My 2010 Sahara Race Story Part I

In my pre-Stage 1 post I mentioned that competing in this year's Sahara Race felt like work, however once outside of Cairo I realized how wrong I was. Only two hours into the desert and slowly my romance for the Sahara began to grow again. So many incredible traits and idiosyncrasies. Long rolling stretches of empty sand, a collection of brick huts, a little boy riding a donkey, a lonely lake, yes a lake, with a solitary row boat floating in the distance, a thin but sinewy fisherman wading into the water net in tow. The sun begins to rest behind the horizon, the sky exploding in red and orange clouds, purple streaking lines filtering in above. My heart leaps at these moments because the thing is, I am in love with a desert called Sahara.

The Sahara is a temptress. She is beautiful but cruel. You can love her but you can never have her. She forbids you. She is Medusa, she is King Midas, she is Juliet, and for many of the competitors in this race, they would rather drink hemlock than not court her for a week.

Arriving to Camp 1 on the shores of South Lake in Wadi al-Rayan under a clear starlit sky I easily found Tent 8 in the dark. Of my 7 tentmates, one was good friend Dave O'Brien from Cork, Ireland and the other was ultra-running legend, Jack Denness from Rochester in Kent, UK. Jack Denness, better known as 'Death Valley Jack' has completed the Badwater Ultramarathon a record 13 times as well as other races like the Trans-333 through Niger and the Sahara Race twice. Arguably the hardest race in the world, Badwater, is a 135-mile ultramarathon starting in Death Valley, California and finishing halfway up Mount Whitney. All of which has to be done in under 48 hours.



 Here's the best part: Death Valley Jack is 75 years old.

Jack is well aware of his accomplishments and rightly so very proud of them, giving him a bit of a genteel arrogance and swagger but also fragile enough to look like someone's lost grandfather that you want to give a sturdy arm to to help walk across the campsite. He's approachable and talkative and quick with a joke. Upon first meeting him and making small talk I asked if he was married to which he replied, "Ricky, I've been married four times..."

"Is that so Jack?"

"Yep. My first wife, poor thing, died eating poisonous mushrooms."

"That's a shame Jack, sorry to hear that."

"Well my second wife died of a fractured skull..."

"Oh no, how did that happen Jack?"

"I had to hit her with a hammer because she wouldn't eat the damn mushrooms..."

The legendary Jack Denness. He's on stage and he knows it, so he sets'em up and knocks'em down to the point where you don't know where the joke ends and the real conversation begins. All good fun though.

Stage 1 started at 7am the very next day, and like every other desert ultramarathon the morning was perfect. Crisp, clean, and buzzing with anticipation. Like every other desert race the new runners looked visibly anxious. Like every other desert race excitement lay in waiting for what would be in store.



As the countdown reached 'Go', Anders Jensen (Denmark), Paul Acheson (UK), Ryan Bennett (USA), and myself quickly found ourselves as the leaders. 5km into the 10km first leg and Anders pulled 200m into the lead, followed by me, and Paul not too far behind. Ryan Bennett lagged in fourth. After 5 desert ultras watching runners like Ryan Sandes, Dean Karnazes, Dan Parr, Christian Scheister, Joe Petersen, Jimmy Olsen, and others put in great efforts and finishes it started to feel like this could be our time to step up as the veteran front runners.



Anders crested the first steep dune and looked back at me laughing. Only 10m high but an 80 degree angle and soft sand made climbing it pure comedy. Reaching the peak, I barrel rolled over the top onto my feet and scrambled down the other side in pursuit of Anders. Ryan caught me at the 7km mark as did Matt Lowe (USA) and I pulled into Checkpoint 1 in 4th place.

During the 100km Stage 5 in the Gobi 2010 Race I experienced some huge issues at the 60km mark with hyperventilating, heart palpitations, and shortness of breath. I chalked those up to dehydration, and to being 200km into a 250km race. Admittedly there were some who chalked it up to me fighting to maintain 11th place and being Kid Icarus pushing too hard and flying too close to the sun. After one of the longest days of my life I did push through to finish that stage with the help of two IV's and quite a bit of vomiting.

However, here we were at Checkpoint 1, Stage 1. A mere 10km in and I could feel it coming on. Shortness of breath, chest pain, and palpitations. How could this be? 10km and perfect weather conditions. I can run 10km hungover holding a donut while eating a pizza and finish it in 40 minutes but here we are in the middle of the Sahara and I can't breathe. Only two weeks before this race I crossed Scotland from Coast to Coast without so much as a hiccup. We went out at a nice pace but it certainly wasn't blazing nor was it fast enough for the wax on my wings to melt.

I kicked it way back pace-wise from Checkpoint 1 en route to Checkpoint 2 as did Paul and we cruised easily into the abandoned bird watching hut on the banks of the South Lake, but my heart still fluttered in my chest like a caged canary heading into a mine shaft. What the hell was going on?

I sent Paul ahead and decided I'd better walk from Checkpoint 2 to Checkpoint 3 hoping that I would settle down and get back to normal, but it never happened. The sun shone brighter, the sand grew hotter, and the air seemingly thinner. Along the way I continued drinking my water and staying on top of my enduralytes. By the time I reached Checkpoint 3 I had already urinated twice during the day, downed 12 enduralyte capsules, and finished every ounce of the 3 liters of water I had been given, but still breathing seemed difficult. I fell to 17th place but with 7.4km left in Stage 1 I knew that rest and a chance to regroup was not far away.

That 7.4km took me close to 90 minutes. Temperatures creeped to 118 degrees F and I battled on but oxygen seemed sparse and several times I doubled over to catch my breath and fill my lungs. Frustration, confusion, annoyance turned to anger, hatred, indignation. I filled the air with expletives in the gaps where oxygen should've been. My mind soldiered on but my lungs and heart dragged behind. I fell to 20th place and as friend and London neighbor, Devrim Cerval walked with me across the finish line I pushed him in front and I took 21st place on the day.

Reaching my tent I swallowed down 500ml of water and Recoverite, and managed to eat 4 slices of malt loaf (332 calories) before curling up near the front flap for an hour of sleep. An hour later I woke suddenly, something in my abdomen growling. I doubled over like a puppet having a string pulled from the inside finding all fours and scrambling to the front edge of the tent. Recovery drink, water, malt loaf, electrolytes, and Perpeteum spilled into the sand while I continued to heave.

I've thrown up before thanks to dehydration and I've gagged through courses thanks to heat. Not a big deal and typically it ends within 15 minutes to an hour. At the end of Stage 1 I didn't stop vomiting for 8+ hours. I started around 1pm in the afternoon and didn't stop until after 9pm that evening. I knew that Stage 2 would be a bear especially if I didn't get some water and salts back into me fast and at this rate that wasn't looking good. Little though did I expect the events to unfold only 12 hours later...

Stay tuned.