Marathon Des Sables 2021 - Desert Dad Diary Day 6
The Long Day - Mystery Stage
We meet at breakfast and my friends join me for yet more scrambled egg and dried bread, albeit portions are rapidly diminishing due to the torrid heat of the day. This is not a diet that I can recommend to anyone, I have no idea which type of animal has produced this egg although I keep telling myself it was a happy Moroccan chicken laying somewhere in the shade. We can all dream.
My tent mate had a particularly bad night of vomiting and loose stools and looked decidedly queasy. He had been very quiet at supper the night before and my suspicions became reality when he finally arose in the morning.
Then came a tearful and emotional farewell this time at least managing to walk away from my friends before breaking into tears. Their dream was over for this time and the reality was now sinking in that they would have to find an alternative flight to leave Morocco. I wished them well on their journey home with memories abundant.
The stark realisation that I am now completely on my own with people dropping like flies around me is filling me with dread. Will I fall foul of this alleged bug or is it simply heat stroke? The Race Team Staff are down by 20% alongside the Medical Team. We are told the race must go on but now we are nearly 300 competitors less. I find Steve, the UK Director, has an IV in his arm as he meanders aimlessly around the breakfast area. I ask him if he is ok and am greeted with a shake of his head and no words. My fears come to fruition an hour later when I find Steve is now in the field hospital.
Excited, I await my rescheduled flight in one of the Helicopters, this time with the main man, Patrick.
I am supposed to be up and flying at 9am however I know now how these events work and am aware all can change like the wind. Indeed it does. My take off time now becomes 10am but no one has informed me. My vague understanding of French meant that my delayed flight was because Patrick wanted to wave off the Elite Runners on ‘The Long Day’. That is fine I thought but what happens if they decide to fly away and not tell me? I am then stranded with no way out as my driver has gone ahead and is uncontactable. The answer ….. stick to Patrick Bauer like a Nicotine patch. This works as I am excellent at making new ‘friends’ and he now becomes my new bestie.
Strapped in on a sling and bolted to the floor of the Helicopter, final flight checks are carried out and the rotors are turning.
This is it, I’m up and away ….
The scenery is stunning, the mountains interlocking with the sand make for spectacular back drops to my short flight to CP1.
On arrival, there is carnage with medics running every which way, IV lines are being used everywhere. This is a war zone. Competitors are dropping like flies, drips administered, fluids are taken on and exhaustion rests on every face around me.
I head out to the plains to see what is to be offered as today’s scoop, forgetting of course that I have no scoop as yet for my popular daily rag. In fact, there has been little communication between us for varying reasons.
My driver stops around 3km back from CP1 and familiar faces emerge from the vault of sand that is The Sahara. I am reminded of ‘Follow That Camel’ a Carry On Film from the 60’s. Bodies lying everywhere it seems, crowing for a lift to the next check point. I recognise a face, it is Terry, a 50 year old man who is badly struggling and prefers me money to return him to the humanity of Check Point 1. His race is over. This triggers a chain of patients exhausted and beaten into submission by the relentless sun. I can only fit two in my car and we now have six! I have to be certain that they are spent before putting them into a car and transporting them. The penalty is disqualification. Confirmations are abundant “please just get me to some shade and away from this hell hole”. We start loading our patients, abandoning the photographs for now.
Another official car turns up and I am able to secure two more seats for James, an ex Fireman suffering from PTSD and another gentleman I believe from France.
With my car now laden with two runners and their paltry rucksacks we head for CP1. On arrival I ensure that James, Jean and Terry are taken to a suitable tent to have care administered. Amongst the plethora of competitors I realise that now they are in good care, I will most likely never see my ‘patients’ again. On my exit I see another competitor called Sarah who is shielding from the sun and clearly distressed so I wander over to ensure that she is ok. This is an emotional moment as this hardened competitor breaks down in tears. There is nothing I can do. I then ask where and how her colleague Ben is and a limp hand points in the direction of yet another tent laden with demoralised runners.
Ensuring that both Ben and Sarah are ok, I am heartened and leave to return to the scene of earlier. With two left and loaded we embark on our return to the Medical Tent 3km away. My patients now in good hands I prepare to enter the fray once more but see a youngish looking female runner collapse in a heap whilst Medics run from four directions to put in yet another IV line, for this poor girl.
It is time to remove myself from this tragic area and my driver heads back at a leisurely pace and the impetus is gone for the day, my focus is now more on these champions of the desert.
Out in the heat of the day, we search for my colleague who is found on top of a huge dune but then disappears into the vast trail of yellow sand. I will not see him for an hour now and I retire to a small tree providing welcome shade. This proves to be worthless and the heat is too great and I return to my car and ask the driver to turn on the a/c for the first time after roasting on the rear seat for nearly 20 minutes. Eventually after what seemed an eternity, we get away and make our way to a remote Village, to take a cool Coke and photograph some Children playing in the sandy streets.
Every time a vehicle approaches the children run ragged around the driver and passengers, demanding anything, it doesn't matter what. Feeling sorry for them I make the mistake of opening the boot and what happened next was truly frightening.
I try to take two cans of tuna from my lunch bag to give to the children which causes a hysteria like I have never experienced. The bag is ripped and torn from my hands I scream ‘No’ and try to hang on to the remaining paper, gripping as tightly as I can whilst seven or eight kids, varying in age from around 4-12 years fight rabidly for the now non existent contents. They win the majority of the bag and appear disappointed with what they gained, nothing!
I relax and take an interesting ‘nature break’ which proves useful. Some other Race Officials begin to arrive at this remote Auberge and we share some moments together.
Onwards to camp now to cover the leaders of the race who are running the 82km in one day.
My photographer friend retired to our tent complaining still of stomach upset. I drive back out on the course to an area 12km from the final straight to the finish. My aim is to photograph the leader as the sun sets. I capture these moments and return to the finish in the dark. The winner is a Moroccan Machine, finishing the whole course of 82km in under 9 hours.
Back to the Media Tent and edit and caption my limited stock for the day, supper of more chicken, and I return to the finish line to cheer in the remaining field of runners which was extremely sporadic. At 1:30am I am beaten by tiredness and retire myself to my tent for the night.
I cannot rest peacefully and wake many times. Then it happens again! My second bout of stomach issues. Once again in the sheer darkness of the desert I make my way to the tent of doom, described as a toilet. Plastic bag and stone in place, I take my seat. I have this sinking feeling, as the ‘throne’ beneath me begins to slowly give way under my weight. I hold onto the steel frame and finish slightly quicker than I anticipated.
Back to bed in the safe knowledge that we have a day of rest ahead.
