“Jeder Mensch braucht ab und zu mal ein wenig Wüste”.

(Every person needs a little bit of desert from time to time.)

“Desert” is shortened from the word “deserted” – which aptly describes the Sahara Desert. ‘Desert’ and ‘dry’ experiences in life often help us to acknowledge how special our soft beds and good food really are.

The Pre-Race Activities of the Marathon des Sables

Matt Dehaene and I registered for the 2006 Marathon des Sables at the end of October, 2005. The decision to take on this Ultramarathon, the registration for it and finally the actual training is a huge project in itself. I began to wonder which part was more difficult, getting to the desert or the actual race itself. It has many more aspects to it than a normal marathon.

April 4^th Matt and I left from the Winnipeg airport, flying to Frankfurt, Germany via Toronto. We planned to spend one day & one night in Frankfurt to help us adjust to the 7 hour time change. We arrived in Frankfurt at 7:00 a.m. and made our way to the hotel where we had reserved a room. Although we arrived there early in the morning, the manager allowed us to go straight to our room. This was now a rest day. I lay down on my bed and fell asleep almost immediately. Matt buried his mind in the DiVinci Code. (I think this was his way of blocking out what lay in store for us.) I knew I needed the sleep, since I had been to this particular race twice before. I also knew we would be facing heat and possibly winds, meaning we would literally be sand-blasted.

Back at the Frankfurt airport the next day, we met up with other German runners. I recognized some of them, but others were new to the race and nervous. Matt and I introduced ourselves to the runners, we were about to embark on an adventure together.

The AIR MAROC Boeing jet was filled with slim and physically fit runners on this 3 ½ hour flight to Casablanca. At the Casablanca airport we had a 7 hour layover, waiting for our short connecting flight to Ouarzazate (pronounced vaar za zat). Leaving Casablanca at 11:00 p.m. we finally arrived at our hotel in Ouarzazate at 1:30 a.m. This was it, our last night in a soft bed. Wow, did we sleep, at least, I did.

Breakfast time at 8:00 a.m. in Ouarzazate was already warm and by 9:30 when we boarded the bus to take us into the desert it was hot. The Moroccan coffee and bread at breakfast already signaled a different culture and country. I quickly mailed a post card to Edna, borrowing money from Matt since I did not have local currency. The card arrived at our mailbox about 3 weeks later.

A long 6 – 7 hour ride in the Euroline highway busses across the Atlas Mountains was the next segment of our seemingly dangerous adventure. Roads winding up the high mountains, roads with sharp curves and no railing, crevices, ridges, edges, stones, zero vegetation. Roads ripped out by water at places. Finally we reached the summit of the mountain. As we came down the other side, the driver did not use his gears to slow the vehicle, but continually kept his foot on the brakes. The strong stench of hot brakes permeated the bus. I began to wonder what would happen when the brakes failed.

Fortunately we took a ‘potty break’ and everyone vacated the bus as quickly as possible, spreading out over the side of the mountain with its rocks and stones…also allowing the brakes to cool down. At this point we also received our brown bag lunch and had a bit of a picnic along the mountainside. The sack lunch had been provided for us, it was a big chunk of Moroccan flatbread, tin of tuna, yoghurt, apple sauce, water and an orange. This was a one-of-a-kind picnic.

Back into the bus to continue our journey. Sara, I mean the Sahara was calling us. One young woman runner got travel sickness from all the curves. I felt quite sorry for her.

Finally, we arrived…well…where did we arrive? I couldn’t tell you, and neither could anyone else. It was the end of the road, actually the end of the road had come awhile back already. Only a GPS or a local Moroccan could have told us where we were.

All the busses unloaded at this point, about 750 runners. I didn’t actually count the number of busses, but according to the number of people our convoy must have had about 15 busses.

At this point we were met by military trucks which would take us the last lap of our journey on wheels. We climbed up onto the back of the trucks and tried to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. There were not enough trucks to load all of us at one time, so every time the trucks returned empty there was a mad rush for a spot on the truck – as though there were a million dollars waiting for us down the road. The ride was rough, sand was blowing all over the place and we were bouncing against each other and against the sides of the truck box. This was not a comfortable hayride. There was only one solution and that was to see the humorous side of this, some runners beginning to ‘moo’ and ‘baa’. One British runner could hardly stop laughing, barreling down the ‘no road’ to nowhere in the Sahara Desert!! Were we crazy? Matt was on the edge of the truck back, facing into the desert with hair and shirt flapping in the wind. This picture reminded me of the scene in “The Titanic” to the music of “My Heart Will Go” by Celine Dion.

