30th of October - 100.2km / 62.6 miles
Pray for rocks! Sand sucks the life from your feet.
I begin today with a thought and a recitation of a poem about a place all too distant in time, location and environment. The poem recalls a wistful moment amid a snowy landscape, but the last two lines are as appropriate here as any that might be said: “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.” (Robert Frost’s Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening)
Having never attempted more than 42km in a day and already tight with aching muscles, feet full of taped-up blisters, and black toenails, I couldn’t fathom what lay ahead, so I bowed my head and just began. Feeling surprisingly good, I raced ahead one stage at a time with no thought of saving energy for the next, only to end sooner – thinking, “I’ll rest when I’m dead!” – the tortoise may beat the hare in the end, but it’ll have to be the hare for now.
I had decided to take Carlos’ advice on my stride and attempt to run normally, not stretching out my feet and trying to run ‘flat’ as I had before. This seemed to work quite well, and the sand on the plateaus was better-packed and even a bit rocky to aid in the speed. I pulled up to one friend and then another, but my energy and enthusiasm wouldn’t let me slow down to pace with them, so I pulled ahead. By the first checkpoint I was miraculously in second place (bearing in mind that the top 25 runners had a late start – 10am to our 8am).
Then shortly into the second stage, the front runner faltered and we ran together for a bit. We talked about how odd it felt to be in front and not have tracks to follow or other runners to sight on. Then he slowed and said, “now you’re in the front.” It felt good, no great! I knew that the best runners would pass in a few hours, but being in “the lead” was a thrill, somehow giving me more energy.
I came into the second, then third, then forth checkpoints still in front. I felt unstoppable, invincible at times and then variously hit by lows. I was pushed along merely by the fact that I was in front… I felt that I had to hold on as long as I could. And when I’d slow and walk, I’d look behind and see Eberhard (a 58 year old German who has finished Badwaters 5 times, and Marathon de Sable 7 times) just behind. He trailed me endlessly, following like a hunter, I still had some rabbit in me and was able to stay ahead for a time, he’d pass me with his steady pace on the flats, but somehow I’d burst past him on the sandy hills as he had trouble slipping in the deep sand. We had switched to a game of cat and mouse. Soon, I was to pass the gauntlet, allowing him and two others to out-step me.
The miles somehow slipped away and I didn’t slow down till I met a muse some 53km later. The siren’s song sung… the next stage would be my downfall. I stumbled past the pink banners speaking incoherently and collapsed in exhaustion (65km 9:59:59 7th place). Carried into the tent, I spilled onto the floor and drifted in a daze much less than sleep for 3 hours, rose refreshed (at least enough to get my spirit back for as I heard the voice of the people overtaking me, I nearly lost hope and debated quitting), ate beef jerky, triaged blisters and started off alone into the dark night just after taking a couple of minutes to give Simone, who had just arrived and seemed in need, a back massage.
I listened to music in the dark and focused on stretching my legs and keeping my stride swift and steady. I felt somehow pure, my body purged of pollution and cleansed by my rest; I felt awake and alive like I had not felt for many years before, stopping from time to time to shut off my headlamp and look at the stars. The word amazing, just couldn't capture it, nor remarkable; I think some combination of surprising, mind-bending, surreal and astounding might come close. I would stagger along in the deep dark of it, but half looking up and half squinting to see the rocky road ahead, fearful of a twisted ankle or a stumble and a roll down one of the steep embankments, I would be forced to return to my reliance on the light, but those short stumbles would stay in my mind for a long while… I so miss the stars.
The remaining hours were lonesome along the plateau without any other competitors in sight, and with the final 14km stage spilling down into the sandy valley below I trudged on in a kind of half sleep. I managed to pass a few more people along the way, but could never get a run going. This last 14km was easily the most frustrating of the entire race. Every time it seemed as if it should be near the end, the course would stretch out again, it was profound, deep of sand and hilly as hell. My toes crumpled against the wall of sand that had found its way through the pores in my shoes, making them so sore that they felt like there was no nail or even skin to protect them; my legs aching with the joints so swollen I didn’t want to look; the bottoms of my feet twinging with every step as the blisters on my insteps had grown together to make pools of pain.
Finishing in the early morning at 4am (20:12:05), I cursed the sand and Pierre, the course designer, swearing I’d never do anything so stupid again. (I’m now foolishly planning my next race.)
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