In my preparations for the big race, I benefited from the advice of a multitude of RTP events veterans. So I think I owe it to Gobi aspirants to offer my ten cents on completing the race in one piece while memories are still fresh.

* Anyone can do it: Chuck the misconception that this is a race for the fittest right into the bin and start training already. Anyone with reasonable health can do it. In fact, Jim Willett completed it after battling cancer. It boils down to whether you are willing to endure roasting heat, chemically-enhanced food, very little sleep, hole-in-the-ground toilets and blistered feet. The awesome Minges mother and son team in our tent put in 10-plus-hours day in and day out, and always finishing in high spirit. They earned a big round of applause that they so deserved when they crossed the final finishing line.

* It hurts them as much as you: It was at the same time heartbreaking and sobering to see the elements down the most battle-hardened runners. Like any endurance events, there will be extreme highs and lows and it can hit everyone without warning. When you find yourself at the back of the pack, suffering and crestfallen, remember it hurts them as much as you. And repeat the sage parting words my friend Phil gave me when I left for Gobi: if you are stubborn enough, you can do anything.

* Learn to walk before you run: That the vast majority of us walked most of the way, including some who finished in the top third was probably the best-kept secret. My roommate, the petite Wubin, was talk of the tents by finishing an astonishing No. 5 among women and 38th overall, having out-walked most men and women who attempted to run.

* Four legs are better than two: Poles, poles and poles. Not the kind you dance around. Proud as you are, you will wish you had one when you hit the quick sand and soft dirt that suddenly made your muscular legs feel like gel. Buy the sturdy Black Diamond ones. I managed to demolish my super lightweight Raidlight pair before the Long March.

* Pants can fly: On our last night in the desert, a nasty sandstorm descended out of nowhere. I grew up in Beijing where force 8 gusts that uprooted trees were a stable of the winters. But this was still a formidable parting gift. I neglected to pass on my friend Denvy's warning about not hanging any piece of clothing outside the tent on the last two days to my lovely tent-mate Vikki Bester. Guess some Uighur girl is trying on a heaven-sent pair of fancy sportswear right now.

* Spandex doesn't last forever: Just check out the holes around the left knee area and in the rear end of my CW-X racing tights, the results of a spectacular fall on day 1 that also sprained my ankle and attempts to slide down steep, rocky slopes on my bottom. Another competitor had two bigger holes in the back. Yet another split the tights in the groin. Funny those girls and guys who decided to go commando seemed to have escaped any mishaps so far.

* Silk is a girl's best friend: I lay in a pool of sweat in the oven that was our tent, unable to sleep even after walking 23 straight hours on the long day. I brought along two pairs of full-length black tights and no shorts. Wasn't I envious when I saw Heather walking around in a wrap skirt fashioned out of her silk liner? Why did I leave mine at home? An alternative is bikinis, of course.

* Misery loves company: I categorizes myself as a competitive loner. Yet there was nothing that warmed your heart like having a friend take the pack off your back right after you cross the finishing line, physically and mentally beat, and inflate your sleeping pad for you. From day 3 on, the company of others in the unforgiving landscape was one thing that kept the idea of withdrawal from bubbling up.

* It could be the ultimate romantic experience: Why would you find someone who hasn't showered or changed for seven days, stinking of sweat and spray-tanned from head to feet with rust-colored dust attractive? Well, you just do. There were two potentially romantic moments. When you awoke in the wee hours of day 2, shivering from the cold and wanting someone to cuddle up to; and when you turned off your headlamps briefly, joining the lovely Suckling couple to gaze the stars on the night of the Long March. And how sweet of couples to finish the race together hand in hand?

* Variety is the buzzword: I swore by Expedition Foods in my three months of training. By day 4 of the race though, I was sick to the stomach at the thought of them. The first treat I gave myself upon returning to the Urumqi hotel was a cup of instant noodles. I had been drooling all week at the sight of them.

Thanks a million for your good vibes, Denvy, Phil, Paul, Eddie, Andreea, Amanda, Phil, Philip, Darlene, Sunil, Eric, Derek, Kim... Sorry if I forgot anyone. Blame it all on the heat :P
 
I'm happy to report I made it through the big day!!! It's been the toughest two days in my life. No exaggerations! Temperature surged  to above 50C under the sun on both days. We are sitting here in the cybertent, spraying water on ourselves every two minutes to keep ourselves from overheating. Even the camels are taking shelter in the shade.
 
