The Flooded Sahara Desert
The Marathon des Sables 2009
The Marathon des Sables is rated as one of the most brutal foot races in the world. It takes place in the Sahara Desert of southern Morocco. The race is about 240 kilometers in distance and is run in seven-day stages. A new course is mapped each year. Each runner brings his/her own food and supplies, which are carried, in his/her backpack. Only water is supplied by the organizers.
“Turning Sand into Water” was the caption of my charity project – my purpose for running the Marathon des Sables 2009. This project was all about raising funds for water wells in Benin, Africa. We would run in the hot, dry sands of the Sahara Desert to help people receive clean and fresh water for health and agricultural purposes. Little did we expect or know that the Sahara could change its character, its scenery and terrain to one of water and floods. It could turn into a mucky sandbox.
When it is raining, accompanied by lightning and thunder, parents don’t normally let their children go and play in the sandbox. Here we were, 840 runners converging on the desert – a normally hot, dry desert that had turned to muck and water. We flew into Casablanca from 35 different countries. Then we all got transported by Air Maroc to our next small desert city of Ouarzazate. It was during this last short flight that I noted flashes of lightning on the horizon. It was late when we landed and by the time we arrived at our hotel it was 1:00 in the morning and we were scrambling to get to our rooms. We were dead tired and the hotel organization was not that of a 5 star accommodation. We ended up with 5 people in a room meant for three.
It had begun to rain during the night, and after our breakfast we boarded the buses with our backpack plus one suitcase to head out into the desert. In our minds we were still heading into a hot, dry desert. However, the rain continued and after a three hour drive we came to a raging river shooting across the road where we were suppose to drive. The water was a dirty beige colour and it was racing right over the road, about 150 meters wide and 30 – 50 cm deep. The convoy of vehicles came to a stop.
One Landrover jeep had attempted to cross the water and it got washed downstream, 95% submerged in the water, stuck among the rocks in the water. We never did hear what happened to the driver. There were more jeeps in our convoy and some of the drivers were out of their vehicles dancing and singing to some rhythm in the middle of this rainy desert. TV camera crews were busy filming and runners were shooting photos and videos.
The convoy consisted of 18 buses carrying the 840 runners, 3 huge food trucks (food for the crew, not the runners), a truck filled with bottled water for the runners, military trucks carrying the tents, TV crews, 44 doctors plus all their medical supplies and equipment…it was an impressive line of vehicles. We were parked.
After a three hour wait, one of the bigger trucks attempted the crossing and he made it through. Then we were asked to collect our backpacks and suitcases from the luggage compartment of the bus and bring them into the bus. They left the luggage doors open as the buses proceeded across the raging river. The water flowed right through the luggage compartment. It was quite suspenseful – would we make it or would we also be washed down the river? All the buses made it through safely, as did the rest of the convoy.
We were on our way once more, energized to run this world-famous African race. We were on our way to the middle of ‘Nowhere’ – to the start of the race where we would now be sleeping on the ground under the Berber tents (I say ‘under’ because the tents consist of poles with black jute suspended over the tops – no sides).
We did not end up where we thought we would; we were taken to a small city called Erfoud. (The first 150 runners had carried on to the first site of the Berber tents – to find it awash from the rain, some tents were washed away and the rest were standing in water. No one could stay there. These runners were also brought back to Erfoud.) Erfoud hotels accommodated 1200 guests at the spur of the moment.
The next day it continued to rain with lightning and thunder. Communication about the race was poor. The organizers were scrambling to make sense of all this. Late in the day we got word that the first stage of the race was cancelled. Would the whole race be cancelled? How would 1200 people be able to change their return flights? What did Plan B look like? There was no Plan B.
The following morning there was an official announcement from Patrick Bauer at a Kasbah Hotel. His options were to cancel the race entirely, or improvise day by day with problems. We had received the official Road-book of the race – this book was now invalid and totally useless.
We spent three nights in Erfoud in the various hotels. Logistics Day, normally our first day in the desert, was a day in Erfoud and each of us had to bring our ‘stuff’ to the hotel where our equipment was checked. Here we received our salt, flare gun and start numbers.