Eventually also this ‘joy ride’ came to an end at the tent village. This would be home sweet home for us the next two days – in the middle of nowhere. Each tent did have a number on it, but no doorbell. Ours, which we shared with some German, Austrian and Dutch runners, was Nr. 56.

The ‘tent’ consisted of burlap pieces sewn together stretched over 2 large crisscrossed tree poles and several other smaller poles propping up each end. There was room for 8 people in each tent. This was co-ed existence.

The first night the winds picked up to a gale 5 force and the tents collapsed on top of us. Matt likes to fix things, so he attempted to get ours up and anchored. Tools? Stones, what else was at hand? All went well until his little finger got in between the stone he was using as a hammer and the stone he was hammering. Ouch! A black nail with all the pain that goes with it. What a start to the race.

The runners became quieter and quieter as the evening wore into night. Each one was attempting to create a ‘comfi’ nest (like animals), removing bigger rocks, straightening out the sand, then pulling the buff up to our eyes and donning goggles. This in an attempt to keep the sand out of our ears, noses and eyes. There was sand everywhere. You could not escape it. Sand ruled, and “SAND” was the victor. Comfort was no longer to be found. We had left that behind in the hotel room. About 10:00 one runner had had enough of the snoring of two other runners. Matt happened to be lying between the disturbed and the disturbing. When the disturbed runner began using vile language Matt suddenly gave some advice, “Think about flowers!” I pretended I was dead to the world. When Matt continued giving suggestions, “Think about classical music”, I almost burst out laughing. Matt is a born peacemaker and was attempting to settle the issues.

The next night the ‘Harley Davidson snorers’ slept outside the tent – a short distance away from the runner that had gotten so upset with them.

In these rough conditions we all needed to get along together, there was no room for fights. We were representatives of the United Nations – we came from 32 different countries.

Meanwhile we kept getting sand-blasted as Mother Nature lost all her soft motherly instincts. (Why is Nature referred to as ‘Mother’ when the nature elements can get so harsh and rough?) The first 3 days of our stay in the desert were in a brutal sand-storm. This was not anyone’s idea of ‘fun’. I had experienced the blowing sand and the wind during my 2 previous experiences with the Marathon des Sables, but it had not been as bad as this. Right now there was also an undertone of fear brewing silently in each runner’s head. No one talked about it or about being uncomfortable, after all we had all paid to come here. ‘Misery loves company’ was an apt term here. Each and every one of us experienced the same climate, 43˚ C during the day, with winds and blowing sand. For those of us who were familiar with snow and sleet, the sound of the sand against the tent all night resembled that of sleet. To keep our tent from taking off, we collected many stones and tried to weight down the sides.

Conditions were the same for each runner as I stated, and so the stage was set to connect and relate to one another. We did ‘bond’ in the blasting sand.

The Sports Illustrated magazine will not consider the Marathon des Sables as a sport, but rather a torture event. In my opinion this is more than a sport, it involves many other aspects that play a role in it: the weather, the adventure, personal fitness, mental strength, physical conditions (blisters or stomach problems can take you out), the harsh environment of sand, heat and wind.

Purpose

I get asked from time to time, “Albert, why do you do this, to expend all this energy, hurt yourself and you even pay to do this?” These ultra runs usually have a three-fold purpose for me: 1) the challenge of finishing the race, the adventure and lessons learned during the race; 2) for a good cause of helping people less fortunate, in my case the people of the Nigerian Mambilla Plateau; 3) to touch other runners with the love of Jesus.

This is very hard to explain to a non-runner. It is not meant to be an easy walk in the park. The races I join are planned to be hard, hot and difficult. That is part of the intrigue and challenge in participation of the race.

Is it worth it? Do you have to run in order to receive donations? The answer is simply, “Yes”. No one tells me to run it, so I decide to do it for the reasons just stated. It is deeply rewarding, not only for me but for others, when I step out in faith, knowing the Lord God is in it and is helping me. When donations come in from people that I do not hand-pick, but people who have decided to join up by giving to cover my costs and then to give generously to the project, it is deeply rewarding. My running makes people aware of a need, and they respond. Only the Lord knows all the accounting of this.

