Route 27 Ultra Runners

On 26th March 2009, Simon Wrenn, a senior manager from Hertfordshire, began a marathon adventure that would take him from Sahara to Arctic in less than two weeks, with a couple of fun runs thrown in. This is his story:

Okay, so the plan was to complete the Marathon des Sables, then leap on a plane and fly up to the North Pole and do the North Pole marathon. There were, in retrospect, several flaws in the plan!

The main one being my rather shoddy training.

I arrived in Ouzarzate airport on the cramped Monarch charter flight with all the other British competitors, I was disappointed to notice that there was one fellow Brit who was fatter than me, but I eventually managed to put this disappointment behind me.

After a lengthy queue (the first of many) I made my way through passport control and on the bus to the hotel. We stayed in the hotel for a day before heading off to the camp.

On the 7 hour bus journey to the first camp the weather gradually got worse and worse, the rain poured down heavily and the sky was dark and moody looking. I assumed, through ignorance, that this was just because we were in the mountains and that once we reached the desert we would be greeted with sweltering dry heat.

My first proper view of the Sahara, was a view of muddy water and sludge stretching out as far as I could see in every direction. I felt rather cheated! I had envisaged something from Lawrence of Arabia, but this was closer to Blackadder Goes Forth. My second thought was that the Africans should clearly consider growing rice in the Sahara.

After an unexplained 2 hour wait, we hauled all our luggage off the busses and onto some military trucks that would drive us through the mud to the camp.

When we arrived at the camp, things looked pretty bad. Firstly, no other nations, including any of the organisers had managed to reach the camp. They were all stuck in the mountains because several of the roads were flooded and impassable. Secondly, the ground was so muddy underfoot; you couldn’t even walk in it. The idea of trying to cover 150 miles on terrain like this was just obviously impossible. In addition we knew that much of the route was due to be run along dry riverbeds, which were now, well, not dry. But the worst and more immediate problems were the tents. Now, the tents are not really tents, they do not have ground sheets and are not sealed units. They are basically a non waterproof piece of canvas draped over some sticks and open on two sides. They then have two rugs on the ground to keep you off the desert floor. Obviously, all of this was completely soaked and many of the rugs in many of the tents were entirely submerged in water. It was also rather cold, I began to wish that I’d brought my north pole gear to the desert.

After a couple of hours of us trying to steal blankets from other tents to attempt to make our tent in someway dry and habitable, the organisers approached us to say that the camp was being evacuated and that we were being moved to a hotel. Bonus!

So, a few hours later, we were back on the trucks and being driven to the nearest hotel, which, amazingly, had space for an unexpected 250 muddy guests. We checked in, got given dinner and settled in for the wait to find out what was going on.

It was eventually decided that the organisers would cancel stage one. Another bonus, the more they cut it down the greater my chance of finishing!

Anyway, after quite a lot of waiting around and stuffing ourselves with hotel food, we eventually came to the race day. We were bussed from the hotel to the start line. Ahead of us lay 33km, of which a significant amount was sand dunes. We gathered on the line while Patrick Bauer the race organiser bleated on and sang happy birthday individually, to what seemed like half the population of the northern hemisphere. And then we were off, the helicopter hovering above and swooping down on us whilst filming. You really can’t beat a helicopter for adding atmosphere to an event.

A couple of kilometres of hard rock and then we were into the dunes. They were everything I had hoped they, they stretched out in all directions as far as I could see. They were beautiful. But they did get a bit tricky to cover on foot after a while, especially climbing up the large ones. I decided to myself that every time I had to climb a large sand dune I would tell myself how much I enjoyed it, in the hope that my rather simple brain would be deceived.

After about 3 hours we came out of the dunes and the day continued. I finished in a rather slow time having walked it all, but I was extremely happy to have made it in reasonable shape.

All but one of my tent mates were already in the camp and preparing food. My tent mates were Jo, Zuppy, Tired Legs (Theresa), Adam an Australian living in Madrid and Chris a student in Edinburgh.  Theresa was still out on the course.

I settled down on my thermarest, a comfy inflatable light weight sleeping mat thingy, got out my food and started to apologise in advance for my snoring.

A couple of hours later Theresa arrived, she had found it quite tricky, especially being out there in the dark, but she’d made it and we were all pleased. We then settled down for what was easily the worst night’s sleep I’ve ever had. Although I did manage to sleep enough to annoy everyone with my snoring.

We all got ready and got up and set off for the second stage of 36km. I did not feel too good, but I was not overly worried. The plan for today was to take it as easy as possible as I knew that tomorrow’s long stage of 50 miles was where I was going to have to use all my energy, both physical and mental. Towards the end of the 36km I started to slow up really badly and I was pretty disappointed with how long it took me. I felt really drained at the end of it and desperately tried not to think about tomorrows 50 miler.

Again I was second to last getting back to the tent, the others had all been there for a couple of hours at least. But they were all very kind and started to naturally form into their roles as group carer for the tent imbecile. I don’t really know how I manage to always be the idiot that needs looking after, but I always am. I shall always be extremely grateful to you all for your help. At least I provided you all with amusement, in a jester styley!