Day Two – became Day One, and our race started with the Sand dune day, 33 kilometers of which 20 kilometers would be the beautiful dunes of the Erg Chebbi.
By this time some of us had picked up a bug from the food or water in the hotels. Several runners were already ‘out’ before the race ever started. I was able to complete the first day’s race, enjoying the beautiful sand dunes. But I also realized that the bacteria were churning up a storm in my guts, and I was losing energy very fast.
That night, our first in the desert, temperatures dipped to 5°C and my sleeping bag was totally inadequate, causing me to lose even more energy. One of the German runners had an extreme case of diarrhea all night – and there were no washrooms for him. The open desert is your home. At first the runners wandered out 150 meters from the tents for their WC, after 4 days 5 meters was sufficient because the survival mode was more important than modesty.
All runners are aware that the MdS is a run of suffering and pain. The next morning I was fighting this intestinal bug, asking the doctors for some advice. Since I was not running a fever, they said go for it and report in at Checkpoint One. I took their advice and started running with the crowd. Every step became a struggle - getting weaker with seemingly each step as I crossed a high mountain range. We were still 3 kilometers from CP 1 when I began to weave left and right. My vision started to get blurry. I sort of sat down. Dale had now disappeared in the horizon- ahead of me.
Shortly after I went down another runner came up from behind and stopped. He asked if he should shoot off the flare gun (each runner gets a French military flare gun issued to them at the start)? I thought, “Why not? “Shoot at Will” I thought. I am in need of some help here. What else can go wrong? George (an American soldier who had spent some time in Iraq) took my flare and walked a few steps away from me. This had now become my battlefield of my guts vs. the Sahara. By now more runners had arrived where I was lying. One of the runners asked, “Are you Albert Martens?” I wondered how in the world she recognized me but she said she had read about me in California! She knelt down so we were on the same level; she wanted to ask me some questions!! At this point I didn’t want people to recognize me. The timing was not the greatest.
Meanwhile, George was busy with the flare gun and when he pulled the rope, it ignited (and something else DID go wrong) - about 10% shot out the bottom, burning his a hole in his T-shirt and giving him a decent cut on his stomach. It was a faulty gun with water in it. Fortunately the rest of the flare did go up and within 7 minutes the first doctors arrived. While we were waiting for help to arrive George asked me “Should I shoot up another flare?” His wound was on the outside - mine was inside. Two doctors arrived on a quad from CP 1 and another two arrived in a jeep from the opposite direction. We still all were able to laugh about everything.
The doctors checked my blood pressure and it was rather low. I still felt fairly clear-headed and was trying to remain friendly even though I was concerned. I was still smiling and I thought there were some lessons to be learned – like decide not to let disappointments to ruin my whole life. The doctors got an IV going and ran two 500 ml bags. They wrapped an emergency blanket around me because by now my body was shaking. I was going into shock. One of the doctors rubbed my arms and shoulders – a very compassionate and sympathetic doctor – very nice of him. After the two bags of IV I was helped into the jeep and taken to the temporary medical tent at Checkpoint One, where they ran another two bags of IV. My body was still shaking. To my surprise they asked me whether I wanted to continue in the race? “Sure, why not?” - but wisdom kicked in and I knew that I should quit. They took me to the main camp to the main medical tent and put me down on a stretcher and proceeded with another 4 bags of IV. By now I was wondering where 8 bags (4 liters) of IV solution end up. Is there a special tank somewhere in me where it gets stored? Had I turned into a camel? When one drops out of the race, I decided that I would donate my left over desert food to the organization that then in turn donates this to the African needy people. Now I could eat with the crew and in fine French dining. I was in their eating area when I spotted Lahcen Ahansel, the 10 times winner of the MdS, the MdS King. He had terminated as well; he told me he had lost motivation. We were now dining together in the tent under the name known as “Quitters”. The French signage seemed harsh but in a way also amusing. We were labeled as “Abandons”. You have half killed yourself in an effort to run this race, and now you are out and are labeled. The positive side of this was the food, French bread, cheese, yoghurt, chicken, potatoes, coffee, wine, soup…and on and on.
Success – what is that? Defeat – what is that? There are lessons to be learned here. This was my fourth time in the Marathon des Sables and there were lessons learned each time. 
