Sunday, April 12, 2009
Marathon Des Sables; Day Two- 35 Km
I woke in the early hours, absolutely freezing. I lay there desperately trying to get back to sleep, but there was no chance; the wind was blowing straight through the open ends of the tent, and whipping round my ears and neck. I pulled my buff up over my face and tried to snuggle down into my sleeping bag as much as possible, and lay there waiting for dawn.
When the sun rose, it was apparent that everyone else had been just as cold and sleepless. It was still windy, and I tried to boil up some water for breakfast. I left it on the little stove for twenty minutes, and when I checked it, it was still stone cold!
Dawn At The Bivouac
My Cooking Equipment!
We slowly got our stuff ready, not easy when you're cold and stiff, and filed to the start line for an 8:30am start (although it was 9am once Patrick had finished talking!) It was so cold we kept our fleeces on- it seemed totally removed from race accounts I had read which spoke of standing around in the heat!
Finally we were off, and climbing, which soon saw us shed our extra layers. By the time we crossed a small plain, descended a rocky rise and turned left into some small dunes, the sun had come up and it was becoming quite hot.
The Helicopter
I tried to get my sunscreen out my front pack, but everything else fell out, so I lost Rach whilst I tried to retrieve my equipment, swearing loudly. I walked on through the dunes, and came upon a small group of Americans. One of them, a guy, was sitting down in the sand, and as I passed, I heard him remark that it must be the heat. After I left them, I saw a flare shooting into the sky- it was quite spectacular- a little pink light on a parachute, which hung in the air for quite some time. A little further on, a dune buggy passed us heading towards the Americans, and a French guy gave them directions.
I caught up with Rach, and we walked across the sand to checkpoint one, and the chance to rest in the shelters for a few minutes.
Checkpoint One
After we set off again, we crossed a wide, endless plain, with hills in the distance. It seemed to take us ages and ages to reach them; I had to keep stopping for a wee which slightly worried me, even though I was drinking regularly.
More Endless Plains!
Eventually we reached the hills, and the route became very undulating. Neither me nor Rach felt particularly great at this point, and kept expecting to see the second checkpoint when we got to the top of each rise, only to have our hopes cruelly dashed by the sight of more hills and the course signs disappearing into the distance.
I could feel a couple of areas which were rubbing on each foot, and this stretch started to feel endless. Eventually though we turned left, exiting the hills, and saw the checkpoint ahead of us- a welcome sight! It would have been so easy to not bother to check my feet, but I made myself take my shoes and socks off and cover the blisters which had formed with dressings.
We carried on- over another plain, towards the dunes surrounding the bivouac. Although it seemed to take an age to reach the dunes, psychologically this stage seemed easier as it felt that we were on our way home! My gaiters were brilliant- not a single grain of sand or speck of dust got in all week.
Back Into The Dunes
I quite enjoyed that dunes again, even though it was tougher going- I think I much prefer the dunes to the flat, featureless endless plains! Eventually, we saw the bivouac and gradually descended to it, finishing at 5:15pm. Everyone agreed that it had been a tougher day than yesterday, it was certainly hotter.
Me and Rach decided to visit the infamous Doc Trotters, as we felt that they would make a better job of treating our feet than we could, especially as we were due to start the long day the next day. Plus I wanted to have the authentic Doc Trotter experience! Some of our tent had been given dressings and told to treat their own feet, but when me and Rach presented our plates, we were given a ticket to access the medical tent behind. I followed Rach round to it, and was instructed to wash my feet in iodine and put on plastic elasticated 'slippers' which resembled shower caps.
Once in the tent, I was directed to a Doc Trotter called Maurice, and placed my foot on the stool in front of him. I was kind of expecting him to say "Ooh la la" but he didn't... he indicated that he would cut into the blister (ouch!!) and then inject iodine into it... he made the cut- which didn't actually feel too bad. He then reached for a small phial of pink iodine and warned that it might sting. Sting! He wasn't kidding... I did my best to conceal my pain, but couldn't hide it. He seemed quite apologetic, but I gritted my teeth and said "C'est necessaire!"
After he finished the iodine torture, he dressed the blisters and they did feel much easier to walk on. Rach ended up with a huge dressing on one of her toes! We hobbled back to the tent, to emails sent by friends and family, which were lovely, and understandably quite an emotional time for some. As night descended, Rob came and broke the news that they had decided to make tomorrow's long stage the longest stage ever on any MdS- 91 km, the equivalent of 56 miles! My head reeled as I realised that was the length of the Bullock Smithy... after two hard days walking!
