Well, the 100km 'Long Day' is over. It's hard to understand this Stage 5 without first knowing a little bit about the end of Stage 4. About an hour after I finished word quickly spread that one of the runners had been found out on the course, not moving. News so far is that he is in a coma in a Chinese hospital. The rest of that day seemed to get more serious as it was uncovered that five others were trapped in the canyon as well without water. It took a monumental effort to bring them all in unscathed, albeit dehydrated and a bit delirious. We figured that would be the hardest stage we would face. Yeah right.
 
The 100km stage started at 8am sharp and sent 160 of us down into the canyon and back and forth across the river at the bottom. Wet feet for the next 98km was not going to be fun. I stayed with the normal pack of Bendt Tritscher, Phillipe Pech, Taavi Sumberg, Brian Lang, and Jimmi Olsen. We moved through the tall bamboo, across the rivers, and over rocks and cliffs together like a pack of hunting dogs. It was awesome fun, and when we lost track of the course markers, expletives in six different languages could be heard. Gradually as the track emerged into a string of villages, the pack thinned out and we all seemed to be isolated by several miles. By the time I hit the 30km (18mile) mark I was pretty much alone, but running strong and in front of several guys in the 14th spot.
 
From 30km to 50km the course took us through the Turpan Basin and the town of Turpan. Turpan has the distinction of being farther away from a main body of water than any other place on earth. It was dry, hot, and every imaginable shade of brown. There is nothing in Turpan except for dirt. You can stop by the dirt café for a dirt sandwich and wash it down with a glass of dirt. Daily chores undoubtedly revolve around shoveling and moving said dirt. Regardless, I started to feel worse for wear in between this stretch in all of its uninspiring glory.
 
By 65km I was in trouble. Even though I was through 55km in 7.5 hours, my day would turn upside down only 10km later. I vomited so much at Checkpoint 6 that they put me on an IV drip. After that hour gone, I took off for the 76km mark where I knew that there would be hot water and the chance to eat something and recover. That 11km took me 3.5 hours. Delirious myself and battling dry heaving bouts I wobbled down a road in the middle of nowhere. The next thing I knew I had found myself in a farm land and found my way to a field of melons and a vineyard. I gorged myself on the fresh melons and grapes but immediately vomited them back up. From there I found the irrigation canal leading to the farm and deposited myself in it. It was coolllldddd but felt great. I gulped as much of the cold water as I could but still I was sick and disoriented.
 
I managed my way to camp 7 but was held there for hours until I could urinate. It took another IV and several bottles of water before I was finally 'released' but I was off again by 6am. I joined up with Canadian born BCG Consultant, Ryan, who was convulsing when he came into camp 7. He too was fine by 6am so we were in it to finish together. The last 23km was uneventful except for the last 6km of massive sand dunes. We didn't get to the dunes section until 10:30am and by then it was 53 degrees Celsius/124 degrees Fahrenheit. A nice hurdle to have to cross to get to camp.
 
It is SCORCHING hot here in camp. It's unbearable out in the sun but even worse in the tents. There's nowhere to hide but everyone is in good spirits cheering on the runners who cross the line, especially as a sizeable amount have dropped out of the event at this point. Competitors have been really tested over the last 27 hours. Phillipe Pech came across a competitor from Hong Kong who was literally crawling on his hands and knees in circles in the dunes. When Phillipe sat him down and started to give him water, the runner just pointed at his shoes and said "I have very pretty feet." Meanwhile, Samantha Gash and Lisa Tamati spent the stage alternating sobbing and crying. Brian Lang was lost in the desert for at least a few hours, and others spent the stage hallucinating, crying, and vomiting. The 100km stage is always epic.
 
I lost a TON of spaces in the race after this stage but it has been a great race and a lot of fun. We have one more stage tomorrow to get us to the medal--22km of sand dunes!
 
I hope everyone is doing great at home and good running!
 