The last two days really put this race into perspective. As my colleague competitor Richard Kimber succinctly put it, it's not about running six consecutive marathons back to back. It"s about surviving unforgiving terrains with crappy food, very little sleep and tough hikes in between. It's heartbreaking to see top runners dropping out because of dehydration and heat exhaustion as late as half way through the long day, some of them unable to stand or walk for hours. I also gained ultimate respect for the people who put in nine hours plus day after day, coming in at the back of the pack, bearing the brunt of the unbearable heat and yet never gave up.
 
The heat and noise at Peach Village meant I got almost zero sleep. I dozed off briefly towards the end of the night and on the 4 am bus ride to day 4. I had only half an Expedition Foods for breakfast thinking it was going to be a short six-hour day with only 37k to go. Guess who didn't read the course note?
 
I had been amply warned the sand dunes were going to be tough. At least the downhill parts were fun, like skiing on powder, someone said. In addition to cloud cover, we had drizzle for a while on the dunes. How lucky! I again was the very last person to leave the start line but overtook a number of people on the way.
 
As soon as the sand dunes ended though, our luck ran out. The sun was beating down on us on the next 27k of endless salt flats and parched dirt tracks. The scenes from checkpoint 1 onwards were as ugly as the landscape. I started to see front of the pack people succumbing to the temperature. Fear came into mind as I stumbled forward, my energy sagging and as a fellow competitor told me to seek assistance for her if she wasn't right behind me at the next checkpoint.
 
It took 10:30 to get to the finish line. I had to sit down at a roadside shop as I started to feel weak. Johan and I partnered up for the last stretch, slowing to a crawl sometimes. The long walk around the barbed wire fence, when we could see the camp and people ahead of us trudging towards it was about the cruelest thing.
 
It's funny once I had so much trepidation about the long day. Yet once you've survived the first four, the thought of quitting completely dropped out of mind, even though the day's casualty list was just as long and horror stories just as terrifying. I took shelter in a salt mining shed after feeling nauseous throughout the morning. It turned out I had overdosed on electrolytes in a desperate attempt to stay hydrated. After that, I buddied up with Eva, taking long breaks at each checkpoint until night fall. Muz and I made it to the finish line around 7 am. My ankle is an ugly mess after the long trek on uneven grounds through the night. Muz's trekking pole saved my life after I managed to break both of my Raidlight ones.
 
Seems like they're shutting down the stove soon. So it's chow time. Congrats for my friends Gene Richards for an exceptional display of force at the race. It's amazing how people managed to run at all.

Boy, didn't we get our first taste of what a desert endurance is suppsed to be today? After a rainy, cool, truncated day 2, the sun came out today in full glory. The temperature soared to a blistering 39C. I again found myself towards the back of the pack and finishing in about 8:20. It was roasting. I feel sorry for those still out there.
 
The day started with a long trek through what felt like an endless riverbed. I only got about five hours of sleep last night, waking up literally shivering. So the five or six river crossings definitely woke me up. But I took my time, thinking another sprained ankle would definitely put me out of the game. For the first time in the race, I didn't tape my feet. Half way through the riverbed, I could feel a nasty blister forming right by the side of my big toe even though I was probably one of two people I saw who stopped after the crossings to tape my feet.
 
 After the 7k long but gentle slope uphill, I actually felt strong enough to jog a large part of the way down to  checkpoint 3. It was good to overtake some people after two disastrous days. I think I may have moved up a few notches after today. Fingers crossed.
 
The consensus was the last 6.7k of today's 44.5k trek was the most brutal we've experienced so far. The little oasis that is the Peach Village could be spotted miles away. But somehow we just never seemed to get there. There were one after another hills in between. At this critical moment, one of my trekking poles fell apart. My feet started to burn. I kept thinking how nice it would have been to have one of those icy river crossings at this point.
 
I tried to alternate between a shuffle and what is best described as a lunge. Yet the heat really got to me on the last couple of inclines before the village. I snacked more than ever today. Half way through the course, I finished all the Perpetuem, gel chews, beef bites (which by the way are the most delicious treats) and macadamia nuts left over from yesterday. I had forgotten to put today's snack pack in the front pockets and didn't want to slow down to reach for it. I probably also made the mistake of taking too much water and had to stop to pee five or six times, most likely flushing out a lot of the sodium I took in earlier (sorry for the details, you non-runners).
 
