Quiet anticipation surrounded our camp as each of us prepared for the last monumental challenge, a 68KM trek over mountainscapes. The race director pushed our start time back to 10:00 so everyone could catch extra sleep and accelerate recovery before our longest day.

Runners chugged electrolyte-infused water and scarfed freeze dried meals in between stretching sets.

From my vantage sitting in the “Wild Horse Tent,” I tried in vain to loosen my joints and muscles. After an hour of gentle calisthenics, I was as ready as I’d be. I slung and buckled my rucksack before gingerly walking my way to the start line. We learned that the Long March would be segmented into seven checkpoints. This helped me to divide the course, wrestling it one step at a time.

I had zero pretences of a quick start or competitive race, and instead focused on keeping my spirit and forward momentum. I smiled on notes from home and said a prayer for strength and courage.

The countdown hit zero and runners bolted.

We started on flat gravel in the midst of a spacious valley surrounded by irrigated orchards. By the second checkpoint we were climbing at a steep grade, the easiest terrain for me because it’s a calf and hamstring workout. Alternatively, the abrupt, steep descents, were agonizing. I was dragging my right leg down roundabout switchbacks and watching the sun dash across the sky.

These flashing pains were mitigated by the grandeur of the vast landscapes in all directions. We trekked two mountain passes, crossed numerous ice-cold springs, and near-vertical prairies where livestock grazed despite falling rocks and slippery grasslands.

After one of the most trying experiences of my life, I arrived at camp at 02:30, sixteen hours and thirty minutes after I lurched past the starting line. Despite my famished body, I collapsed into my sleeping bag and emergency blanket. I was out in an instant and dreamless sleep took hold.

This morning I surveyed the wreckage. I have numerous hot spots on my back from lugging the heavy rucksack and a dozen blisters on my feet from negotiating loose rocks on unending gullies. I’m sporting a sunburn, chapped lips and one of my best hobbles. Roaming the campsite confines requires enormous effort and planning. Forgetting to pick up water will add ten minutes onto my errand run.

I’m writing again from the “Cyber-Tent,” a station with ten Microsoft Surfaces and a once daily internet connection to send blogs and receive messages. Today is a rest day before our final 14KM to the finish.

I’ll be taking care with each step and smiling as I cross the finish. Thanks again for all the encouragement!

Onward!

Good omens came last night when our diverted course took us to a Mongolian-styled yurt village. The yurt, a circular structure with high ceilings and colourful carpet, is an oasis for depleted runners starved for comfort. Things were really looking up when my Scottish tent-mates, a father and son pair from Edinburgh, gifted me a square of parmesan cheese and porridge. Both helped to warm me after another fearsome Gobi storm. It was the first time all week I haven’t felt the pang of hunger. Each of us are burning 4,500+ calories each day and only replacing a fraction.

Both legs felt tight so I drifted to sleep while pressing my IT-bands and loosening my calves for the 50KM ahead.

The day started as usual around 06:30 with an energy bar breakfast, water chug, stretching and ruck sack preparations. I always pack my gels in the front right zipper and my sodium tabs (to combat salt loss) in the left zipper. Caffeinated gummies and water bottles are at-hand and sunscreen and chapstick (a necessity in wind-whipped, sun-drenched climates) in my pouch. With ten minutes to go, I’m stretching around the fire and excuse myself to mentally focus. Too much alone time before the starting bell can lead to self-doubt, but there’s no disputing the necessity of finding a relaxed state before beginning a long haul.

As runners took the first steps this morning I focused on finding a rhythm and let the rabbits bolt ahead. The lead pack slowed as we soon approached a knee-deep stream which required careful fording. I aimed to cross it with four stepping stones but my shoe caught the last rock and torqued my knee.

Just a step was needed to realize the toll – I cried out as my 70KG frame and 9KG ruck brought the sensation of fire to my knee. I squeezed my leg but no relief came. I looked up as runners dashed by.

I felt the race slipping away but dug back in. I tried and tried again to stride out as usual but my gait was limited to a hobble. The limp brought scant relief because the rocky terrain snagged numerous steps to excruciating effect.

With over 45KM left to cover on Stage 4, I couldn’t wrap my mind around a marathon over rugged land.

It took me a few minutes to regroup and collect myself. I simply focused on finding the flattest, most stable next step. I figured that recipe, repeated 150,000 times, would get me to the finish.