RP

There are those days that stick out in your mind. The ones when that camera in your brain hit record and it became a memory that you never forgot. Sometimes they are great moments, ones like yesterday running to checkpoint 1 along the riverbed with Joe Petersen like two kids trying to make it home before the street lights went on. But sometimes, they are days like today that are so bad and also so surprising that they burn an indelible image.
 
The day started early with a 2:45am wake up call and a 2 hour bus ride to a leafy area on the edge of the Turpan Basin, the second lowest place on the planet. The 36km (22.5 mile) stage known as 'Flaming Mountains' started on a bridge spanning a fast moving river, a stark and macabre reminder for Jimmi Olsen of Denmark. I had no idea when the stage started.
 
Right from the 6am start I knew that it would be a rough day. I didn't feel hydrated and heading up the first long gravel incline I already had cotton mouth and some nausea. The first checkpoint was 14km with the first 11km uphill along a boring industrial gravel road. As several runners passed me I reminded myself that I've felt like this before and certainly slogged roads like this before as well, and that just like everything else 'that this too shall pass'.
 
Along the way I grouped in with Brian Lang from Canada and Phillipe Pech from France, but with 3km to go to the checkpoint and the track turning downhill into the riverbed I lit it up a bit. Pulling into CP 1 with guns blazing I could see Bernd Tritchser, Stuart Gates, and Jimmi Olsen in the distance. Here's my mistake: I only took one water bottle for the next 11km to avoid wasting time at the stop and to avoid the excess weight. I caught Bernd and Stuart on a long rocky flat in the shadow of a massive canyon wall while Jimmi disappeared over a dune in the horizon. When I hit the dunes I was out of water and a bit out of gas. The dunes just didn't stop. On and on and on and on they went while I played mind games thinking that CP 2 would be after each one. Yeah, it wasn't. After 37 minutes I broke. I spent a good 10 minutes dry heaving and vomiting in the sand while Bernd, Stuart, and Phillipe went past.
 
That episode behind me I carried on into the checkpoint which was only a click away only to find Jimmi! The others had gone on and left 7th place Jimmi behind at CP 2 in a world of hurt. Jimmi is the toughest thing to come out of Denmark since the vikings and is built like a world-class athlete. I spent 30 minutes at CP 2 sipping water and waiting for an anti-nausea tablet to dissolve under my tongue, but Jimmi spent it emptying the contents of his stomach in the Gobi. We were not a pretty sight and it was plain to see that we had been both dehydrated and gone out too fast and furious. Jimmi only seems to know two speeds, full and stop, so talking about moderation is a fool's errand.
 
We finally pulled ourselves out of the checkpoint having lost more than 10 places. As we made our way down a long dusty canyon road and then back up over the other side, we made a pact to stick together for the last 12km. At the top of the road our heart rates were both at around 175 so we decided to walk the rest of the way. As Jimmi put it in his best english "we might be out of the competition but...a...a...we are not out of the race." Truer words could not have been spoken.
 
We slogged across the crusty red sand of the Gobi, down into gorges and up and up and around a long winding canyon. These races are great because the competition can be fierce, but they are also great because a week in the desert with people is ample time to learn about them. During our slog, I learned that Jimmi owns his own custom furniture business despite the chance to work with his family's successful business. In true Jimmi style, said "I go out on my own to start my own company, because, a...a....a....I must make my own way." This guy is a modern day philospher in the body of a desert runner.
 
What I didn't expect to learn is what is pushing Jimmi so hard. Why he won't quit, and why he seems to enjoy it all we even when he's on all fours vomiting. A year ago to the day, Jimmi lost his best friend in a rafting accident. His friend's girlfriend was actually holding his hand trying to pull him to shore from the river but couldn't manage. It was an incredible tragedy for Jimmi and he told me that he can't help but enjoy every moment from that point forward. Heart wrenching stuff.
 