Iain, if you are reading this, not only did I not take a single photograph, I also seemed to have completely ignored the scenery, except the occasional glances to make sure I was still on the course or to take a breather after an uphill climb.
 
Amanda and Derek, thanks so much for the encouragement. This has been an extraordinary experience already, no matter how I place in the end.
 
Now off to my cozy bed which I seem to have to share with 10 other men and women. The forecast, it is said, is that it will hit 42C tomorrow and we'll be starting the stage with SAND DUNES. Then there is the 4 am, three-hour bus ride to get to the start line. Pray I won't have a heat stroke.

This has got to be a brief one as the cybertent is soon closing for the day. Apologies beforehand for not replying to any messages. We have not been able to receive any today..
 
What was supposed the first 40k plus day of the race turned out to be mercifully short and easy. The hills were enveloped with thick fogs when we got up in the morning. The start time got pushed back from 8 to 9 then 10 and finally mid-day.
 
I started towards the back of the pack and then decided to stay, together with some other girls, with Eva who fell near the start line and had a nasty cut on her knee. Eva was my hero of the day. Despite the horrible injury, she managed to finish the entire stage, followed by three stitches.
 
My own ankle has improved enough. I jogged on downward paved road and dirt tracks.Bracing for the big day tomorrow, 44.5 k of water crossings and hills. Great my ankle got some rest from the short day today. Hopefully I will be able to improve my position from 100th something in the next few days

Where shall I even start? Babbly Bei is having a writer’s block for a change.

Jude, thanks very much for your email. You were right on the spot about this being a tough day. I certainly wasn’t expecting this when I read in the booklet that it was going to be an easy day. That seems to be the consensus here.

It didn’t help I only got probably two hours of sleep last night even after taking a Melatonin 3.  I proceeded to make another mistake by trying to jog at the very beginning, though that only lasted no more than two kilometers. Over the course of the next couple of hours, I dropped from middle of the pack to the back of the pack as one after another competitor overtook me. Never mind, I told myself, the race doesn’t start until the long day.

The first bit of drama started when we hit the hills. When RTP says steep hills, it certainly did mean it. The scramble up that first hill was tough but nowhere near the killer that was going down that endless gulley with nothing but loose rocks. Boy, didn’t I regret not having done one of those Action Asia races as training? I must have fallen five or six times, on my ass, sideways … you name it. Those thorns were sticking out of my bums and hands. After one too many of those falls, I seriously considered just sitting on my butt and starting to slide down that way. 

What a pleasure when it was finally replaced by meadows!  I broke out running. Not for long though. The next thing I knew I was flat on the ground, with a sprained right ankle and a hole in my tights. Great, I was only half way through the first day … It took me a couple of minutes to just stand up. 

To spare you from further details, I got bandaged up at the next checkpoint. But a 10k walk never seemed this long as I limped towards the day 1 finishing line with my ankle hurting more as I went along and my energy sagging quickly. I did jog the last bit to the camp. The sight of the camp site from the top of a hill brought energy I didn’t know I still had left.

The doctors seemed to disagree as to whether I would  be able to continue, the U.S. Army doctor Jason being the optimist. Fingers crossed. What a bummer it would be to have trained all those months only to spend the next few days watching others finish.

Kim, thanks very much for your email. The thought of you guys definitely helped me through the toughest moments today.  Now I’m off to RICE my ankle, if I could find some ice J Love to you all

A sick day off work. So I decided what better use of the daylight than ... to sew the patches on. Now that is part of the romantic appeal of the race, isn't it? Going back to the basics and self-sufficiency. On a routine weekend long walk on the Hong Kong Trail, my training partner Muz and I chanced upon a RTP veteran, Jocelyn. When young Jocelyn took on the Gobi in 2006, she fashioned her bottle holders out of a pair of rock climbing chalk bags and stitched together her own gaiters from part of a parachute. Two RTP events later, the mention of Perpetuem still drew a blank look from her. 

So I was inspired. First it took a good 25 minutes to find the sewing kit. In the Hu household, sewing is as rare an event as a total lunar eclipse. Then the daring effort. What did Katherine Clifton, the heroine in the English Patient, say again? "A woman should never learn to sew, and if she can she shouldn't admit to it." That line was written for me. I knew it when I first heard it! So an hour later, half of a 4Deserts patch was done ... lopsided. An epic fail. Fortunately, I had the foresight of using black thread on a white shirt. Get it? That really made undoing the damage a lot easier. 

