Marathon des Sables: the perfect preparation
It’s hard to ignore the irony of middle-class Western Europeans paying a small fortune to undergo physical hardship and food deprivation in Africa. And yet, next week I will be joining 300 other Brits on a holiday that will involve just that.
The Marathon des Sables needs little by way of introduction. A 251km six-stage race across the Sahara desert with competitors carrying their own kit, it’s nothing if not challenging. Add to that an eventful 28-year history (incredible survival stories, Olympic rowers and the usual smattering of eccentrics) which has seen the race grow to more than 1,000 competitors annually and it’s easy to understand the unique reputation of MdS in the ultra-marathon world.
Such is the popularity of the race (no, really) that one has to register nearly two years in advance. If the various forums and blogs are anything to go by, most of the intervening period is then spent obsessing about kit. This started with reasonable questions about backpacks and trainers, but by last week it had descended into calculations of daily loo-paper usage and discussions about hair removal. Just when it looked as if my fellow runners were about to start debating which internal organs to leave behind, I went on my first training run with a pack. And then I understood. After 26 miles I could feel every ounce of weight on my back.
For me kit preparation has boiled down to one fundamental dilemma: pleasure of eating v pain of carrying. I soon ditched luxuries such as spare clothing and any attempt at hygiene or comfort. As a sports nutrition sceptic I’ve instead opted for a combination of Indomie noodles, pepperoni, home-made flapjacks and Jelly Babies – unmistakeably the diet of champions. This, along with the compulsory, and somewhat disconcerting, penknife, anti-venom pump and flare, brought the total weight of my pack to a hefty 8kg. After some deliberation I’ve decided to include a toothbrush, but on the advice of an MdS veteran I cut the handle off to save weight; this truly is a race for obsessives.
The final two items on my preparation list were a medical test and sand gaiters. Attaching the latter involved a trip to Clapham, south London, where Kevin the cobbler seems to have carved out a very niche market for himself. Through conversations with hundreds of customers over the years he has clearly become an expert on the race, but this hasn’t affected his bewilderment as to why anyone would voluntarily put themselves through it.
Because I had left things to the last minute, I ended up having to have my medical in a hospital in Nigeria – at least there was no risk of it not being signed (the customer is always right). With my bags packed (and about half my intended training done) D-day is rapidly approaching. On 4 April we fly to Errachidia in Morocco and prepare for the start of the race on Sunday. As usual Salameh Al Aqra and Mohamad Ahansal will be battling it out at the front in the men’s race. The women’s race looks to be wide open with none of last year’s top three competing. Some way behind them I will be shuffling across the Sahara along with the rest of this bizarre caravan.
Each year the MdS organisers perform an operational feat of moving a small city of equipment and support teams (mainly medical) across the desert. In addition to providing water and tents they also allow competitors to send one email of no more than 100 words to a single recipient each day. Over the course of next week I will be using my allowance to provide a daily dispatch from the desert for the Guardian running blog. I cannot promise that it will offer any profound insights (or even be coherent after day one) but I can assure you that I will provide a live update on our journey across the Sahara. And that I’ll try not to spend too much time fantasising about food and going into detail about the state of my feet.
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