Finally we reached the top of the canyon just as the sun really peaked. 95 degrees beating down on us and Jimmi looks at me and with a subtle grin rhetorically says "run?" Before I can finish saying "of course" we were going hell for leather down a two foot wide canyon. 25 minutes later we pulled into camp called Ancient Ruins in 20th and 21st place where we are housed in a deserted museum amongst the exhibits still. Pretty cool.
 
Tomorrow is the day that everyone has been waiting for: 100km. Game time.
 
I hope all is well at home and good running!
 
RP

I'm writing this from the camp at the end of Stage 3 which is set in a rural village in the middle of the Gobi Desert on the edge of the Turpan Basin. We are actually staying with the villagers in their mud huts. It is one of the coolest experiences I've had and can't believe the generosity of these incredibly kind people who have opened their homes to us. The village is a Uighar village and we have enveloped their homes with rucksacks, water bottles, running shoes, dirty jerseys, and patches from around the world.
 
The village consists of really one small street bordered on one side by doors that lead into open courtyards which then have 3-4 huts facing it. On the other side of the street/dust track is where it appears that most of the animals are kept. Goats, chickens, and donkeys peer at us with the same bewildered looks as the locals.
 
Finding my way to my new home I dropped my bag and rather than barge in, just hung outside getting my recovery drink down and my camp slippers (courtesy of the Marriott Hotel) on. The owner of the house, a short round guy with black teeth and a Greek fisherman's cap, came out immediately with a big grin and ushered me and Phillipe Peche from France straight inside motioning something about a kicking leg. Walking through the screen door we found out that the kicking leg meant that the World Cup was on! We are literally in the middle of nowhere in a mud hut and dude is watching Holland play Slovakia. Craziness.
 
The hut is two rooms, both with large wooden platforms, that have been covered with large handwoven rugs. Actually, I don't know that they're hand woven, but I'm doubtful that he ran down to the local Wal-Mart to snag one of those mass produced rugs on mark down. The walls are covered with intricate silk tapestries which give the small rooms a lot of warmth and at home comfort. We'll be sleeping on the wooden platforms which is a marked improvement from the rocks that we've been cuddling with over the last 3 nights. A good night sleep will be important because tomorrow we'll board a bus at 4am for a 6am race start further into the Gobi.
 
Today was a good day for me. Starting today in 12th I managed a good race and finished the 20 mile stage in three hours which was good for 9th. The start took us literally straight down a ravine into a large rocky canyon which created a frantic pace. The canyon was littered with ankle crushing rocks but I managed to pick my way through them behind Christian Scheister and alongside Joe Pedersen and Jimmy Doyle. I just kept a vision of Caballo Blanco picking his way through the Copper Canyon in Mexico and I felt really light on my feet.
 
The three of us covered the rocks, river crossings and high grassses with good pace and came into the 10km checkpoint 1 in 52 minutes. I was running in 5th overall but after CP 1 I never saw Jimmy and Joe again. They destroyed the hill that followed CP 1 while I pulled off  the pace and slogged my way up. At the top I was greeted with a long, long, long reddish colored dusty track and bordered by dirt mounds. Uninspiring to say the least. I was the only runner for miles around and found it hard to maintain the pace I had managed through the first 10km. I covered the 11km track in just over an hour with Peter from Switzerland having overtaken me and Phillipe hot on my tail.
 
The next 7km was intense. Up and down steep but very soft dirt hills that seemed to go on forever. I could make out Phillipe in the distance behind me but didn't even notice Berndt from Austria sneak up behind me. Damn Austrians and their hills! Berndt was a hill eating machine and it was all I could do to catch him on the descents.
 
After the 7km of hills I managed to pass Berndt with 6km to go but could only hold him off for 4km. He passed me and never looked back taking 8th position. I should move up a few places after today especially after the Chinese competitors were docked a 1.5 time penalty for not having enough calories in their packs. Apparently, they've been dumping food on the course to lighten their bags and getting help from mysterious support crews and even some of the 17 Chinese media crews...
 
