Couch to Marathon des Sables

AN EXTRAORDINARY RACE
FOR EXTRAORDINARY PEOPLE
IN AN EXTRAORDINARY PLACE

Who could you be if you pushed yourself to your limits? The Marathon des Sables is the stuff of legends – a truly gruelling multi-stage adventure in one of the world's most inhospitable environments, the Sahara Desert. Physically, it is six days' running over 250 kms (156 miles) across endless sand dunes, rocky jebels and white-hot salt plains, carrying what you need to survive on your back.

OK, that's what the website says about the race. It doesn't say why I've decided to enter, nor why I've left it to now.

Those that know me well already know that I keep pushing myself; pushing myself physically and mentally, challenging myself to see just how far I can go and what my limits are.

I have a confession for you — you've fallen for a clickbait headline.

You're here today because you have very generously donated to the charity I am raising money for, Walking With The Wounded.

I'm a veteran, having spent 10 years in the Royal Air Force, I'm also very fortunate to have been able to find help when I have needed it.

Walking With The Wounded recognise the inherent skills of our armed service personnel and want to complement these qualities. They offer assistance through their programmes to those vulnerable veterans who have been physically, mentally or socially disadvantaged by their service and assist them in sustaining their independence through new sustainable careers outside of the military.

The outcome? Sustainable employment, and independence for them and their families.

What they do is important to me, thank you for helping me to support them in a small way.

One of the ways I'm raising money for them is by writing a book — you'll need to read the book to find out why I'm doing this. Sorry!

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.

25th March

My first alarm (of five!) went off at 0445. I had a good sleep considering what I was about to do, which was a relief as this was the last night I'd have a proper bed until we got to the Berber Palace, assuming the week went to plan. I also had my last shower for the week and made sure I enjoyed it. Rehydrated wet wipes and soap shavings would be all I would have from today.

I met up with James and Karen from Tent 51, and we made our way over to the terminal, which was straight across the road. The Premier Inn was perfectly placed for a stress-free start to the day, and I would do this again.

The terminal was buzzing. We met up with Sarah, who helps organise the event, and 280 British MDS athletes; what an atmosphere. It was an incredible insight into the week we were going to have. Everyone was saying hello; I assume they were being friendly as I had no idea who most of them were. One thing was for sure, though, the majority of them looked super fit and ready to take on this huge challenge.

Our PCR paperwork was checked to ensure we were negative, and we made our way through the long winding queue towards the check-in desk. It was slow, though nobody cared. They were excited to be there and in a cheerful mood, even when the check-in desk luggage belt failed. It was quickly fixed, and we all headed off to security with our carefully weighed bags of white powder we would rely on for our nutrition during the race, and the excited chatter continued. Most people travelled light, just taking what they needed for the admin tent, race, and to relax in the Berber Palace; others took luxuries. Karen took cheese, and Ollie somehow had 28 kg of luggage!

* * *

Thoughts from Sean Clark, Tent 111 and MDS Podcast founder:

“If you are going to try this, think seriously”, they were the last words from my video diary from the Marathon des Sables in October 2021. 

Like many races, my MDS adventure had been delayed by COVID. I’d been training for three years by the time October came around, and after four false starts, we were finally off. We didn’t know that extreme heat and a vicious stomach bug would take 48% of us out of the race before we reached the finish line. 

The 35th edition of the Marathon des Sables ended for me on day three… 

When I returned to the UK in October 2021, I could not get the race out of my mind. A week after we landed, despite the memories of the struggle I had faced as my stomach emptied itself involuntary on the desert floor multiple times, I vowed to go back. 

To cement that commitment, I had the MDS logo tattooed on the back of my calf! There was no way I was coming back without a medal in 2022. 

So here I am again at the Premier Inn Gatwick, ready for the 36th edition! 

I documented my journey to the 35th MDS on YouTube and used the MDS Podcast to capture other people’s experiences in a bid to help future competitors. There is also a period of decompression which you must go through after a race like this; documenting my journey helped. 

I recorded very little of the 36th as my total focus was on completion. Although if you wish to find out more, we’ve recorded plenty since on the podcast at https://mdspodcast.com/. 

