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Sand Marathon |
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All’s Well that Ends Well
The next morning I am furious at myself for having lost so much time due to preventable dehydration. People in tent 57 said I wasn’t so nice that day.
The next stage was a full 42 km marathon. I feel charged up and want nothing more than to redeem myself for my pitiful performance on the 80 km stage. I charge out of the block with the energy of a compressed spring, and I keep it on full throttle the entire day. I have never run so fast in my life.
At some points in the race, I can only count 20 or so footprints in the sand ahead of me. Could it be that I am that close to the head of the pack? Indeed I end the day 22nd out of 650 runners. I feel vindicated, and remember this moment in the tent, waiting for other members of Tent 57 to arrive, as one of the happiest of my life.
Angry before this 42km stage. But happy afterwards.
Overall I was in 95th pace and wanted just to finish the race in good form. The winner every year, by the way, is a Moroccan named Ahansal who seems to float above the desert like an antelope. I’d describe how he runs in more detail, but 3 minutes into each day he’s already over the horizon. I was told that Morocco’s Tourism Minister is to the right of Ahansal in this photo. From the looks of this guy, I don’t think that Ahansal can disappoint him and expect to see his family again.
The last day had arrived and Glen and I end up running this 20 km leg together. Towards the last few kilometers, Glen starts to fade. In fact he turns white, then red, then white again. Apparently dehydrated and exhausted, his body is giving out on him. “Just a few more kilometers Glen. Hold on! You can do it,” I say. Glen doesn’t respond. Instead he starts to vomit. To his credit, Glen is the only person I’ve ever seen who can heave and run at the same time. This is quite a trick. My respect for Glen grows. We cross the finish line together, and on this last day we take one last photo of the motley crew from Tent 57. Glen is just right of me. We look as though we just conquered the North Pole, albeit after centuries of global warming.
A few minutes later, I find Glen sitting under the shade of a palm tree, drinking a cold beer. “How you doing there mate” I ask. “Ready for another go at it” he responds in a deadpan voice. I’m startled, as he seems serious about what he just said. Can it be that the desert and the heat have caused this guy to go completely mad, I ask myself, or was this guy crazy to begin with? And then I remember the train...
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Copyright Dari Shalon 2004 |