After I’d been back a couple of hours there was still no sign of Theresa, this was quite worrying as it was dark and the cut off was nearing. We then learned that she was behind cut off time and had been pulled off the course. This was a big disappointment for the tent as well obviously as Theresa. She decided to stay with us for the duration of the race though which was great.

We then learned late in the evening that tomorrow’s planned 50 miler had been altered; it was now to be a 56 miler, with a 36 hour cut off. I know that may not seem like a big difference, but for me it was a massive blow. I had spent the evening talking myself into believing I could get round 50 miles, but I could not get my head around doing 56miles. I really felt as if someone had come along and told me that the medal was now out of my reach and that I shouldn’t bother trying.

I went to bed and gave myself a pretty serious talking to and told myself to stop being such a pussy. By the time I got up in the morning I knew that today was the greatest opportunity I’d ever had to have the best day of my life. I’d also decided that I didn’t give a shit how far it was, if I reached the end of the 56miler and they told me I had to run back and do it again, then that was what I’d do. So I started the long day at a run, my first of the week. It didn’t seem too sensible at the time, but I was just desperate to get some distance in the bag.

After an hour or so when I was on a walk break, a chap overtook me walking quite fast, I decided I would try and stay with him as he was clearly walking faster than I wanted to. His name was Quentin and I stuck with him for almost all of the stage.

We decided to push on as much as we could and cover as much distance as possible before nightfall. The plan was then to sleep as little as possible and get back to maximise the rest day.

After about 12 hours we stopped to cook some food, I had to broach the rather delicate subject that I had ditched my cooker and fuel and had no means of cooking anything. Quentin very generously let me use 3 of his fuel tablets to make my dinner. After about 40 minutes of our self imposed 60 minute dinner break, Quentin said that he was getting quite comfy and was starting to contemplate staying for longer. I suggested that we should probably leave immediately before we got any more comfy. So we got up and set off. It was then that I realised that my feet were quite sore, I’d not looked at them at all during the day and I knew I had several blisters, but standing up on them after 12 hours was almost unbearable. The terrain was extremely rocky and sharp, each step was agony and trying to compensate for the uneven ground made it even more painful. After about 30 minutes of moving though the throbbing subsided to a manageable level.

Things then started to go downhill, we had more sand dunes, which were tricky to negotiate in the dark and then we came to what I can only describe as a mountain. I felt rather cheated about this, the longest stage ever on the MdS and they put a fucking mountain in it! I decided that the organisers were not very nice people.

It was pretty treacherous to climb in the night and extremely demanding. Once we got over it we then had to start on sand dunes again. Sand dunes in the dark are pretty frustrating, you cant tell how high they are and you cant tell if you are walking in the right direction or not. Also when you reach the top of them you can’t tell how many more there are to go. I decided that the checkpoint must be close now and that I would have to have a sleep when we reached it. I was almost out of water too, but I was confident the checkpoint was close. But it never appeared, I started to get really thirsty as I rationed my water and then I started to worry in a big style that I was not going to make it there. We trudged on through the silent desert night and eventually I saw some lights ahead, I stared at the ground ahead of me, not wanting to look and see if it was actually the checkpoint as the disappointment would be massive if it wasn’t. I counted to 100 and then looked again. Sure enough it was the checkpoint. We arrived and looked for a place in one of the tents. They were all full so we lay straight on the ground and got into the sleeping bags.

I was absolutely exhausted and badly dehydrated. We decided that we should sleep for less than an hour so Quentin set his alarm. As soon as I did up my sleeping bag I started to get cramp, first in my feet, then legs and then my back. I decided that I should probably drink some water/nuun. So I got back up and drank as much as I could. The temperature had now dropped and getting out of my sleeping bag started me shivering immediately. An hour later, Quentin woke me, I poked my head out of my sleeping bag, it was 3am, absolutely freezing and there was what seemed to me, a sand storm raging. I suggested, possibly somewhat impolitely, that if Quentin left now he would do so on his own. So we settled down for another 2 hours before Quentin woke me again. I needed to piss quite badly now but was too cold to get out of my sleeping bag, so I unzipped it from the bottom and pissed out of my sleeping bag. I fear my aim was perhaps quite poor and my sleeping bag remains unpacked on the living room floor.

Quentin then forced me to stop being a big girl and get up, I am extremely grateful to him for this as I don’t think I’d have managed it without him.

We then set off to complete the remaining 25km Once again my feet were almost unbearably painful to begin with but they settled down once I got going.

Eventually, after just under 26 hours, I completed the stage. I was completely empty but really pleased with myself. As usual I was last back to the tent, the others having completed, in some cases, over 10 hours quicker than me.