I passed time by counting successful steps without jolts of pain but each minute brought a lightning strike or three to my knee.

I finally spied the 10KM checkpoint in the distance! The terrestrial treasure ship surely carried compression bandages and high-grade pain killers. I pretended to powerwalk up the trail while skimming my left foot over the earth. This would help me avoid a medical disqualification and the dreaded DNF “Did Not Finish” that awaits lame ultra-runners.

The bandage and pain killers were a Godsend and gave me a few minutes of hope. Unfortunately, the course quickly transitioned to incessant hills of loose rocks. The climbs were trying on my fatigued hamstrings but the descents were unbearable. I grimaced with each inch surrendered as I cut huge switchbacks into the hills. Numerous runners passed me on these stretches and always offered a helping hand including gels and Tylenol to help me see it through. I was grateful for the encouragement and doubled down on trekking through the finish.

At the 20KM checkpoint the medical team easily identified my limp and asked to examine my legs. The doctor’s examination via vice grip revealed tendonitis in the right knee. The burden of carrying 79KG over unrelenting hills was too much for my strained leg to take. When I restated my intention to finish the race, he agreed after tightly taping the right knee and deeming them the two stooges.

Now internalizing my situation, I shifted from “let’s gut this as fast as I can to get back in this race” to “let’s enjoy these incredible views.”

Today was the first time I’ve had the pace and frame of mind to stop, look up, and marvel at the extraordinary landscapes all around me. The snow-capped mountains, rocky terraces and grassland valleys are grand in scope and scale, only matched by the locals (herders, tradesmen, builders) that offered me horseback and motorcycle rides (along with plentiful cigarettes) when they saw me hobbling through. These Uighurs understood my poor Mandarin and many high fives were exchanged.

Tomorrow is the 68KM “Long March.” The competitor in me wants to give the field a run for the money but I know I have a great hike waiting on me.

PS: many thanks for all the sweet “email a competitor” messages from back home! I’ve been reading them each evening before dinner.

Last night was the longest of my brief racing career. Frigid winds ripped through the river valley before rain incessantly pounded our ill-sealed tent. My feet were quickly soaked and I resigned to stretching and a sit-ups routine to pass the time til day break.

A stiff Cliff Bar hardly restored my spirits as grumbling competitors compared hardships. I nestled up to the fire and warmed my fingers, toes and knees. I didn’t feel prepared for the 40KM ahead as we were summoned to the start line.

As our countdown reached zero, I trotted off with a patient smile, expecting a long haul over mountain trails. The first stretch was enormously taxing with hills too steep and muddy to run. I crawled over a section before getting back to my feet.

Climbing was onerous but descending was plain brutal. My knees throbbed with each step as I sought to prevent a catastrophic fall. Each slick rock below threatened certain ruin and withdrawal.

But it was the Gobi’s menacing weather that ruled the day. Rain enveloped all of us and took our traction and morale. At the first checkpoint I unbuckled my rucksack to slip on my waterproof jacket. Unfortunately, I was drenched and teeth chattered. The medical team recommended gloves and a gel to warm me. My fingers stayed numb for the next several kilometres and I shook them maniacally as the discomfort was all-consuming. Circulation finally trickled back

We ran next to a shepherd’s miles-long barbwire fence and I again focused on my footing to avoid leaving the Gobi with scars or tetanus.

I found my first solid tempo of the race as we approached checkpoint two at the 20KM mark. The crew relayed that a mountain storm was brewing immediately above us and directed me toward a yurt village downhill as the course would be shortened to just 23KM on account of the weather hazard. I picked up my feet and made haste to cut my time.

I crossed the finish line to the customary Uighur cheers and made straight for the medical tent where finishers were warming. I practiced my broken Spanish with Chema, the race leader and double Olympian from Madrid. He was shivering along with the rest of the bundled mass. Hot tea and blankets were the saving grace.

Tomorrow’s Stage 4 will be a full 50KM so I’m carb-loading and hydrating for the big day ahead. I’m hanging on in 10th place but the race is just getting started!

