I looked at my watch it was 10:45 am and the information board across in the arrivals hall declared that the flight from Johannesburg had landed. I finished my coffee grabbed my Bergen and Aarn Marathon magic 30Ltr race pack, paid for my coffee and purchased a large bottle of cold water before heading out into the now busy arrivals hall. I checked my phone to see if I’d had any messages from Faan Across The Divide’s in country contact but I hadn’t. On the flight were the other competitors who had flown in from London but I hadn’t met any of them before. Looking around the hall I spotted a man with his T-shirted back to me, on it were the words ‘Across the divide’ with the familiar logo. Guessing this must be Faan I made my way over to introduce myself. As I approached the man was talking to an athletic looking blond woman in a cap who smiled as I came up to them. “Hi, I’m Jamile Siddiqui, I’m running in the Ultra”, the man turned and with a smile he introduced himself in a South African accent as Volker. He was wearing baggy shorts under his t-shirt and had the physique and complexion of a man who actively spends a lot of time outdoors. Over his right eye he wore an eye patch and in his left a glint that projected intelligence and mischievousness. Someone later described him as looking like he’d walked straight out of a war movie.
The lady with Volker introduced herself as Karen, a South African runner who had previously run the Comrades and had flown up to take part in the Namibia Ultra. I felt the excitement build as the reality of the situation began to slowly materialize around me. I had been training for a year, six days a week to be here and now in just two short days I would be running across the Namib Desert. Karen and I chatted while Volker went off to greet and guide the runners as they started to come through the gates one by one. Standing next to Karen was Arrant, a Namibian who was to be our driver, a big friendly guy who would turn out to be the only off road coach driver I’d ever met. As the three of us stood there chatting a thoughtful looking guy in his late forties with a dark suntan, greying beard and ‘Parkies’ cap came over to us, his name was Hentie. A local Namibian runner Hentie had decided to run the Ultra and along with Kobus (Who I’ll tell you about later) was the only other Namibian to run in this year’s race.
So can you recognise an Ultra runner just by looking at them? As the people came through I found that generally I could, they all had something in common and it wasn’t just the race bags they were carrying. Obviously you wouldn’t expect them to look like Baba Papa but there was something about their faces that gave them away. Maybe it was a certain look of excitement mixed with trepidation and determination that the other passengers didn’t possess.
Many people I speak to about Ultras are surprised to discover that women make up a good amount of the field; I don’t know why this surprises so many people as usually the women are bloody good at Ultramarathon distances.
The doors of the arrivals hall slide soundlessly open and as if she had walked out of a photograph complete with her bush hat, the race medical director Amy enter the hall with her team of medics. As everyone started picking up their bags I headed out to the coach where Arrant helpfully stowed my kit in the waiting vehicle. As everyone steadily did the same I sat on the wall next to the bus enjoying the sunny morning, another runner smiled and nodded at me and I introduced myself to him. I recognised his accent at once and asked where he was from “Ireland” Steve replied, “me too!”I said. It turned ou
t that Steve was in the Air Corp and works less than five miles down the road from me. We started to chat and found ourselves sitting next to each other on the coach, we were so engrossed in conversation that I barely noticed when we were told that there was a problem with the vehicle and we were still talking fifteen minutes later when Arrant roared the coach into life and we set off.It is a long journey to the Brandburg Mountain where the desert camp was located and along the way I chatted to Steve as we tracked our journey on a map that Volker had given me. The dryness of the country was evident as we crossed many rivers but every one of them was now dusty sand. Baboon run across the road ahead of the bus and Steve pointed one out sitting by the side of the road as we drove on. Our first stop was Okahandja, a small town around 60 km north of Windhoek. We piled out of the coach for a quick loo stop; I headed with Steve into the local Biltong shop. If ever you find yourself in Okahandja be sure to pop in get some. Good protein never tasted better!
Having been issued a lunch pack and soft drinks we were off again for another two and a half hour stint, when we stopped I was stretching my legs and standing by a petrol pump when I started talking to Ruth, who turned out to be one of the Medics, a GP and A&E doctor Ruth had worked on other events but this was her first trip with Across The Divide, as we chatted Amy came over and introduced herself. She was just as I’d imagined her to be, exuding confidence and friendly assertiveness she is a larger than life character with flaming red hair and a big smile. No sooner had I said hello than we were getting back on the coach again; Arrant gunned the vehicle over dirt roads and through clouds of thick dust as we raced the setting sun to the Brandburg mountain.
Next to Steve sat Darren, I didn’t know it at the time but Darren was last year’s Namibia Ultra winner. I had read his blog but didn’t make the connection at first, a modest guy it was evident however that he had done several big races, it turned out that Darren had been part of Team Men’s Health and in the last year had run in events as far apart as the Amazon to Namibia and beyond. This year however Darren would be returning not as a runner but as a member of the directing staff for Across The Divide working on the event logistics.
It was late afternoon as the sun started falling from the sky, we passed through the small town of Uis which was really no bigger than a dusty village in the middle of no-where when forty five minutes later Arrant turned off the road and we started to drive in to the desert. The sun had just set behind the Brandburg Mountain. The mountain gets its name ‘Burnt (or Fire) Mountain’ as the setting sun shining off its west face makes it look as if the mountain is on fire. It’s a remarkable sight.