The angst of starting the MDS again was somewhat relieved for me as I was familiar with the process. I knew what lay ahead for everyone in the room! 

COVID was still a thing, and all had gone through the final trauma of the required COVID test. 

The bar at Gatwick was buzzing, and it was great to meet many people who I’d only ever engaged with online. Most of us supported Walking With The Wounded, so we had a common goal. 

Some were still abstaining from alcohol, while others were damping their anxiety with plenty. 

One thing that always amazes me about the MDS is the varied ages, fitness backgrounds and physical builds of those taking part. From opera singers to ex-special forces, the key is having a plan that suits you - and sticking to the plan. 

To say I was stress-free would not be correct; the fear of a second failure lurked in the back of my mind. Would the heat hit the searing heights of 60 degrees centigrade again, and would the stomach bug return and rip through camp? 

My plan? One checkpoint at a time. That was my sole focus. So as the discussion turned to things like the ominous “Long Day”, I was just thinking “day one, checkpoint one”. 

When asked about my experience by those around me, I never held back, and they heard all the gory details. The point? Not to scare people, but to get them to take it seriously. 

The desert is a dangerous place. Your health can degrade in minutes. The weather can turn quickly, as we were to find out, making the going more demanding than anything you can train for in the UK. 

But at the end of the day, I was back in my element. Like-minded people surrounded me. Every person there had invested thousands of pounds and hundreds of hours to complete “The Toughest Footrace on Earth”. 

Tonight would be the last night we would spend sleeping in a bed for over a week. So early to bed, early to rise. 

Sean, you’ve got this… find out if I made it on the MDS Podcast.

* * *

The third COVID lockdown had only lifted a couple of months before. I'd travelled to Iceland just a month earlier and thought I knew what to expect at the airport. I couldn't have been more wrong. The terminal was heaving and chaotic, whereas it had been quiet and relaxed previously; this was the polar opposite. The cafés had huge queues and nowhere to sit – it was clear that Tent 51 wanted different things for breakfast, and we split into a couple of groups.

There was one group of people who stood out. Most people in the terminal were dressed for a holiday, not the MDS athletes. Every one of us had our race bag, water bottles, and trainers with Velcro – everything that we knew we would need for the race, and we were confident we could take as hand luggage (lighters had to be in pockets, mandatory kit, running clothes, and enough food to take us up to the maximum permitted weight).

I walked with Karen and found a Burrito restaurant that did giant Breakfast Burritos and, most importantly, large coffees. We were joined by Ems, who I'd met online a couple of times in Walking With The Wounded meetings, and a couple of other athletes – it was pretty obvious who we all were because we all had bags with water bottle straws protruding, and we had a common bond, making conversation wasn't at all difficult. It was important to me to understand why people were there, Ems never served with the military, but had quite a powerful link to WWTW, having worked closely with one of their beneficiaries previously. She had worked with Captain Guy Disney at The Pony Club and had close family links too; Guy was the first amputee to win a horse race at a professional race course, and continues to work with WWTW.

Time flew (pardon the pun), and gate 49 was quickly opened. The MDS organised a couple of charter planes from an airline called Sundair (I heard this was a last-minute change due to fuel costs and demands from the previous supplier), and I was on the second flight. Boarding was super slick, and we were soon sat at our seats – it was the first flight I'd been on where everyone had skipped the obligatory airport beers, which probably made a huge difference to the flight crew too.

The flight took off on time, and I soon talked to Ben and Aisling, a Police Officer and dentist. One thing I really wanted from the race was to meet a wide range of people, talk about their perspectives on the race, the charities they were racing for, and what has motivated them to take on The Toughest Foot Race on Earth.

Aisling had used one of the celebrity coaches that have built businesses around the MDS, and it was fascinating hearing about the training she had gone through and how different the approach he took was. My coach only focussed on running. Aisling's coach took a much more holistic view and focused on nutrition and body weight, though she paid a lot more for his time!

I was running out of opportunities to drink a warm coffee, and the flight was probably the last opportunity to get one; the challenge was that they didn't take plastic! It cost either two euros or two pounds, depending on which one you had; I used a 5 Euro note and took the 3 Euro change.