In my case the Marathon des Sables 2006 the race was still a big success, even though I did not complete it. I was defeated either by the Sahara storm or by the additive in the food I consumed.

Is this your last Ultramarathon? I don’t know. If the Lord puts it on my heart that I can help someone by doing another ultra, and a sponsor comes along, then I am ready to do it again. If I can point someone to the Kingdom of God and help some under privileged people, then I am ready.

Toughest Race Ever

In the first 3 days of the race 210 runners of the 750 that started were done, out of the race. It was the toughest race ever. The 38 doctors on staff were totally overloaded. They told Patrick Bauer he needed to do something about the upcoming long segment of the race. Runners had come here to run, not to die. So the 72 km stretch was shortened to 55 km, the first time this had ever happened in the 21 year history of the race.

I began to hear the stories of other runners that had handed in their numbers.

One 26 year old Finnish lady went 1 whole hour without drinking, and lapsed into a coma. The doctors worked on her for 7 hours before she woke up – and of the three languages she spoke, her mother tongue was gone, she remembered only Swedish and English. She had had a stroke. An Irish runner was airlifted to Bordeaux, France. Breathing difficulties, vomiting, blisters were all in the order of the day. It was a mess and quite depressing.

At that point I thought of leaving the ultra marathons to other people, go home, eat and take up Suma wrestling, or darts. (Now that I am home and have recovered, I decided running is probably a better choice over wrestling or darts.)

When I was out of the race, I decided that my role now was to encourage Matt as well as other runners. I now ate with the organization, since they had removed all my food from me. However, I still slept in the same tent with Matt and the other people. One morning I shared scripture with my tent mates before they left. I was also able to share my faith with another runner.

I also appreciated Matt’s attitude – smiling and cheerful despite any pain and fatigue. Runners made note of his enthusiasm and positive attitude. In fact, they noted that we were Christians and some called us the “priests”.

THe Beauty of the Sahara

When the wind is quiet

When the sun sets,

All sand has laid down to rest,

The dunes cast shadows and begin to

Glow with a reddish gold hue,

Creating a calm and beauty

Which can only be enjoyed

By camels and others who wander in.

Peace, coolness, darkness comes quickly.

By midnight the stars direct you to the heavens.

Camelherders wake early to look at the heavens

In order to tell the directions they must go.

The sun rises quickly

The shadows appear again

From the opposite direction

Dunes so fine – rippled, patterned waves

Never ending.

You study the ridges,

Feel the ‘curry-like’ sand, soft and fine.

At 9:00 the sun warms brightly

At 10:00 it is hot

At 12:00 it is hot air like a furnace at 45˚

The blue forever sky is a beauty of its own.

A nice day it has been until the thermic winds pick up

To seemingly destroy any sand banks.

And ripples are blown into a moving sheet of fine sand.

As the earth is now moving fast

Creating a harsh environment

Winds pick up to gale 5 – too much for humans.

The sand blasts away at everything in its path

Berbers, camels, any living things seeks protection

As if this is a normal procedure.

The ‘blizzard’ is a hot, blasting sand storm

Where can I go for protection?

Nowhere, fight, continue to fight the elements

The desert ground is the only bed

One bonds with the sand

As if it is your restless friend

Accept it, live through it

It is the Sahara Desert

As deserted as it may seem

This is where people live.

EMOTIONS

The Sahara Desert storms can really play havoc with all the runners. The conditions are tough enough, carrying an 8 – 12 kilo backpack on your back, trying to run on sand. Sand dunes that are 100 feet high which we need to get across, not one dune but many of them. Climbing up and sliding backward, finally making it to the top, to work our way down the other side, just to catch the next one… This went on for 30 – 80 kilometers. The storms that that whipped the sand kernels against our bodies and into our faces were brutal. One does not want to be beaten by these conditions. However, the sandstorm is unforgiving.

I had received 2 liters saline solution intravenously, and as a reminder I received a bandage on my arm. I carried on another 8 km and at the next checkpoint I was pulled over to go and get checked by the doctor before I was allowed to carry on. I entered the medical tent, and the sight in there was enough to make you sit down. One runner lying on the ground had bloody, blistered feet. The next person has a IV tube – saline going into his arm. The next person was heaving into a garbage bag.