Slowly in the distance we could make out a speck of light appear through the dust of the two other vehicles in our convoy in front of us, as it got larger we started to make out the silhouettes what looked like a giant military lorry and a large tent, then as we drew closer many smaller dome tents. Finally the coach stopped, the doors opened and wearily people climbed down into the dust laden night to collect their bags.
It was dark and as my bags were first on they were last out, so by the time I swung my Bergen over my back and lifted my Aarn pack most people were already in their tents and unpacking their sleeping bags. I walked around for a while looking for a spot to sleep and eventually found an empty space in a tent in which someone had already taken one of the mattresses. That sorted it was time to find a brew.
Next to the large mess tent was what I was looking for, I got a cup of tea and then joined everyone in the mess tent for the greeting and briefing.
Steve Clark the race director welcomed us and briefly introduced the team it was pitch dark in the tent and I couldn’t see him very well, he went through the medics and then pointed over to a giant of a man standing in the shadows next to the giant lorry. “This is Faan” Steve told us. Faan’s reputation had travelled across the planet before him, a Namibian, ex Special Forces; Faan has an air about him that commands instant respect. A big man, I never heard him raise his voice and he always was friendly, he has an aura about him, if he asks someone to do something I doubt he has ever had to ask twice. He radiates total competence.We were briefed on camp hygiene and shown how to use the two canvas wash basins one with water in it, the other with disinfectant, dip in one then the other and air dry... Simple!
After the brief we queued up and got some hot food and another cup of tea or coffee then most people quickly got their heads down. For many it had been a long journey, I had been in country for a couple of weeks now and was well rested so decided to stay up for a while. I chucked on a fleece against the chill night air and went and sat next to the fire that Faan’s team had built. Along the way I met CJ and Allie two young women from the UK who looked familiar. It turned out that they had both run on one of Rory’s events in the UK that I had also run in. CJ and Allie turned out to be full of surprises and it would seem to be their lives mission to break stereotypes. I would never have guessed that CJ had been an Artillery Officer or that both of them were rugby players!! As I got to know them however it became clear that appearances can be deceptive. Both of them had an amazing inner strength and tons of character and were great company. With them by the fire was Tom Adams, he came over to me as quietly confident and a good bloke with not an ounce of fat on him. Working for an Oil company Tom was heading up to Angola after the race and along with CJ and Allie had been in the country for a few days now. The conversations carried on into the night and eventually I decided to call it a night. I headed to the loo and afterwards started to make my way over to the canvas wash basins when all of a sudden Darren stopped me and turned me around, in the dark with the lights from the camp in my eyes I had not seen two closer canvas basins that I’d walked past. Embarrassed I explained that I was on my way to the ones on the other side of the mess tent.
I found my tent and opened it up, inside someone was sleeping and although I tried to be quite I managed to wake a sleeping Ryan. Ryan was from the states and was running the Marathon event. I said hi then zipped up and crashed out....
I opened my eyes and lay dead still.... There it was again, just on the other side of the canvas... “GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT....Snuuuffffffle!!!” “GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT....Snuuuffffffle!!!” Then something hit the side of the canvas firmly pushing against me.... “GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT....Snuuuffffffle!!!”
Shit! I had heard this noise before only a few days ago... It was a Honey Badger! Honey Badgers may sound sweet and fluffy but nothing can be further from the truth, they’re in the Guinness book of records as the most aggressive animal on the planet. When Top Gear went to Botswana Jeremy Clarkson said this of them ‘A Honey Badger does not kill you to eat you. It tears off your testicles’. Very reassuring; then again the side of the tent pushed against me “GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT....Snuuuffffffle!!!” They have an amazing strong sense of smell and when I was camping in Etosha they would raid the camp for food...FOOD!!! Oh no.... By the foot of my sleeping bag was a bag of biltong!!! Shit! It must be after my biltong!!! I swiftly sprang up into a sitting position “RYAN!“
“Yea?”
“Any second now a big animal is going to come through the door and go for that bag... Whatever you do DON’T try and stop it!”
Ryan was awake now... As we waited for the attack of the Honey Badger...
“I can hear it” I whispered
The silence in the tent could have been cut with a knife and we waited. Outside something pushed against the side of the tent again.
I reached for my torch and shone it through the mozzy net at the top of the tent but couldn’t see anything. Then it hit me... The biltong was vacuum packed and unopened. Surely it wouldn’t be able to smell that. “GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT....Snuuuffffffle!!!”
I shone the torch over to where the sound came from just as the ‘Honey badger’ turned over in their sleep.
“Err... I think that’s someone snoring next door” Ryan perceptively said.
Feeling like a prize idiot I lay down just as the tent pushed into me again, then on Ryan’s side the flap over the window lifted and slapped down hard in the wind. Oh boy!
Apologising to Ryan and feeling for the second time in one night acute embarrassment (mixed with relief) I lay back down to sleep. Maybe I was more tired than I realised after all.
Day Two....
