Build-up – 22nd to 24th March 2022

22^nd March

I woke up nervous. For the first time since I entered MDS, I had a feeling of butterflies in my belly. They only lasted until I made myself busy, today was my last day of work at home, and it was going to be a busy day ensuring I was on top of everything for work whilst I was away and finalising my kit for the race.

I recall a conversation with Matt at the running track a month or so previously – he asked if I was nervous, and my response was along the lines of “absolutely not, it’s all excitement – if I was nervous, it means I haven’t got a plan for everything”. He laughed and agreed; he’s a veteran of many endurance events and knows exactly how this feels, though he admits nothing like MDS – not yet.

I had last-minute repacking (just how many times can you repack c7 KG of equipment!) and decided to add another toilet roll. Last year’s MDS had an outbreak of D&V which contributed to the 47% dropout rate, for 38g, and extra confidence I would have enough “just in case” I thought it was worthwhile.

There were a couple of tasks to do which I’d left to the last minute too: I needed to get my combined Union Jack and RAF Roundel flag fastened to my rucksack, a few grams that I was proud to carry. The seamstress had no idea where I was going, nor the traditions of the RAF, though she must have known the RAF’s reputation for being the scruffy part of the military; she sewed the patch both off-centre and at an angle!

I also needed to collect the mandatory 200 euros from the Bureau de Change; coincidentally, 200 euros is the cost of an ECG test if they aren’t happy with the one you bring with you. It would be great to keep the weight down to get 100 Euro notes (every gram counts), though not many places have these; I had to put up with four 50 Euro notes. (Note: I previously had my ECG with one of the celebrity coaches who has a brother who is a doctor, £100 cash. GPs don’t generally offer this service. I went to London and had both the ECG and medical paperwork signed simultaneously and took the opportunity to meet Sara and Sarah from Tent 51). The Tent 51 WhatsApp group was in overdrive with lots of chatter, excitement, and questions (mainly from Swiss Olly, who had already got a reputation for asking questions). I was really looking forward to finally meeting everyone when we arrived in Morocco.

23rd March

I woke up with butterflies again. Today was a huge day; it was for everyone. It was 48 hours before I flew, and the Moroccan government-mandated PCR tests before you can fly into the country.

I had a long day travelling; I had my PCR test and my penultimate heat chamber session. I’d become used to the heat chamber sessions but hadn’t had to wait for such a critical COVID test before; it was nerve-racking. I’d chosen to have a same-day result; it cost a little bit more but would put me out of my misery quickly; though the result wasn’t due till midnight.

And then it happened – the lowest point in the build-up to this enormous event, and one I still think about now.

I don’t know why, but for some reason, Sara decided to do an LFT test – and it was positive; she followed this up with two more. I recall several posts on our usually happy and cheery WhatsApp group, a couple that stood out and struck me:

“Looks like you are going without me guys. I’ve just done an LFT and it’s come up positive. I literally have no words.”

“Guys I’m going to leave the group….. this is a peak time for you all and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t chat cos it’s upsetting for me. Plus if I don’t come I won’t be tent 51”

* * *

Thoughts from Sara Pearce, Tent 51 colleague:

The Marathon Des Sables, it’s a wannabe ultra-runners dream. As soon as I heard of it, I wanted to do it. It’s one of those bucket list things I never thought would be a reality. 

I’d been running on and off for many years, but in 2017 I started doing it more consistently. I liked the long stuff, the mental game you played with yourself, seeing how far you could keep going when your body wanted to stop. I remember asking my friend as a joke if he wanted to do the MDS… we both laughed and said never in a million years would we be able to do that!

In 2020 my relationship broke down, covid hit, and I realised my desire to have a family was now further away than ever. That summer it dawned on me that if one dream wasn’t happening then maybe I could try for another, a now or never type thing. 

I don’t know what came over me, but once I got the idea that maybe I could do the MDS instead, I couldn’t let it go. I was going to use this to give me some purpose; I sent an email asking for a place in the 2021 edition of the race. In Dec 2020 I received an email telling me they had a place for me. I remember telling friends and welling up every time; I was beyond excited; I couldn’t even talk about it without a tear. Dreams do come true.

Getting a place 12 weeks out meant I had a lot of work to do, and fast! I started a training plan and researched the race, only for them to cancel it in January because of Covid… great, and there was nothing I could do. I had to accept it. We were told it was being moved to October, but with everything so up in the air, I had so many questions that the organisers couldn’t answer that I decided I would have no choice but to defer to 2022.

I was gutted, my now or never wasn’t that anymore, and I had to put everything on hold and wait a year. 

The build-up to the event was even better over the next year; there were Facebook groups, an expo, and other crazy people with the same dream as mine, something I missed out on previously because I was so last minute. This time around, I met up with people, went for runs and training days, and secured a tent place with some incredible people.