It's been actually quite pleasant weather wise however tomorrow will start three straight days of intense heat that could crest 125 degrees. Water and electrolytes will be really important.
 
Thanks to everyone for your great comments and emails! I hope everyone is well and good running!
 
Rp

Another good day in the Gobi. Really enjoying this race thus far. I write that sentence with huge emphasis on 'thus far'. Obviously healthy feet is probably the biggest factor but the Gobi is just spectacularly gorgeous. Bordering on mystical, the rolling green hills offer up leg burning ascents, but they also offer up some free running descents.
 
Leaving camp at the start of Stage 2 we turned right and headed for the hills. I ran alonside Kiwi Joe Pederson and he hung on the hip of Christian Scheister in 5th place. There was an immediate ravine crossing which most guys ran down into and then climbed up the other side, but forgetting the 8kg pack on my back I tried to leap across. Um, yeah, didn't quite make it. One foot made it but the other didn't so the ravine edge rejected me onto my back in the bottom of the ravine. Awesome and graceful at the same time.
 
The first 42 minutes was mostly upwards climbs with some short runs following some of the ridge lines. The front 9 runners pulled away right about then as the trail bombed us down a massive hill and into a riverbed. I never saw those guys again...
 
Picking my way through the riverbed was a huge rush. Sidestepping ankle twisting rocks and managing several small rocky climbs I rolled into checkpoint 1 in 11th position after 15km. In my most mature move as a desert runner yet, I actually stopped to sort out my feet. I had begun to feel a 'hot spot' on my right big toe so I pulled in, yanked off my shoe, rubbed on some hydropel, taped it up and headed off. What was supposed to be a quick stop was actually about 13 minutes giving 6 runners the chance to blow past.
 
The next two checkpoints were uneventful and simply followed a long, long, long dusty road high up on a ridgeline with a fantastic vista into the river below. The road eventually descended to the river, which I forded with a bit of reckless abandon. Damn my shoes were heavy coming out of that and up yet another steep incline. Unfortunately instead of a scenic green hill it was a dusty dirt trail. I crossed the finish line after another 900m in 17th.
 
The camp here is settled among some pretty gnarly jagged mountains and actually contains several ancient burial mounds in the middle. Most of the runners are feeling good and only a few have had to drop out but mostly due to injuries. There are also some questions being raised about mysterious 'support crews' out on the course but I'll leave it up to your imagination as to who the benefactor might be.....
 
All the best at home and good running!
 
RP

Stage 1 of the Gobi March started today here in China. Without a clear favorite, the race is really anyone's at this point. Tran Chen Peng from China went out like a bolt of lightening. I'd like to say 'followed closely by' but he wasn't. The next closest runner was Jimmy Olsen from Denmark and Tran was just a silhouette by the time Jimmy was a kilometer in. Behind Jimmy was Dan Parr, then a small clump of front runners with Christian Scheister running 6th.
 
The funny story about Tran is that he showed up last year to this race a week prior to the start saying that he wanted to compete. However, he had no inclination of actually paying the registration fee so the organization turned him away only to find him at the starting line of Stage 1, complete with a support crew riding motorcycles. In China, the land is the 'People's Land' so there was actually nothing prohibiting him from 'coincidentally' running the same course as the competitors. So sans rucksack, off he went fueled by food and liquids from his trusty motorcycle crew. By the start of Stage 3 he would have been winning the race, had he  actually been an official competitor. At some point during Stage 3, the flags that mark the course suddenly and without explanation began heading off into no-man's land. Interestingly enough, it was just after Tran had passed through so only affecting the 170 runners in his dust. He was 'removed' by police and didn't finish the race.
 
Tran is back this time but with full financial backing from Mountain Hardwear. With Tran out front with a big lead I can only assume that Jimmy, Dan, and Christian just steadied their pace and essentially hunted him. By the last leg, a 15km uphill slog through enormous rolling hills, the result became much different from the start. Dan took first place, followed by Christian and Jimmy. Tran rolled in at 5th place.
 