Over the last couple of weeks my body clock has reset to Namibian time, not the actual time which is no different from the time in UK & Ireland but to the rhythm of the day. In Namibia the sunsets around 17:30 Hrs and almost immediately its pitch dark like the UK is at midnight, by 20:00 Hrs many people are going to bed then in the morning people are up by 05:30 Hrs and wide awake by 06:00 Hrs. I wake early and listen to the sounds of the camp around me, Faan’s staff is busy preparing breakfast and the occasional tent is unzipped as someone goes off to the thunder boxes. I lay there relaxing looking up at the beautiful blue African sky through the mossy netted top of the tent. I’ve been all over the world but there is something about the African sky, its bigger somehow. I want to get up but after disturbing poor Ryan’s sleep decide to keep as quite for as long as possible. A few minutes pass until I suddenly hear the sound of drums, now this may not be the deepest and darkest part of Africa but it is definitely the rhythmic sound of the Tabla that I can hear as it reverberates around the camp, the living beat gently stirring the deepest of sleepers. Ryan wakes and I apologise about the Honey badger, he’s very good about it and thankfully sees the funny side. I get out of my sleeping bag which I pack away and unzip the tent flap. The camp is now full of waking people and the sound of the drum comes from across the camp where Volker is patting the drum into a hypnotic tattoo.
I look around me and the view is spectacular, there is no place on earth I’d rather be. The Bran
dburg mountain is a couple of miles away next to the camp and away in the distance is another small hill the sky is so blue and cloudless it make you feel small. The desert is all around us and broken only by small rocks and tufts of dry grass. I get cleaned up and head off to my second favourite place in the camp, the coffee table. By night I love the fire and its my favourite place in the camp but by day I love being able to wander over to the small table with boiling water in vacuum flasks and tea and coffee and make myself a brew. I didn’t know if cutlery and plates and bowls etc would be provided and am happy to find that they are. The Namibia Ultramarathon is a very civil way to be in the desert. After a lovely breakfast it’s time for a walk, we all get ourselves sorted out and meet Volker by the mess tent before heading out on a familiarisation walk. So it’s off to the hill a couple of km away. Quickly we are spread out and I find myself walking up the front with Volker and Tamara, 
Tamara is from the USA and along with Angela has flown over to compete in the Marathon distance. Both of them are easy to talk to and good fun. Tamara and I chat as we walk along and listen to Volker as he explains everything from the geology of the area to the flora and fauna he is clearly passionate about his subject matter and fascinating to listen to. We stop by a euphorbia and wait for everyone to catch up, Volker explains that it’s not a Cacti and that is deadly poisonous. In times of old missionaries were wiped out in droves as they didn’t know about the plant and cooked their meat on it, the smoke was full of lethal toxins which then killed them. I had heard a similar story about fifteen city men who were clearing a site in Twyfelfontein in northern Namibia but the plant was different, I described it to Volker, “It’s the Impala Lilly” Volker told me, Bushmen use the sap of the Impala Lilly to poison their arrows with. The fifteen men died just the same as the missionaries. As we continue over the hill Volker tells me about his younger years in South Africa, the man has lived an interesting life through some of the most interesting pages of his country’s history. As we walk someone calls out from behind us, I turn to see the Namibian Viking Joakim laying on the floor, wondering what he is doing we walk over. Inches away from Joakim’s camera’s big lens in a horned adder. Its camouflage is perfect and whoever saw it did very well not to step on it. Sand colour with pale orange bands and two risen lumps or horns above its eyes it’s a beautiful albeit poisonous snake.
I’d been ‘chatting’ with Joakim over facebook for a while but had only met him today, a laid back Swedish guy with a great sense of humour this would be Joakim’s third Namibia Ultramarathon, he was keen to make it a good one. With some snaky snaps on the memory card we headed back to camp. It was amazing just how quickly the camp had vanished in the vastness of the desert, even the coach and Faan’s giant truck soon had become invisible. If we got lost it would be hard going for a search party that is for sure.After lunch we gathered in the mess tent for the medical briefing, in which Amy terrified us like a group of children being told ghost stories around a camp fire. Tales of marathon runners who died from Hyponatremia, Hyperthermia, Hypothermia, Hypoglycaemia in fact anything in Latin beginning with an H. As she educated us on the terrors that could befall us Darren recorded the moment from behind her with his camera. After the very thorough medical
brief we had a race brief by Steve and a kit check then we had some time to ourselves to let it all really sink in. This event is not to be taken lightly but with the right preparation is totally possible.As most of us relaxed in the shade and soaked up the desolate beauty of our surroundings and became better acquainted with each other there was one exception; Alex ....... I had met Alex the day before and got to know him better on the familiarisation walk in the morning. A softly spoken, tall ever smiling Canadian with a great positive outlook on life I liked him from the moment I met him. Alex had travelled to Namibia with his Mum Liz who would be helping with the directing staff, also a joy to have around, the two of them made for great company. Once we had some time to ourselves Alex disappeared into his tent only to reappear wearing his running kit. People exchanged glances, everyone thinking the same thing... ‘In a matter of hours we would all be lined up on the start line to run 126 Km, and this guy is going for a run?’ Not only that but it was near midday and the heat was getting up and the east wind brought the hottest of wind sweeping across the desert from the interior... and he was going for a run???