The pilot and co-pilot thought they were on a tour bus and pointed out all of the highlights as we flew over them. I recall seeing the Pyrenees, flying over the Mediterranean and the excitement as we started to fly over Morocco; the thing that really stood out were mountains, lots of them, and surprisingly lots of snow on the top of them. We were on the edge of the Sahara, and there was snow, though we shouldn't have been that surprised as the organisers had posted photos of snow on the Merzouga Dunes, an integral part of every race, just a month or so before.

We landed at Errachidia Airport bang on time at 1300, quickly disembarked, and I put my jumper on…. Yes, I put my jumper on. There were many conversations in the lead-up to the event about temperatures, which wasn't surprising after last year's event. Last year's event was held in October, and in the dunes, temperatures hit 50C (some reports said 60C), which was a significant factor in the 47% dropout rate.

We were racing at the end of March and expected it to be quite a lot cooler, and forecasts suggested that it would be in the mid to high 20s throughout the week. It's worth remembering that forecasters measure temperature in the shade. We would be spending the week racing in sand dunes and on salt planes that reflect the heat right back at you; the temperature will always be a factor you have to plan for in the MDS. The airport was 17C and breezy, though I'd like to think it felt cool due to the success of my heat acclimation strategy.

Security was slow, and it didn't help that we were standing in the shade. We'd been told that there would be both temperature checks and random COVID tests; the potential for temperature checks was making me anxious; the last thing I needed was flashbacks of my time in the military and Iraq to be triggered.

Errachidia is a small airport shared with the Moroccan military, it's pretty basic, and our luggage bags were simply thrown on the floor. We collected the bags, walked through security, scanned them, and went into the terminal. Thankfully there weren't any temperature checks, and I wasn't chosen for the COVID test. We were offered sweet tea, dates and biscuits; El Bellar was an event sponsor and gave us sweet tea at the finish line each day; it was a real treat after a hard day running in the desert.

There was a queue of buses waiting outside the terminal. We had to go through a procession of the organisation staff who were all clapping and cheering us; they were led by the ever-present Patrick Bauer, the inspiration behind the MDS and Steve, the UK organiser. We would see Patrick every day at the start line and most days at one of the checkpoints; I even heard a story of him being at a checkpoint in the middle of the night on the long day, helping to keep the fire going.

In 1984 Patrick decided he would walk across the Sahara on his own. He had a 35kg pack containing water and food and walked 350km. It took him 12 days, and he figured it would be a great place to have a race. The race has a maximum weight of 15kg for the bag, is "only" 250km, and completed in seven days – thankfully, we no longer have to carry our water either; this is supplied at regular checkpoints.

We queued for the bus and were given our lunch boxes. They explained that it would take around two and half hours, and there would be a stop to eat and use the toilets. I sat with Jason, who I hadn't met before, he was a scouser, and when we compared running CVs, he was by far the more experienced ultra runner.

We were given ration cards, which detailed what water we would be provided each day and the long-awaited Roadbook. The route is kept a secret from the athletes until this point, and there are lots of rumours spread in advance about how far we would be running; they were actually pretty accurate. I had time for one last Facebook post before I lost signal and would put my phone into my hotel bag. It said:

It's nice and cool today, so cool I put my jumper on when we landed - I'm a little conflicted as to how that makes me feel. I don't want the 60 degrees of last year, but I do want a challenge. 

We're all on the bus, waiting to set off, whilst reading the roadbook. 

Day 1 - 30.3k 

Day 2 - 38.5k Jebel El Oftal

Day 3 - 32.1k Jebel el Oftal, dunes

Day 4 - 85.8k Dunes

Day 5 - 42.2k Dunes

Day 6 - 7.7k (charity day) More bloody dunes

Thanks a lot for all your support - keep it coming please.

We were fortunate; the athletes normally land in Ouarzazate, the town where the Berber Palace is. The advantage for us was that we would only be travelling for three hours or so, roughly half of what it usually takes. The buses were pretty basic and not very clean – there was chewing gum everywhere! The scenery was fantastic, there were mountains (would we really have to climb that high on the Jebels?), quaint villages, and surprisingly there were green fields used for farming.