 I felt so lucky. Everything happens for a reason!

The final week – 5 days till we fly. It was happening, and I was in disbelief; it didn’t feel real. Kit, shoes, food, and bag weight had all been super stressful, and finally, it was all done.

Morocco was still requesting a PCR to enter the country, so with that around the corner and having to travel to visit the Heat Chamber, I was doing LFTs regularly. Covid was still around, so I had been avoiding people and wasn’t going into the office, staying outside with friends and trying to be as cautious as possible. 

 It was a Tuesday; I tested in the morning, worked from home and had pizza (my favourite) with my family that evening. I told my mum how to message me in the desert and explained how to take care of my cats whilst I was gone. 

It was PCR Day; I had my last heat session before work, so I was up at silly o’clock and tested…. 2 lines appeared. I tested again…. 2 lines appeared. I tested again…. 2 lines appeared.

I remember standing completely still in my kitchen in my pyjamas, staring at these tests, all of them telling me that I had Covid. How? I felt completely fine, completely fine; this had to be a bad dream. I broke down. Full-on cried like a baby. I was heartbroken.

I sent a text to the Tent 51 WhatsApp group; they told me not to panic and to go for the PCR. I cannot even imagine what they thought reading that message. Others were trying to reassure me, ‘sometimes you can get a different result’, I was being told repeatedly. It was positive. ‘Book another’, I was told, so I booked one for the next day. I knew it was pointless in my heart, but I had to know I had tried. Positive. The dream was over.

We were strangers, thrown together by this incredible race, and now I had to watch them go without me. For months, so many of us had talked about this, and I couldn’t believe I was so lucky to have these friends before I’d even arrived in the desert.

I couldn’t live my dream, but I could still be part of theirs; it gave me something to focus on. All I wanted to do was support them, track them, and send daily messages. It was incredible to watch; I would sit up for hours waiting for them on the live feed, feeling emotional seeing their beaming faces cross the line each day. I am so proud of every single one of my tent mates.

I still don’t have the words to describe how it felt to go through that, how it still feels now. In my head I’m in denial, still waiting for my turn. My brain refuses to accept my turn came and went without me, but my heart is broken. For years I couldn’t believe I was going; now I couldn’t believe I wasn’t.

I ended up running the Marathon Des Sables virtually, and I called it Marathon Des Peterborough. The guys let me know the distances they would cover each day; I did the same and ate my desert food, but from home. It was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had; mentally trying to cover that distance each day, on my own, at home in the rain/snow, whilst working every day was beyond tough.  

I’m always asked if I will go next year, and my answer is I don’t know. 

I haven’t said it out loud to anyone, but I’m scared. I am scared that I will commit and put my life on hold yet again for another year, only for it to take away from me for the 4th time.

* * *

The group did go pretty quiet, and I know I didn’t post when I usually would have – though it didn’t hold Karen back from posting several times about Cinnamon buns. There was a pattern here; Karen talked a lot about food.

I raced home from the heat chamber for my last evening with my family (a logistical cock-up with my final heat chamber session scheduled for tomorrow meant that I would pass Gatwick the evening before my flight, and I decided to stay there for the night).

Training for MDS is incredibly selfish, training takes over and back-to-back running at weekends inevitably impacts family life. My family were great; they rarely complained and were super flexible when fitting my runs in. I’m a little embarrassed to say that there were a couple of occasions in the build-up where I selfishly said that the family weren’t supporting me; I never meant it and shouldn’t have said it. It was always moments of stress that I struggled to handle.

My last evening was a way for me to say thanks, we went out for a lovely meal at a favourite pub, and then I was planning on an early night. What happened that evening was overwhelming for me, I didn’t expect it at all, and I got emotional (and again as I write this!). My family did something perfectly normal; they gave me cards wishing me good luck, though I genuinely didn’t expect it. The messages in the cards were absolutely perfect and just what I needed to hear to dispel any doubts I’d had previously about their support:

You’ve got this! Good luck Dad xx

Even if you aren’t number 1 in the race, you are still the number 1 Dad.

Love you lots, Thomas and Oscar xxx

—–

I’m super proud of you. Just remember you’ve got this!

Like the card says – RUN, EAT, SLEEP, REPEAT.

Always start the day with a smile.

In the end, it’s your run and yours alone.

Others can run it with you but no one can run it for you.

Embrace it.

Be strong.

Keep moving forward.

Love you loads, always and forever, Emma xxx

I posted the cards and how they made me feel on Facebook; Pierre, who has run the race before, advised me to write the messages on a piece of paper and read them every morning – a great tip.

Once the evening hit, PCR results started coming in thick and fast. Olly was the first to be negative (he only waited for 40 minutes), followed by Sarah, Ian, James, and mine. Injury and PCR tests were the two things I dreaded the most. And now I knew that I would be on the flight at Gatwick in two days. Time for sleep, but I wouldn’t for two hours – the stress of waiting for my test result was too much, and the adrenaline was still flowing.