Off Alex went at quite a pace, it seemed a little crazy so say the least, I wondered how he would be if and when he got back. As the minutes ticked on people would look out into the desert and occasionally I’d hear someone ask if Alex was back yet. After an hour I found myself wondering if he was ok. Then a few minutes later a speck on the horizon slowly appearing and disappearing in the heat haze becoming slowly bigger until the tall ranging frame of Alex could be made out. He came back into camp and slowed down to a halt. Someone went and spoke to him and within minutes the news had gone around the camp that Alex had just run nine miles in one hour ten minutes! “Bloody hell” I wondered how he would feel the next day. Alex had really enjoyed his run and brought back some interesting feedback on the first few miles of the course. He looked as fresh as when he had started out and I began to quietly wonder just how I would fare tomorrow, one thing was for sure I wouldn’t be running anywhere near that pace.
Later on I bumped into Amy, I told her how impressed I was with the medical support available, not only was there one doctor for eight runners but we had all been assigned to a doctor for pre and post race care. On top of which the medics were all the right kind of medics. No use being stuck in the desert with an endocrinologist or an urologist. I had had a chance to speak with Chris and Rodger (who I was assigned to) and also to Dave and Paulo. Chris is a big guy and larger than life character an A&E doctor like Rodger who would be heading up to Scotland after the event to take up a Consultant position in emergency medicine. Paulo and Dave are Paramedics, Paulo a quiet thoughtful Namibian who works in emergency care in Windhoek and Dave a big guy with a big personality who is an air ambulance Paramedic, you just knew that if the last face you saw before you lost consciousness was his, you’d most likely be ok. All of the medical team were very likable, very approachable and very helpful. I don’t know who had picked them but they had done a bloody good job.
It had been quite hot during the last part of our walk and at mid day it spiked before gradually dropping from around 1430hrs onwards. As the evening approached the temperature continued to fall until by the time sunset at 1735 Hrs I was wearing a fleece again.
The camp takes on a different feel by night, people are more alone with their thoughts and the nerves of what tomorrow may bring begins to nag, tugging gently at the edge of your mind.
Dinner was great, Faan’s team were fantastic and the food was delicious, to the point where someone actually asked if the chef had published a cook book!
After dinner some people headed off to their tents and some of us by the fire. The directing staff had their meeting about the next day. I had eaten by the fire, which was lovely. Happily contented I read some of my book and drank a can of juice. The camp operated an honour bar where you helped yourself to drinks from the cooler and ticked it against your name on a sheet next to it.
Volker tried to get me to play his drum and although I tried I couldn’t help remarking on how much I sounded like the shabby hippy that used to hang out at Brixton tube station driving people crazy with his bongos. So I passed it over to Joakim to have a go. By the fire I met John Peck who was cheerfully answering questions from the Bowyer boys Gavin and Justin about his adventures. John Peck is ‘some man for one man’ as they say in Ireland; he has a youthfulness of character and spirit that makes it hard to guess at his age. He has run the MdS, rowed the Atlantic, been a high ranking Police officer and has been married for around 40 years! Inspirational is a word that fits him well. He also happens to be a very engaging speaker and he regaled us into the night by the fire with tales of his escapades.
As I turned in that night I was excited and a bit apprehensive, tomorrow morning would be the culmination of a year of hard work. I’d run 1,500 miles over that time in preparation for this race and now it would happen tomorrow morning. Sleep didn’t come quickly.
Day Three RACE DAY!
I was awake with the sun this morning; there was a tension that I could detect throughout the camp yet only Faan’s team could be heard over by the fire starting breakfast. I lay there in my sleeping bag not wanting to get up too quickly but trying to make the most of the chance to lay flat and relax knowing that once I got up I would not sleep or relax for twenty four hours. I mentally went through some relaxation exercises but was already feeling wired with excitement. As I lay there the smell of Gemsbok meat slowly cooking over the open fire played around my nostrils and teased my stomach into a growling appreciation. Eventually I couldn’t lay there a moment longer and climbed out of my bag and unzipped my tent. Another beautiful African blue sky greeted me; I in turn greeted Faan’s team in Afrikaans as I past them busily cooking Gemsbok boerwors and toast. The sound of my tent zip being undone seemed to replace Volker’s early morning drum call this morning and within minutes the whole camp was up and getting ready. I went and got a brew and something to eat. After eating we had to go through our race kit and check that we had everything. Darren issued heliographs, survival blankets and orange whistles to anyone who needed them. We had been given our race hydration cards on which a record at every checkpoint would be made of our water intake. At the race brief the evening before it had been explained to us that we would be weighed at the check points to ensure that we were not losing too much weight; if we were the medics could and would pull us.
