concerned that this year no-one might succeed. It was that severe!
Nick, Emma, Joakim, Alex were next in, and Alex was in a world agony. Cystitis was racking him in pain, and the inability to urinate was causing severe discomfort. I empathised with him and encouraged him to try and lie still and just relax, I knew the look in his eye, I had experienced the same last year. Amy the race doctor took over with Alex, and with that Mark arrived in the 4x4 and I was off to CP3.We encouraged the runners we passed on the way up into the Messum Crator, and there on the edge we found Tom Adams. Tom was just lying there on his back resting on his race pack watching the sun start to go down. He was recovering his strength, getting his head back into the race, fuelling up, strategizing, Tom wasn’t finished he was just starting his comeback! We checked he was ok and waived as we set of to man CP3. I just watched as the resigned smile spread across his face as he waived in return. But there was still a lot of pain to come before he reached CP3.
You know... running hard hurts! It always has done and it always will. Running has been part of our lives since our prehistoric ancestors roamed the African plains some 40 000 years ago, using that skill to hunt in their battle for survival.
Endurance was the key to survival in those times. We were designed and evolved to catch fast food and fast food could run far and that required endurance. We adapted to catch slow food, but none of it was going to give up easy because for them it was a matter of life or death, so running hard was how it was done. Running fast over short distances, or running slow over long distances.
Running hard in the heat was a bitch then, and guess what… it’s still a bitch today.
...to be continued...