I decided to leave the tent while I still could. I did not think I would feel better if I stayed in the tent.

Matt had also entered a medical tent at one check point, but when he took note of two runners who were struggling for breath, he also decided it was healthier to stay out. He noted that a helicopter came shortly afterward and picked up both of these runners. Jeeps and camels could not reach this check point.

Many runners avoided the medical tents as much as possible. They were afraid of being taken out of the race by the doctors. A lot of runners took care of their own blistered feet. Some runners injected disinfectant into the blisters – they had brought the equipment with them. One runner injected super glue into a blister!

When I was approaching Check Point 2 on Day 2, I was wondering whether I would have to terminate. I was struggling with mixed emotions as I passed some children in the sand dunes-thinking I could give some of my food to them already. The organization asked me later, when I actually had terminated, whether I wanted my food back later, or whether I would want to give it to the poor people That was a little satisfaction, realizing that there was some good in my quitting the race. The poverty of children simply brought out an emotion and feeling, wanting to help them.

The emotions go deep… and high. Extreme determination is evident, some are in tears, some need counseling. Men break down and weep. Crossing the finish line also brings out the deepest feelings – crying, laughing, kissing the ground, hugging everyone in sight…

Lessons learned

1. Don’t eat ‘Oxygen Absorber”
2. Become more thankful for what you have
3. Take a step of faith – follow your heart and soul and pray about it.
4. Trust more
5. Be thankful for health which is a gift from God
6. Be focused on a goal and cause, don’t get side-tracked by little things
7. Be thankful for all the donations towards a good cause

I was not able to complete the marathon this time because of serious dehydration. It may have been caused by something I ate after the first day of running. I had mixed the oxygen absorbent in the food pouch into the food, assuming it was spice. Day 2 I was getting weaker and weaker until I knew I needed help. When I eventually met up with a doctor I expressed my concern and he checked my blood pressure. It was not good. Right there, I had to lie down in the sand and he started an IV – sand blowing all around us in 43˚ C heat. I received 2 liters of saline solution in the next hour. Matt was the IV pole – holding the bag as the saline solution drained into my arm. As I lay there on the sand I was battling tears, but they never went anywhere, stopped by sand and wind. I was sure the race was over for me. I hit my low point. When the IV was done, the doctor told me to try getting up and to carry on.

I walked another 8 kilometers with the doctor accompanying me in his jeep. I realized that my stomach had now shut down. I talked to the doctor, but he encouraged me to try it.

Matt also wanted me to continue. Ahead of us lay 11 kilometers, of which 5 were dunes. The only rescue vehicle in this next stretch was a quad. Matt and I went about 1 km and at that point fear took over. I asked Matt what he would do if I went down. I decided that I needed to go back the 1 km to the last checkpoint. There I handed over my number and I was done. Wisdom and common sense ruled, and the influence of my Mother again played a role. Her last words to me before I left were, “Come back soon.”

Matt continued on, and he later told me that he had also battled fear, now entering the race alone. We had been planning to do this race together all the way.

The next 8 days I was battling diarrhea – no fun at any time, but even less fun in the desert where there are no bathrooms.

SPIRITUAL

The bigger picture of the MdS for me was to raise money for the clinic in Nigeria, operated by our friends Dr Wim and Marleen Munting. It was also important that I share my faith with fellow runners. One morning I asked if I could share scripture with some runners, and they received this very well. I was happy to connect with an Austrian runner and share my faith with him. Matt also was a great example as a Christian. This was very special to me.

THE POOR IN MOROCCO

Matt and I came across a fairly high and very stony mountain pass. No vegetation, hot, rocks, stones, no path – we came past a bundle of cloth or rags- it looked like a hump of straw or a bale in the distance. I noticed a TV cameraman and as we got closer, and passed this place, we realized it was the home of a very poor family. It was a burlap tent held up by poles, and weighted down with rocks and sand. There were children, My heart broke when I saw this, it was hard to believe this existed, That night I could not sleep and kept seeing this hovel. Why are people relegated to this existence?

Why are they not helped? I know I would not survive if I was put out there. They don’t know of any other existence. Do they not want to change? Can they change?

We have so much, they have so little.