I climbed into my tent and began to get changed into my race kit. I had trained throughout the year in Skins compression wear and would be running the race in a new type of Skins. I would actually be breaking a rule of mine ‘do not try anything new in a race that you haven’t tried in training’. These Skins were called ICE Skins and were impregnated with a chemical which allegedly would help keep me cool in the hottest of climates. They were however white, bright white. I pulled them on (contrary to rumours that I actually had them sprayed on) put a buff over my head and on to my neck to protect it from the sun and climbed out of the tent. Now if you intend to wear such an outfit you must be prepared to take the banter that will inevitably follow. “Bloody hell it’s the Silver Surfer!”... “Wow! You look like a snowman” and repeated calls of “It’s an angel” met me as I wandered over to get a drink. It was all in good hum
our and made me laugh. To top off my eclectic look I wore a bush hat on my head and a pair of Oakley wraparounds on my face. Yes, I looked proper special. But even though I may not have looked cool I hoped I would feel it. After all who the hell would see me out in the middle of a desert? (Actually everyone could see me for miles!)I went through my race pack several times trying to make a last minute decision on my nutrition. I had brought an enormous number of gels, gloop and dehydrated Expedition Foods and now had to make some tough choices. Too few calories and I would be bonking on empty before halfway through the race, too many and I most likely wouldn’t eat them and would just be carrying more kilos. I went over and had a chat with Justin Bowyer interested in what his strategy might be. Justin and Gavin are brothers and both Ultrarunners, both were running in this year’s Namibia Ultramarathon. After a good talk with Justin and Darren and Tom and bit of a think I decided that I was carrying way to much dehydrated food. I ditched most of the expedition food taking only a Chicken Tikka for emergencies and a ‘porridge and sultana’ bag to eat at CP6 where hot water would be available. I love porridge and sultanas and so it would be a treat as well as a good motivational tool to use to propel me forwards in any dark patches I went through. I took the carbohydrate bars and some protein bars and several gels. Best of all was the pack of Jelly babies and pack of Tangtastics that I would chew on the run. My water would be laced with Nuun tablets to replenish the salts that I would lose as I sweated in the course of the run. I packed away my knife and flint and mandatory GPS; I never actually used the GPS but in case of emergency at least I had it with me. In went my first aid kit and sleeping bag. A fleece for the night and other mandatory items followed. By the time I was ready for the weigh in and had filled my water bottles my pack weighed around 10Kg. I would be running with two 1.5 Ltr bottles and a spare in the back in case I needed it on the longer sections between the night time checkpoints.
Once I was weighed I took off my race pack and having finally decided on exactly where to pin my race number ‘22’ I went over and sat in the shade of the mess tent with the others. There was a nervous energy running through everyone. The Medics and logistics team busied themselves running around completing final tasks before the off. Vehicles seemed to come and go on errands and a line of quad bikes were lined up ready for the go. The Medics would use them to traverse the field with their emergency kits on the back of them. Gradually the banter and chatter was replaced by a quietness that fell upon the runners as one by one we sat together alone with our thoughts, many staring out in silence at the start line and beyond.
That final hour before the race seemed to stretch forever. Alex sat there smiling in a blue and white race top looking as if he could run forever, Tom in his black and orange running kit still looked quietly confident with a suggestion of a smile on his face. I looked around at the others, they all looked fit and ready. I felt excitement and exhilaration, I remember thinking that I was about to fulfil a dream that I had worked hard for a year to complete. I thought about the training runs I had made, and the people who I had met along the way of this incredible journey. Rory who had beasted me into shape in the gym and given me the plan to continue the work, Thomas who had run with me on the 45/45 and again in Belfast and Tom who had hopped up and down stairs over a train track with me on a freezing morning with Rory. I remembered meeting Eddie Izzard in Dublin and our chat about ultra running... I looked at my watch and only two minutes had passed.
As the time approached everyone started to check the little bits of equipment in their kit, made final adjustments to race pack straps and shoe laces. It reminded me of the atmosphere in a plane just as we go on the jump run, excitement building. Ten minutes to the start we all get up and walk the fifty metres to the start line. Photos are taken; jokes are made as we get ready to run. I think about what happened last year, a helicopter had been present filming the event and when the shot went off everyone made off at an incredible pace to the detriment of many a runner. I remembered watching it at Rory’s house and him saying “What won’t you do when the gun goes off?”
Faan appeared to our right and silence fell, in his hand was a hand cannon of note.
“I will fire a shot to start the race” He declared in a voice that had covered many a parade ground,
“If a runner makes a false start” He pauses and looks at Joakim who in his eagerness last year had been a bit swift away from the start “I will fire a second shot.... At him!” There is a chorus of laughter with a hint of nervousness about it. Joakim laughs, it has become a tradition that he sprints off into the lead in the first fifty meters and I’m looking forward to seeing him do it. For a laugh I decide to adopt a sprinters starting position. Silence falls and Faan’s arm is pointing upwards suddenly there is a booming bang from Faan’s hand cannon, I wonder if he might bring down a satellite with the round... We are off! For the first time Joakim doesn’t sprint off into the lead, I’m not surprised after Faan’s warning. Tom, Alex and Stuart are setting a quick pace and lope off into the lead the rest of us soo
n spread out into an extended field behind them. The temptation to run off chasing the lead pack is almost too much to resist but I know it would be the kiss of death for my chances of completing the race. “Run your own race” I tell myself.My pack rhythmically shifts up and down on my back, my water bottles shift in their front pouches and I breathe deeply and slowly trying to get myself into the zone as quickly as possible. It’s difficult as I’m so excited and the scenery is amazingly stimulating. After days of looking at the same picture it is like someone has pressed the play button on the big screen around the horizon as it begins to shift. The Brandburg Mountain to our right begins to reveal itself as we run on. I’m looking down and in front scanning the ground ahead of me to ensure that I don’t put my foot down an armadillo hole or step on a snake basking in the morning sun. Next to me I see Tamara running and I take a picture of her to add to the collection of portraits I’m slowly collecting. Tanya is ahead of me and then behind me only to pass me again a short time later. I look ahead and the field is now spread over a kilometre. I run on, I’m over the moon to be here.