Gobi March competitors all arrived in Xinjiang, China on Friday, May 30th. We checked-in and received race information before our orientation activities on Saturday, the 31st. Our briefings lasted all morning before we had registration and mandatory gear check. My rucksack weighed in at a lean 9.5KG. I downsized my sleeping bag before the event and re-wrapped my freeze dried foods into Ziploc bags to minimize space and weight. The decision has already paid off as the weight of a ruck can demoralize out here.

Our opening ceremony on Saturday afternoon was hosted by the elderly tourism minister who was accidentally introduced (through translation) as

Though operating on a calorie deficit, I had little appetite this morning. I put .75 litres of water and a Cliff Bar down the hatch during our morning briefing and kept energy gummys on hand as I figured hunger would quickly approach. We were warned by the race director that Stage 2 featured a 39.8KM “severe mental test” because much of the terrain was gently sloping and covered by treacherous loose rocks.

My customary bravado was absent because of my dull hunger and heavy legs.

My legs felt of iron despite my gentle warm up stretches and rehab massage. I again opted for my long, black pants to keep the legs warm and encourage circulation in the morning. I made mental note to take the first 10KM especially easy to allow the muscle to warm up for the trails ahead.

We again crowded around the start line and a countdown commenced. At zero, we began marching toward our distant objective as the dust swirled.

My stride lacked any pop or power. Even the slightest grade tested my calves and hip flexors. My lean rucksack dug into my aching shoulder muscles as I settled in like a beast of burden for the workday ahead. By the 5KM mark I had fallen to 15^th place and had little oomph to muster. Desperate for fuel, I reached for my energy gummys and greedily consumed the package before ripping an electrolyte gel and making quick work of it.

As I trudged into the first checkpoint some power crept back. My rookie error of under-fueling before a marathon was costly and would compel me to play catch over the next three checkpoints.

Unfortunately, the terrain was, indeed, a “severe mental test” and prevented me from finding any rhythm. Desolate rock fields mandated full attention on each step while periodic river beds and natural trenches were jarring diversions. The Gobi sun finally blasted through the dispersing cloud cover and signalled difficulties ahead.

During a momentary lapse, my left foot swung into a large, jutting rock. I struck it much like a goal-bound penalty kick. I cried out and flew forward, just able to keep from crashing face first. I got my legs back under me but began hobbling and knew a toenail was lost on the penalty kick. My parched mouth was unable to summon profanity.

I finally saw the last checkpoint, signalling 11KM to go, and picked my feet up. The friendly medical team told me I was in 14^th place and mercifully administered 500mg of Tylenol and re-stocked my water before wishing me well. The momentary rest did wonders. For the first time all day I found a rhythm and began reeling in the Korean runner ahead. He was hurting so I tried my best at a slow and encouraging pep talk.

I then reached the German who passed me on the 2^nd checkpoint. I slapped him on his back and jokingly told him to hurry up. We both complained about the sun as I pulled away. After another couple kilometres I started making headway on the gentleman on the horizon. On an uphill portion he slowed to a walk and couldn’t get his stride going again. I realized it was my Swedish friend who I had logged time with earlier in the day. He, too, was hurting and told me he would just walk in to the finish. I gave him the thumbs up and marched on.

The rolling hills were now taking a major toll on my taxed legs. With just 2 or 3 KM to go I desired nothing more than to finish and crawl to a shady spot. Alas, my competitive instinct piqued again when I saw a competitor shuffle jogging a couple hundred metres down the dusty trail. It was obvious he was spent so I silenced all my doubts and made it my mission to pass him.

My legs burned of fire and doubt enveloped each thought. I summoned the words of my running hero, Ray Zahab, “Ultra running is 90% mental, and the other 10% is in your head.” I told myself that I have to want it and silenced the little nagging voice. Slowly, surely, I reeled in the man ahead of me. The sun had slowed the Dane and I tipped my cap with a “see you at camp,” the most eloquent phrase I could muster.

Finally, the welcoming finish line drum beat ushered me in. I raised my arms for a couple high fives and then made for the nearest seat to regroup.

My shirt was soaked through with bold, white salt stains, and my thirst was ferocious. I discarded my wet socks and uncovered three gnarly  blisters and two cracked toe nails. The doctor drained them and pronounced both nails dead. He taped me up and sent me for water.

I can’t name a body part that isn’t worse for the wear. We’re 90KM in with three more long racing days ahead. I’m hopeful that my legs will stay attached long enough to cross the Gobi!