I had a nice first Stage, placing 10th overall, covering the full up and down 20 miles in 4:15:00. The first leg was 9km and ran with a gravel road on a slight uphill climb. Other than a view of the mountains in the distance, it was non-decript and frankly, boring. Between checkpoint 1 and 2 made up for the lack of beauty and wound us uphill into green hills crisscrossing a lovely little stream. I had a 'moment' when I found myself face to face with a herd of cattle on the move. Several of the bulls took great interest in me and all I could think was that I didn't pick the right day to wear my red jersey. I think they were more interested in why some idiot would be running through the desert than in charging me.
 
Coming out of Checkpoint 2 took us up the most steep hill climb that I've ever experienced. Call it 80 degrees and 500m straight up. The next 15km was up and down and the last 7km was again straight up. Gruelling! The craziest thing is that these hills are essentially hardened sand dunes and are covered by jasmine. You're cursing on the way up but it smells lovely...ha
 
I had some issues with cramping and lost a lot of salt but I downed my recoverite after getting into camp and feel great. More importantly, NO BLISTERS. Some 'raw' spots on my feet but harmless. Fingers crossed that the Hyropel foot cream keeps treating me right!
 
It's unbelievably cold and windy here at camp so I'm off to make some soup and climb into my sleeping bag.
 
I hope everyone is doing well at home. I'm thinking of you out here.
 
All the best and good running!
 
Rp

Check-in was this morning on the 18th floor of the Yin-Du Hotel here in downtown Urumqi. Each competitor gets a race 'passport' and then collects a stamp once each section or station has checked you in. Going around the 'houses' we check in for medical, passport information, gear and equipment, and basic information. The most popular and/or entertaining section is always the bag-weigh in. Bag weight can be such an important factor. The lighter a bag weighs, the faster a competitor goes. Too light might mean too little in the way of fortifiable and sustainable energy leading to a mid-late race crash. Too heavy a bag and you're slogging through the desert with cramping trapezius muscles and most likely unnecessary gear. It's a fine line. The lightest bag at check in was 6.4kg, while the heaviest was 16.2kg. The average was roughly 9-10kg. I was happy with an 8.1kg pack, meanwhile my roommate and tentmate, Tremaine (Trig) Kent weighed in at 15.6kg. He probably didn't need the bowling ball, coffee table, grand piano, or cinder block but to each their own I suppose. Actually Trig was so sick of his freeze dried food during the Atacama Race earlier this year that he swapped it out for British Army Rations. As a former member of the SAS he is comfortable with the heavier pack and the food. The only problem with the Rations is that they are already pre-made which means that they have water added to them. Water = weight which = sore shoulders which = lots of expletives in the desert. It's time to pack my non-essential gear into my flight bag and store it downstairs and check-out. We'll board the bus at 15:30 Chinese Time and bus for several hours into the middle of the Gobi Desert. Race starts at 7am tomorrow morning. Cheers for all the great notes guys. GAME TIME! Good running, Rp

We arrived safely this morning into the dreary, depressing town of Urumqi and were greeted with a bit of a surprise. In every race you can expect the unexpected when it comes to terrain and course direction, however the staples of a desert race remain so for a reason. Dry, hot, arid, and hot again. Desert race. The clue is in the name.