Its amazing how quickly CP1 comes up on us, its a red garden gazebo with water in a jerry can on a table in the desert, next to it is a 4x4 or ‘bucky’ as they’re called in this part of the world. Sitting on top is Amy in her bush hat meeting us with a big smile. We quickly fill our water and head out again. I had already decided that I would not be hanging around the check points. My goal was to finish the Namibia Ultra in less than 24 hours; I know I can do it so long as I keep moving. I also intend to enjoy every moment of it.
The ground underfoot changes constantly, from hard packed sand covered in gravel to sheets of rock in places then back again. The seeds from the patches of dried grass come off and stick into my socks and irritate like tiny lances. Thankfully I quickly identify the worse culprits and avoid those patches. I run on feeling strong, from the moment that Faan had attempted to knock out Sputniks modern day equivalent I had been running on my own in fact almost everyone had been. I knew this would be the case and so had trained on my own on my long runs so that I wouldn’t be dependent on company, I had run without a iPod for similar reasons.
The sound of the wind lightly blowing across the desert is the only sound I can hear other than the sound of my breathing and the gentle slap, slap, slap of my race pack on my back. The second check point eventually comes up and again I go through as quickly as possible, at this one we were weighted and I had lost 1.5 Kg. I make a mental note to increase my fluid intake and head off passing again three runners who had passed me earlier on. I had worked out the optimal fluid intake for me; Rory had advised me months ago the he took six sips every fifteen minutes on the MdS. This is what I had trained to do and now it is what I do. Every fifteen minutes I take six sips from my water bottles. At first it I am tempted to drink from alternative bottles but quickly realised that it increases the difficulty in working out exactly how much I had drank between check points when asked by the Medics. Every ten minutes past the hour I eat a third of a power bar or protein bar which I really began to look forwards to. It becomes the highlight of my hour as I run on.
There is a stretch of the course just before I reach the 42.2 Km mark where I found myself running through a dried up river bed. Here the ground under foot is soft ankle deep sand; I experiment running next to the river bed but that doesn’t really help as my feet keep going through the hard crust into the soft sand beneath. The sun is high in the sky by now and the heat is rising above 40 degrees. The Skins I am wearing are working well on the top helping to keep me cool, but the leggings aren’t all that good and in all honesty I would not use the ICE Skins leggings again as I don’t feel any benefit from them over regular Skins leggings.
As I run along into the crater I meet Amy and Paulo in the bucky driving along checking on the runners. “How are you doing?” I asked her, she laughed and told me that she is supposed to be asking me that. Darren comes along on a quad bike and asked how I’m doing, I am hot and dusty and my sh
oes keep filling with dust and sand but I am happy. I’m running in God’s own country, life doesn’t get any better than this I think to myself.At check point four I was pleased to have reached the marathon point, I get there to find a happy Ryan who had just completed his race; after congratulating him, getting weighed and refilling my water bottles I head out again. Stevie and Tanya had just headed out of the check point together as I has arrived and are clearly making a good team as they began to get a head of steam on and move up the field.
As I cross the crater and started to climb out of it the sun is beginning to sink in the sky. The stretch from CP5 to CP6 is a long slog that seemed never ending, I had been told at CP5 that it was 10K to CP6 but it actually turns out to be 12Km. I realise that it has to be a mistake as there was no sign of the check point by the time I had covered nine KM so began to go easy on my water as I am not sure how long it will have to last.
I tell the passing of the time as my shadow grows further and further away from me until at last it leaves me altogether and the sun on my left is replaced by the moon on my right. I now start to eat the Jelly babies as well as the bite of the bar every hour. Four jelly babies would meet their fate every hour until either I had finished the race or they had run out.
At first the temperature was not too cool but not more than an hour or two after the sun went down the temperature began to drop quickly. By the time I had climbed to CP6 it was freezing cold. I arrive at the check point to find big Dave the paramedic waiting there to greet me. I couldn’t believe the poor guy had pulled the short straw with this CP. It was the top of a saddle between two high ridges on the edge of the crater. “How are you doing?” I ask him, he looks frozen. I make a joke about the runners having to check the medics for signs of hypothermia as he weighs me and notes my water intake. Quickly I get my water proof smock out and throw it over the fleece that I had already put on an hour ago. As I did this Dave kindly offers to pour some hot water into the Expedition meals ‘porridge and sultana’ bag for me. I have to say that I’m chuffed to bits that he does this as my hands are having difficulty moving properly due to the cold, I would have been able to do it but it would have been a mission. I reseal the bag and leave if for five minutes to stand. I get my shoes off and knock out the sand and bits of grit that have managed to find their way in. My socks are the same colour as the earth a dusty red and are by now filthy. I take them off one at a time and rub my feet which are a bit sore; the freezing wind on them feels great. Digging around in my pack I fish out a lovely new clean pair of socks and put them on....Bliss, shear bliss. Having stowed my kit I move over to where the water heater is stood, it kicks out some warmth and its a pleasure to get close to it. Also in the check point are Jason, Karen, Hentie and Kobus. Jason is a RAF Officer and has come out to Namiba on his own he’s putting in a good show, as a mountain leader he had spent some time in the hills and was doing well working away with a pair of Nordic poles. We exchange greetings and then he cracks on.