All of the coaches pulled over in a vast layby. The café owner must have said the Arabic version of "kerching" when he saw us getting off the bus, though he would be disappointed seeing us eat the delights that Patrick's team had provided us… In the bag was a piece of bread, a couple of cans of tuna in tomato, a small cheese and a couple of other bits of food – It wasn't ideal, and I was a little concerned that this was how they were planning on feeding us for the next couple of days.

The cafe owner did have one trick up his leave, and fortunately for him, we hadn't perfected the art of peeing in the desert yet. He had the only toilet we would get to use, and being entrepreneurial, he knew exactly how to exploit us; thankfully, I had the 3 Euro change from my coffee on the plane and was able to pay for myself and two others.

We set off again, and within an hour or so, we could see the enormous tent city which was to be our home for the next couple of days and would then be moved to wherever we were running each day. The scale of the MDS organisation is huge, as well as around 150 tents for the athletes, there were tents for the organisation team, medics, media, catering, military (who were apparently guarding us, as we were close to the Armenia border) and the many Berbers who we would see each day. We were told there are around 400 support staff; it's not difficult to see how the MDS can justify the 4500 Euro charge for entry.

We collected our kit and walked to the tent; finally, Tent 51 were together for the first time. Well, seven of us were – we all missed Sara very much and talked about her regularly. Our tent had been in the planning since the early days. Everyone knew someone in the tent, and there was a handful of us who had met at the MDS Expo and trained a couple of times together.

I was the last person invited into the tent, UK fast Olly (a different Olly) had turned them down, and I was the first reject to be picked. The entrance test was a simple "Do you snore?", I checked with my wife, told them "not since I stopped drinking" and I was in. I felt pretty conflicted as I always expected to be in a WWTW tent, as I knew I would have a lot in common with them as the majority would be ex-forces. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of banter in the WWTW WhatsApp group in the early days, so I didn't get to know anyone other than Chris. I felt that it was more important to be confident I get along with the others in my tent. I had a chat with my coach, and he agreed. I can't imagine anything worse than being in a tent with someone you don't get on with for a week, and at least this way, I was guaranteed not to be in a tent with anyone who snored.

I was desperate for a number two and went straight to the toilet with my poo bag; I would have to experience this in the desert at some point, so why not in my first two minutes! There were blocks of three toilets scattered around the bivouac, they were made out of scaffolding, and privacy was guaranteed with tarpaulins – at least it was guaranteed when it wasn't windy, though it was always windy.

We were given brown bags which looped over the toilet seat, and then we sat down and preyed the plastic seat would hold after several years in the sun. To prevent the bag from blowing around, it was a good idea to throw a handful of stones in it, though the most challenging part of the experience was getting the stones out once you finished (I'll credit that joke to Ian, who was also in Tent 51).

We spent the rest of the afternoon getting to know each other, cracking jokes at other people's expense (sorry Olly) and sorting out where we were going to sleep. The tents were tiny, though thankfully, there were only seven of us. This was the only positive of Sara not being with us; we would have much rathered she was there. I'm giving the tents way too much credit by calling them that, in reality, they are a black blanket (black is a great colour in a hot desert for reflecting heat…) held up by a few sticks and open to the wind on two sides. On the ground, there is a blanket which gives a little protection from the stony desert, though if you are sensible, you will invest a little time removing as many as possible. It's a tradition that the first runner home will clear stones each day.

I offered to sleep at one of the ends of the tent, and Ian slept at the other, with everyone else in a long line. The tent was at its lowest at the ends, and there were sticks in the way which you had to try and position you and your kit around. It was agreed that we would mix it up each time the tent moved to ensure that we all got to talk properly, and everyone would get disadvantaged by sleeping at the end. One advantage of the ends was that you had a little more space at the side of you that could be used for stowing your kit, though camel spiders and scorpions also like to hide under the sides of the tent. Great.

You could tell the tents that had athletes experienced with bivouac life. The desert was windy every day, and it was possible to close off one of the open sides or even lower the tent by moving a few poles and using rocks. We hadn't mastered it at this point, but Ian made sure that he would very quickly.  