24th March 2022

At 0500, I woke with a jolt, I had a cramp in my calf, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I first checked my WhatsApp messages for anything that had come in overnight before making a coffee and checking emails before travelling to the heat chamber.

Karens was the next negative result, with a “626 is negative” post (she was up at 0206 to receive it), and that was followed up by Jenna (who was up at 0535 to post, and Sarah responded minutes later) – that just left Sara and we’d have a full tent. Everyone was struggling to sleep.

WhatsApp wasn’t the same as before, apart from Olly asking questions about weight allowances for hand luggage on the plane. The only thing that people wanted to know (apart from Olly) was Sara’s official PCR result and would she be meeting us at Gatwick.

Sara kept us waiting till 0945 for her official result, and I recall every feeling I had whilst reading her message. I was gutted for her, as was everyone; she was entirely asymptomatic, had done everything she could to avoid COVID and still tested positive. Sara had entered MDS to race in 2020 and had gone through several COVID postponements; this must have been tough for her.

As you would expect, the following messages were all consoling Sara and trying to cheer her up. There were also comments on the bright colours people were wearing through the race and Sara to look out for in photos, and once the messages picked up again, Olly took the rare opportunity to answer a question for a change. Sara will always be part of Tent 51, she was an essential member of the group, and we all knew we would miss her.

I kissed the family goodbye, thanked them for their kind thoughts the night before, and set off to my final heat chamber session. The next time my family saw me, I would be an MDS finisher and wearing my finisher’s shirt and medal. I spent a lot of time thinking about this throughout the following week.

You should never underestimate the impact of committing to MDS; it will take a significant toll on every part of your life – I didn’t anticipate it impacting my work. I’m fortunate to have a flexible role at work, and I don’t usually take advantage of this, but this week was different. I timed as many calls as possible whilst in the car (and I even managed an interview for a podcast with George Anderson) to ensure I was available to my team. Still, I knew that this was one of the few times in my career that I’d taken more time for myself than I should have done.

I had to park a little away from the heat chamber and climb a hill to get there. I recall walking into the chamber and saying to the twins, “it’s bloody hot out there”! I said it with a smile on my face, knowing that I would be in the sweltering heat of the Sahara the next day.

This was my final session in the chamber and results day. The twins talked to me about how much acclimation I had already done in the sauna and jacuzzi, how my body had reacted throughout the week, and how I wouldn’t have benefitted as much as others who hadn’t done any preparation. The results showed that my heart rate hadn’t decreased throughout the week, though they had managed to increase the amount of fluid that I sweat – the higher the sweat rate, the better it allows your body to regulate its temperature more efficiently.

I had a final catch-up on work emails and responded to all the messages of support that I had; MDS is a colossal event that captures the attention. I knew that there would be times in the race that I would need to rely on this support and actively sought it, knowing that the messages I was receiving could be used positively during any low points of the race that I would undoubtedly experience.

The week I had been waiting for was about to start. I drove to Gatwick Airport, where I knew at least 15 MDS athletes were meeting up. Realistically there were going to be a lot more. I was on a few WhatsApp groups and arranged for a meet-up over dinner; there were four of us from tent 51 (James, Olly and Jenna chose to eat earlier, though they did join us briefly to say hello. I was a little surprised as it would have been a great opportunity to get to know each other, though there we had the next 11 days or so for that ), people I’d got to know from Walking With The Wounded, the Lanzarote training camp I attended, and The Pilgrim Challenge WhatsApp group (which I didn’t race due to injury).

The hotel was full of athletes; it wasn’t that they were all looking fit or wearing shirts bragging about races they had done previously – it was the MDS wristbands that everyone was wearing from the expo that gave them away. The speakers at the expo had recommended we wear them through to the race, and every time we look at them to think about our “why”.

There were many people at the hotel, and it was quite an eclectic mix. The race has a reputation for being a “CEO Race”, a relatively easy race which attracts CEOs that wouldn’t take it seriously. In reality, the mix was typical to that of every race I have done in the UK; there were young people (the youngest I met was 16, though there was a Spanish 15-year-old racing) through to old people (I was told that David was 85, and an MDS veteran ), there were racing snakes who were trying to race it, and plenty of “fat lad at the back” types who were there to walk it and simply finish.

I loved the evening we had, spending time getting to know everyone, understanding their reasons for being there and the charities they were raising money for – this was a massive part of what I wanted from my week, and it got off to a great start.

That was it. All the prep was over; there was no more to do than try and get a good night’s rest.

* * *

I would love to be able to make this book widely available, with all profits going to a military charity (I’m supporting Walking With The Wounded). Please do give feedback on what you like, what you don’t like or anything else that’s constructive. I’d happily make positive changes if it makes the book successful.