Hentie, Karen and Kobus are looking like I feel, cold and tired but in good spirits. Kobus and I stand next to the water heater together trying to get some warmth while my food prepares and Kobus smokes his pipe... Kobus is quite a character, in previous years he worked with Faan’s team on the logistics for the race but this year he has decided to take part and do the Ultramarathon. To say that Kobus is stoic would be a bit of an understatement. He entered the Ultra having only run 10K previously, (despite urinating blood during the race just kept on going, he later said about discovering that he was passing blood ‘it was a relatively bad sign’ He would keep his spirits up by smoking his pipe. Kobus was truly heroic.)
I love porridge with sultanas it is one of my favourite pre long run foods, so as you can imagine I was very happy about the fact that I would be celebrating getting to checkpoint six with a great big 800kCal energy boosting bag of the stuff. For miles I had been thinking of the moment that I would get to eat this wonderful fare. I picked up the bag and in the dark prised open the edges of the resealed bag and looked in. What I saw didn’t fill me with warm fluffiness. It looked like plaster that had fallen into a bucket of water. I dipped my racing spoon into the bag and lifted out an anaemic looking dripping spoonful of white gloop. Hoping for the best I put it in my mouth and made the mistake of letting it hit my tongue. It tasted like wall paper paste. Even the two sultanas that I found in the bag were vile. “How the hell can someone mess up porridge and sultanas?” I wondered out loud. Oh well, it was warm and even if it tasted like something out of a DIY shop it was energy and I needed to get it down my neck quickly. In fact the quicker the better, as it was truly nasty. I found that if I stopped thinking of it as food and just as energy I could swallow it without gagging. I downed the lot and drank whatever watery plaster tasting fluid was at the bottom of the bag. I made a mental note not to buy it ever again and saying goodbye to Dave headed off.
As soon as I got off the check point and over the ridge of the crater the wind died down a bit and it felt warmer, this was also probably due to the pollyfiller paste I had just eaten as it began to get into my depleted system.
Soon I was in a good rhythm again and working away at the mileage. After twenty minutes or so I had a strange feeling that I was being watched. It was by now early morning and so initially I wondered if sleep deprivation was playing tricks on me. Then I looked over to my right and saw something lower and dark moving shadow like parallel to me about 30 metres away. I slowed to a walking pace and looked again. There was a dark shadow out there and I was certain that it was an animal. I lifted the torch from where it hung around my neck and aimed it in the direction of the shadow before turning it on. The creature ducked down and turned its head towards me its eyes lighting up in the dark. It was a cat just below knee high and powerful looking, its ears were pointed. I had seen a Caracal (a Lynx) only a few days ago. It looked too big to be a Serval which I have also seen before. Either way I would not be on its menu. Thankful that it hadn’t been a leopard or a pack of spotted hyena I cracked on. As I had been running through the crater I had seen spotted hyena tracks, you can tell them apart from brown hyena by the great difference in size between the large front paws and the small rear paws. Unlike their Brown counterparts Spotted Hyena does hunt and in a pack could be a problem. As I carried on I couldn’t help look over my shoulder the animal followed me paralleling next to me for about 50 meters or so before climbing back into the hill.
This was a long dark period as the night and tiredness seemed to magnify the distances between the check points. The light of the next check point would appear in the distance only to disappear as I ran into a dip and then reappear again, so far away. For ages I would run on towards the light of that check point my spirits raising as I approached only for them to be dashed with the realisation that it was in fact a bucky miles away in the distance checking on the runners. Amy appeared out of the dark cold night, “How are you doing?” I asked her. She laughed and said she was doing fine and asked how I was. Now that I was away from the crater I was running across flat featureless desert. “This is crap” I said, “I’m not coming here again, call this a beach? No Ice creams, no donkeys and I can’t even see the sea!” I replied; Amy laughs again, “Well you will soon” she said and with some encouraging words drove away. She was right, I could hear the sound of the sea now, and it picked my spirits up, if I could hear the sea then I was not too far away and the end would soon be in sight. I started jogging on. From check point 8 to check point 9 was very hard going. The compacted sand was as tough as concrete and my feet which had been sore at check point 6 were now developing big impact blisters, simply from the repeated action of pounding the soles of my feet for hours and hours on end. By the time I hobbled into check point 9 I was in some pain. Ruth the Medic was there with Gary, one of Faan’s team. Trudy who had been behind me came in to the checkpoint just after me and went through quickly. Having filled up my water and given my water intake details Ruth asked how I was doing, “Your time has dropped off in the last stretch” she told me “but you are still well within the time and should not have a problem here in as its only another 20Km” The news cheered me no end and I had no doubt that I would make it but also no illusion that it would be anything other than very painful. I told her that it felt as if someone had knocked the burning ends off a cigarette into each of my shoes and that burning embers were both under the balls of each foot. Ruth offered to take a look. “Yep! Impact blisters, big ones. I can lance them and tape them if you like?” I have to admit that I wasn’t overly keen on the idea, but then again I knew that they would only get worse if not. “OK, thanks” I accepted.