There was quite a sombre mood in the tent that night, as we tried to get some sleep before the long stage...
When the sun rose, it was apparent that everyone else had been just as cold and sleepless. It was still windy, and I tried to boil up some water for breakfast. I left it on the little stove for twenty minutes, and when I checked it, it was still stone cold!
Dawn At The Bivouac
My Cooking Equipment!
We slowly got our stuff ready, not easy when you're cold and stiff, and filed to the start line for an 8:30am start (although it was 9am once Patrick had finished talking!) It was so cold we kept our fleeces on- it seemed totally removed from race accounts I had read which spoke of standing around in the heat!
Finally we were off, and climbing, which soon saw us shed our extra layers. By the time we crossed a small plain, descended a rocky rise and turned left into some small dunes, the sun had come up and it was becoming quite hot.
The Helicopter
I tried to get my sunscreen out my front pack, but everything else fell out, so I lost Rach whilst I tried to retrieve my equipment, swearing loudly. I walked on through the dunes, and came upon a small group of Americans. One of them, a guy, was sitting down in the sand, and as I passed, I heard him remark that it must be the heat. After I left them, I saw a flare shooting into the sky- it was quite spectacular- a little pink light on a parachute, which hung in the air for quite some time. A little further on, a dune buggy passed us heading towards the Americans, and a French guy gave them directions.
I caught up with Rach, and we walked across the sand to checkpoint one, and the chance to rest in the shelters for a few minutes.
Checkpoint One
After we set off again, we crossed a wide, endless plain, with hills in the distance. It seemed to take us ages and ages to reach them; I had to keep stopping for a wee which slightly worried me, even though I was drinking regularly.
More Endless Plains!
Eventually we reached the hills, and the route became very undulating. Neither me nor Rach felt particularly great at this point, and kept expecting to see the second checkpoint when we got to the top of each rise, only to have our hopes cruelly dashed by the sight of more hills and the course signs disappearing into the distance.
I could feel a couple of areas which were rubbing on each foot, and this stretch started to feel endless. Eventually though we turned left, exiting the hills, and saw the checkpoint ahead of us- a welcome sight! It would have been so easy to not bother to check my feet, but I made myself take my shoes and socks off and cover the blisters which had formed with dressings.
We carried on- over another plain, towards the dunes surrounding the bivouac. Although it seemed to take an age to reach the dunes, psychologically this stage seemed easier as it felt that we were on our way home! My gaiters were brilliant- not a single grain of sand or speck of dust got in all week.
Back Into The Dunes
I quite enjoyed that dunes again, even though it was tougher going- I think I much prefer the dunes to the flat, featureless endless plains! Eventually, we saw the bivouac and gradually descended to it, finishing at 5:15pm. Everyone agreed that it had been a tougher day than yesterday, it was certainly hotter.
Me and Rach decided to visit the infamous Doc Trotters, as we felt that they would make a better job of treating our feet than we could, especially as we were due to start the long day the next day. Plus I wanted to have the authentic Doc Trotter experience! Some of our tent had been given dressings and told to treat their own feet, but when me and Rach presented our plates, we were given a ticket to access the medical tent behind. I followed Rach round to it, and was instructed to wash my feet in iodine and put on plastic elasticated 'slippers' which resembled shower caps.
Once in the tent, I was directed to a Doc Trotter called Maurice, and placed my foot on the stool in front of him. I was kind of expecting him to say "Ooh la la" but he didn't... he indicated that he would cut into the blister (ouch!!) and then inject iodine into it... he made the cut- which didn't actually feel too bad. He then reached for a small phial of pink iodine and warned that it might sting. Sting! He wasn't kidding... I did my best to conceal my pain, but couldn't hide it. He seemed quite apologetic, but I gritted my teeth and said "C'est necessaire!"
After he finished the iodine torture, he dressed the blisters and they did feel much easier to walk on. Rach ended up with a huge dressing on one of her toes! We hobbled back to the tent, to emails sent by friends and family, which were lovely, and understandably quite an emotional time for some. As night descended, Rob came and broke the news that they had decided to make tomorrow's long stage the longest stage ever on any MdS- 91 km, the equivalent of 56 miles! My head reeled as I realised that was the length of the Bullock Smithy... after two hard days walking!
There was quite a sombre mood in the tent that night, as we tried to get some sleep before the long stage...
Labels: Marathon des Sables