I woke up the following morning, the last stage of the MdS, just a marathon to do. I tried to sit up and realised it was going to be a long day. I had painful stomach cramps and felt quite sick. I got up, puked, and then sat back down. I felt really odd as if I was dreaming and really rather unsure of what I was doing. After a while the Berbers came round to dismantle the tents and I was not really ready. I had not finished dealing with my blisters and just was generally rather confused. I tried to snap out of it but couldn’t. I decided that I would need all the help I could get so threw away everything that was not compulsory kit. Including my suntan lotion and comfy thermarest. Even though I had 2 more days in the sun and would be sleeping another night in the tents. I was not thinking too clearly. I also was unable to eat any breakfast, so I ditched all my remaining food.

I set off on the marathon genuinely concerned that I was not going to finish it. My confidence was not helped when at the first checkpoint I was caught up with a guy on crutches! As the day wore on I tried to eat but just gagged every time I looked at the food. I stopped in the medical tent for anti sickness tablets which helped with the nausea, but didn’t help me to eat. In the end, the marathon stage took me 10 hours and 15 minutes. I don’t really remember much about it except that I couldn’t listen to music and I couldn’t think about anything other than the race I was in. In the end I resorted to counting to 100 over and over again. When I crossed the line I thought back to all the times I had imagined this moment. I’ve always been interested in the MdS and knew quite a lot about it before I’d ever run a mile. It has always been the race that I felt I wouldn’t be able to do because I hate sand, I hate the heat and I am useless at doing consecutive days. And here I was, on the finish line, I thought back to all the training and time I had spent building up to this moment it and I didn’t feel one ounce of pleasure or satisfaction, just massive relief that it was over. Which is a bit sad really.

I then collected my water bottles; this was hampered slightly by a bout of uncontrollable sobbing. I’m such a girl. Eventually I found the tent, tried to bend down to get in and just kind of fell on the floor, so I just crawled in on my hands and knees. Obviously everyone had finished hours previously. I was confused to see what looked suspiciously like my thermarest layed out on the floor. It turned out that Zuppy had decided that I was being rather odd when I was slinging out my possessions in the morning and had taken it upon himself to carry the thermarest round the course so that I would have it. I can’t tell you how pathetically grateful I felt. Then Jo went and fetched my dinner for me. Which really was above and beyond the call of duty, I cant thank either of you enough for that.

The following day we set off on the bus for the hotel. I felt really quite ill and was suffering from a high temperature. It is worrying enough to be shivering in 40c heat, even putting aside that you are intending to travel straight to the arctic the following day.

7 hours on the coach and we arrived at the hotel, I tried to eat dinner but felt too sick. My stomach now also started to misbehave in quite a bad way. I had a morning call at 3.30am and set off for the airport. But not until I’d puked all through the hotel gardens. And done much worse in the bathroom.

The rest of the day is rather a blur of flights, check in queues, airport toilet cubicles and aeroplane toilets. It was all pretty unpleasant. My flight to Frankfurt was then delayed by 3 hours, this meant that I missed my connection.

I staggered round Frankfurt airport, completely lost, rather annoyed at having missed my flight and generally feeling dazed and confused. My mood was not improved by managing to shit myself whilst waiting in a queue.

I then reached the front of the queue and the snotty German man who works for Luftwaffe or whatever they are called told me that I would not under any circumstances be able to fly to Longyearbyen. Therefore I would miss the North Pole marathon. I’m unclear of exactly what happened next but I think that it constitutes a new low in my abandonment of dignity. And that is no easy feat, especially when you’ve just shit yourself. Anyway, sometime later while I was still laying on the floor in the airport terminal, sobbing uncontrollably, the SS officer came back over to me and said that he had found a way of getting me there a day later by flying to Copenhagen. So, for the bargain price of £546, plus £145 for an additional night in Oslo, this is what I did.

So, about 80 hours after stepping onto a bus in the Sahara desert, I stood on the start line of the North Pole marathon. I’d eaten virtually nothing during the 80 hours, and everything I had eaten had been expelled from my body quite quickly.

I’d also, rather strangely suffered from loads of nose bleeds. In fact I had more nose bleeds in those 3 days than I have had in the last 32 years. Possible effect of the change of climate?

The course was to be 9 laps, with a tent available for warming up if necessary. The tent was heated to about 15c and the external air temp was -38c. I set off at a gentle jog that I felt confident I could maintain for a few hours. 5 minutes later I was walking. Not good. I wasn’t panicking though as I knew I had plenty of time and could warm myself up every lap if necessary.

After 2 laps I went and put all my clothes on as I was absolutely frozen and just not warming up. After the 3^rd lap I decided I would have to go and sit in the tent for a proper warm up as every bit of me was freezing. It felt really weird as usually it would just be my extremities, but my whole body was extremely cold. I sat with all my clothes on, in a tent heated to around 15 degrees. In front of a warm air heater for 2 hours and didn’t stop shivering. I knew it was game over and that there was no way I could realistically complete the race. It took a further 4 hours before I was fully warm.  So I am now the first person ever to fail to finish the North Pole marathon twice, a record that can never be taken away from me!

I’m not too worried about not finishing the North Pole, I know that for me, it was not even close to being possible. If it had only been -10c or I had not had the sickness then I probably would have finished it, but that was the challenge I signed up for and there was always going to be a significant risk of it failing for one reason or another. I’m just very fortunate for having been able to give it a go.