Ruth sat me on the vehicle and proceeded to produce a sterile scalpel from a bag, I clenched my teeth and hoped for the best as she pushed the blade into first one then the other sole of my foot. What appeared to be a straw coloured liquid spurted out and Ruth then taped the soles of my feet and I replaced my shoes. Right only 20K to go and around four hours to get it done. Lets go! I hobbled out of the check point the pain was just as bad if not worse than before, I pressed on with the knowledge that it could only get better as my mind blocked out the pain. In all honesty I was unable to run at this point, I tried and could only manage a bent kneed hobble so decided to just try and speed walk it. With every step I experimented with landing on a different part of my foot looking for a less painful way of moving. Eventually I just decided that there was no good option and I just had to go for it and man up.
I was walking down the Skeleton Coastal road heading south; I was very tired and worked hard at keeping awake and keeping moving. I thought about the children in Ireland who would use the hospice and how my pain was nothing in comparison. As I walked the sea was on my right and the desert on my left, in the early morning rock slat sellers were setting up their stands by the side of the road. I started feeling better and began to attempt to jog, I’d manage a hundred meters and have to walk for two then try again. Ruth & Gary drove up alongside me and asked how I was doing a couple of times. It was tough going. In between check point 8 & 9 I had hallucinated and had seen big elephants running around, I knew they were hallucinations though even as I was looking at them they would simply vanish, it didn’t last for very long though and had been amusing at the time. Thankfully now I was not hallucinating as it was all I could do to keep awake and moving. At one point I was jogging along by the side of the road by a roadside salt stall, all of a sudden my body jerked and jolted I was freaked out by it and realised that I was now standing in the middle of the road and the stall was about 20 metres behind me, I had been sleeping as I ran. This happened at least two or three times and was quite frankly scary. As the su
n began to rise fishermen in big powerful buckys with poles on the front of their cars would approach down the dirt road at speeds of up to 160kmh and fly past me. Ruth was so concerned that she decorated me like a Christmas tree hanging cylume glow sticks off me so that the cars might see me in the gloom of the morning.I was aware that I was moving slower and had to pick up the pace, I had held back in the first third of the race and then in the second to conserve energy for the third where I had planned to open up the throttle but the simple truth was that I had nothing in reserve. My feet were trashed and when the time came to put on the power I had been on my feet for so long that the impact blisters had really reduced my effective speed which just made matters worse. In hindsight I should have picked up the speed in the second part of the race, but hindsight is 20/20.
About five Km from the end of the race a silver car approached, I was by this time managing to run walk again. The window wound down and a lady popped her head out, I was surprised to see it was a mature white lady and expecting an Afrikaans accent was even more surprised when in an educated English accent she said “Keep going, you’re almost there! They’re all waiting for you!” I wondered if I had started hallucinating again. Then the car drove off, wondering who the heck that was and if I had just had a really realistic hallucination or not I cracked on. It was only later that I would learn that it was Allie’s Mum and Dad in the car.
I started to run again, and I was bonking big time I started shovelling Tantastics down my neck like a kid left alone in a sweet shop. I checked my watch, the last 20Km had taken forever. I had to really get moving I started to speed march again as best as I could alternating between running and walking quickly. I could still do it but couldn’t let up now. Eventually I rounded a corner to see a car parked up on the horizon and jogged steadily towards it. As I approach Chris the medic walked towards me to greet me. “It’s another 2Km to the finish Jamile, you’re got 30 mins to get there.” There he asked if I would mind if he ran beside me, I was very pleased and said yes. Together we ran as best as I could down the final two kilometres talking as best as I could as we ran. I was totally zapped but the thought of finishing in less than 24 hours and achieving my goal gave me energy from some hidden reserve that I had previously not known about. As I entered the last 500 metres of the race I could see all the other competitors and staff gathering and as I approached I could hear them cheering and clapping spurring me on. That sight will stay with me forever and is the most motivational thing I have ever experienced in my life. Chris peeled away at the last moment to let me cross the finish line. I was in a total state of contentedness, I was totally spent. I think it was Dave who put the finishers medal around my neck. People were hugging me and congratulating me I was overwhelmed and sat there trying to take it all in.
My feet were shot, I had micro tears in my right Achilles Tendon which felt like it was made of piano wire and I hadn’t slept in 27 hours. I had been running for 23 hours and 50 minutes and had completed my goal of completing the Across the Divide 2010 Namibia Ultramarathon, 126 km in less than 24 hours. There was no feeling like it; only 35 other people in the world have ever completed it.