Once I’d got my bed setup I went for my daily walk to the WWTW tents. It was important to me that I got to know them better, and this was the main way of getting to speak to them all at once. The backgrounds of everyone were very varied, most were British Army veterans, there was also one who was the same trade as me in the Royal Air Force – though no matter how hard we tried, we didn’t find anywhere that our paths had crossed. The rest were all civilians, who mostly had links to the military and hence they were raising money to help veterans.

One of the civvies who stood out was Sean, I’d spoken to him a couple of times over social media, and he joined us for dinner at Gatwick Airport. Sean was the host of an informative podcast, which was originally named “Marathon Des Sables Podcast”. His interviews with previous competitors were integral in helping me to understand what was coming, and his honest and candid approach to talking about his failed attempt the previous year helped me to come up with mental strategies to get through most things. I felt like I already knew Sean, even though I’d never met him; one thing I didn’t understand though, was why Sean had a huge MDS tattoo on his calf when he didn’t finish.

There's very little to do in the desert, but time went quickly with all the banter. That afternoon we had one of many briefs from Patrick; Patrick liked to talk, and his briefs weren't very brief. Patrick speaks a little English, but his briefs are in French. He is supported by someone we will call "The Belgian", he does have a name though it wasn't anywhere near as interesting. The Belgian was a regular discussion point in Tent 51, mostly with the ladies, and because of his dad dancing.

The brief probably lasted around thirty minutes; the key things I got from it were:

1. This year there were more Brits than French, by about eight.
2. Fifty athletes didn't make it to the bivouac due to positive PCR tests.
3. Bivouac time would be based on GMT. Every year, the race has a local time, not the Moroccan time, though the change to GMT made very little difference as it was only one hour different.

After the brief was dinner, and Tent 51 was pretty much as close as it could be to the restaurant (or canteen). We headed over as soon as we saw the queues starting to build, hoping that it wouldn't be tuna in tomato again.

Several people took their own food. The reasoning for a lot of these was that there had been a D&V outbreak in the previous year, which contributed to the 47% dropout rate. They felt that it could have been down to the local catering – cooking for themselves would take away this risk. The D&V however went on for days and was spread around the entire camp. I don't believe this was related to the local catering; if it had been, it would have been over in 24 hours.

The food was fantastic. The organisation says they don't cater to particular diets, though it was primarily rice and vegetables, with meat – vegetarians would have been OK, and potentially vegans. There was bread to go with it, a dessert (in the desert… I’ll get my coat) and a can of beer or coke. The ration cards were stamped so you couldn't go back for seconds, but it was a buffet, and there was nothing to stop you from piling your plate high. I heard of a group of squaddies who got enough food to make sandwiches for later that evening.

In March, it gets dark very early in the desert at around 1900 hours. There was a little chatter, time to make my notes for my diary, and plenty of time to struggle to sleep. It was windy and cold, and I was sleeping on a sleeping mat that was long enough to get to my hips – anything to save weight.

Tomorrow is admin day, when our ECGs will be checked and the final chance for the organisation to turn us away before the race even starts. 

* * *

What was your least favourite snack & why?

When I first read it, this sounded like an easy question to answer, but I struggled.

I can genuinely say that I would only change one thing that I took, and that item isn't food related.

In the nutrition chapter (which is still to be released) I talked about how stressed I got about my nutrition. My stress was never about the taste of my food; I'd tested it in training, including when training in the heat, which is when I'm told your taste buds change.

There were two principal stresses, which had been caused by an injury around three months before the race when I'd planned on making the final big decisions. I couldn't make the first decision because I was an inexperienced ultra runner and wasn't sure how much food I needed to survive the week. The second was because the injury prevented me from testing changes that I had been convinced to make by MDS royalty.

I can't dodge your question any further…. I decided to feed on food bars and Peanut M&Ms whilst running - and I was pleased with that choice. However, there was one flavour of Nakd bar that I found a little dry, and I probably wouldn't take it if I were to enter the race again; I didn't find Peanut Delight very delightful.

* * *

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.