Not ready to give up just yet, I decided to try ironing. The stake was high. This could be irreversible. I could be the camp laughing stock! With that trepidation, I began to run the iron over the patch. Once, twice, three times. I paused, pressed hard, nothing happened. That's got to be a sign, A SIGN that I should stop!!! 

If you really know Bei, you would know this race would be a personal challenge on many fronts. To name another example, last week, I belatedly joined last year's women's winner Denvy Lo for the first ever hash run in my life. Now, Denvy really had NO IDEA what she was getting herself into. I proceeded to cheat big time from the start and planned to follow the leaders. Grand plan. There was only one catch. Within two minutes, they simply vanished around a corner. You can't fool me! I smirked, eyeing the entrance to a tunnel, never mind the two arrows were pointing in just the opposite direction. Once, twice, three times, four times I crossed the same tunnel. By now I had lost not only the leaders but also the runners behind me. In desperation, I called the hare, who gave me the directions. In three minutes, I repeated the exercise of getting hilariously lost and calling the hare. When it happened a third time, on the return leg, I decided to give up and head back, arriving second last with my 12 kg backpack. I managed to stretch a 6.5 k run into 9.4 k. One fellow runner remarked the route map on my Garmin watch bore uncanny resemblance to the infinity sign. 

Please, RTP, don't disqualify me for that. I will keep an eye on the pink flags and glow sticks. I love pink!!! 

Now onto a more inspirational topic for my climbing buddies who want to follow in my path and sign up for a desert ultra next year. Hong Kong's summer has been disappointingly cool this year. So I finally took my fellow competitor David's advice and hit the sauna room the last couple of nights. Did somebody say it's supposed to be relaxing? It was a roasting 77C inside the little cabin in my gym. The 15 minutes felt like an aeon as I plotted to tinker with the hourglass. At the end of it, I busted out like a roasted chestnut about to burst in a microwave. WOW, that was, hands down, the best workout this week.

So I was gazing the stars and admiring the gorgeous near full moon last night, thinking what could one do in the desert to pass time. How about a round of RTP best-selling gear spelling bee contest or electrolyte trivia test...

There has been a lot of expert advice rendered on preparing for the RTP races. But one topic is noticeably missing: How to break the news gently to your over-protective Chinese parents. How do you tell them you will be covering 250 km on foot in seven days in up to 50C temperature carrying a pack as much as one-quarter of your body weight, sharing a tent with nine other smelly men and women along the way, when they think everybody should just take shelter in the shade when the temperature rises to 30C.

I once met a Chinese woman who scaled the Everest without telling her parents.

My last and only conversation with my parents about "the trip" went like this:

Me: "I may go to Xinjiang in the summer."
Mom: "Eh?"
Me: "With a few friends and other people."
Mom: "But it's going to be very hot. Are you going to the Flaming Mountains?"
Me: "Yes … possibly."
Mom: "My gosh. That's the hottest place in all of China. And you are going there in the dead of summer?"
Me: "Well, nothing is set in stone yet."

(End of the conversation)

One other lesson learned: Never leave your shopping at the RTP showroom till just before a big race. Even the try and trusted Hydropel ran out and I will have to make do with Loobit.

Btw, if everything sweet tastes vile and one simply craves for salty snacks after three days in the desert, why is every single energy gel/bar so sickly sweet?

Is it normal to start feeling a bit apprehensive about the post-race anti-climax already, a good 13 days before the start of the big event?

     
As we enter the two-week tapering period before the race, my fellow competitors are busy ziplocking their food supplies, packing up their sleeping bags. I'm instead preoccupied with thoughts like how I'm going to while away the hours now that I don't have to do six-hour hikes on the weekends. How does one jog WITHOUT an 11kg backpack? What would be a good icebreaker to strike up conversations with those alien-looking strangers with what look like antennae sticking out their chest pockets?

     
What about the bonds that have deepened during preparation for the race? Are we going to find new shared interest to replace the endless discussions about the sodium content of Saltstick capsules vs. Hammer Endurolyte tablets, the necessity of underpants under compression tights and how much weight one reduces by taking the cardboard tube out of that roll of toilet paper?