It's been as hot as 127 degrees Fahrenheit in the Turpan Basin this week and as hot as 100 degrees Fahrenheit in Urumqi, however just as we've arrived it's plummeted to around 40 degrees Fahrenheit with sideways gales of rain and threats of flash floods. If Urumqi was god awful ugly in the sunshine then you can imagine it in the cold and rain. "You're as pretty as a mud fence on a rainy day" as one of my German friends used to say. Not only that, but this is sandstorm season here in the Gobi Desert, and just days ago a sandstorm blew in like a Hollywood disaster movie. Residents hid inside their homes with their windows and doors locked shut as the dust storm swept through the region advancing 70ft a minute. Day turned to night as tons of dust temporarily blocked out the sun and reduced visibility to around 600ft. But suddenly the storm calmed and the mile-high cloud settled back to Earth again, leaving villagers with a major clean-up operation. Every spring strong winds blow across the Gobi creating huge columns of dust and sand, which are then dumped nearby. The dust can cause frequent power blackouts, transport delays and respiratory illness.

While the impending sandstorms and today's rain has sent the Uighars and Han scrambling for shelter, it's also sent competitors scrambling back to their hotel rooms for last minute adjustments to their packs. But no one seems absolutely sure what adjustments are to be made. Extra pairs of socks? Swimming goggles? Another waterproof? An additional tube of Hydropel? Runners are a meticulous bunch. Months of preparation bordering on neuroticism exploded thanks to a last minute changing of the goalposts.

I've got to admit that regardless of the weather, what's in my pack is in my pack, and as long as temperatures don't become dangerously low, then I'm more than willing and ready to get out there in any conditions. Arriving in Beijing amongst some friends was nice and began to get me in race mode somewhat, however arriving in Urumqi and seeing guys like Red Bull sponsored runner, Austrian Christian Scheister, and his three-man personal film crew, gets me amped up and reminds me what kind of talent these races bring to the table.

There are some serious athletes here and it's going to be a battle out there. New Zealander, LisaTamati, who was New Zealand Sportswoman of 2008

**This is my first post from the Gobi March 2010, but one in a series of blogs and comments that I've been making during the course of my 4Deserts Challenge this year. Please check out http://rickypaugh.blogspot.com to follow the whole story :)

For the most part I'm a pretty confident traveler, and on my best days perhaps even a bit savvy. I welcome the organized chaos and bustle that comes with most developing nations. I accept the role of the street tout and even understand the blight that moves him. At the same time, I'm pretty quick to spot a scam but cautious enough to never get taken in a big way. I marvel at new languages, foods, and different cultures, and even make concerted efforts at assimilation, however for whatever reason, as Finnair Flight AY51 descended over tower blocks and smoke stacks into Beijing I found myself fighting varying degrees of anxiety.

It's natural to 'steel' yourself before wandering out of the shelter of an airplane and into the fray of a big city, especially a new one. But this was different and I soon realized that I didn't feel welcome in Beijing. I hadn't set foot one in this city that houses 23,000,000 people but for some reason I couldn't settle my stomach that the Chinese, particularly the Government, wanted me there. Maybe it was the difficulty I had in obtaining a visa overall, or the terse, cold email replies from the Chinese Consulate reinforcing their position. Maybe it was the Chinese position on censorship, or Google's latest battle, or the situation in Tibet, or the attitude towards Taiwanese independence. Maybe it was stories like the Tibetan nun who was shot by Chinese soldiers, or the internal political dissenters who disappear after last being seen with the Blue Suited men of the Chinese Secret Police.

Approaching touch down I couldn't help but wonder just how many times I had Googled Tianaman Square Massacre wondering 'whatever happened to that guy who stood in front of the tank in 1989?' and now wondering 'do they know how many times I've Googled Tianamen Square Massacre?' If they knew that then surely they would know that I wrote a position paper in 1998 in support of China's acceptance into the World Trade Organization (WTO). And if they knew that then of course they would know that I used to order the Moo Shu Pork with pancakes at least once a week from Banana Leaves on Florida Avenue when I lived in D.C. If Big Red Brother was watching then I wanted any 'street cred' I could muster.

Despite my reservations, stereotypes, and misgivings, the transit from airplane exit to hotel entrance could not have gone smoother. Hell, even the taxi fare negotiation was uneventful. Whenever there's a language barrier, you get to play this game with vendors using the calculator on a cell phone to haggle over price. The slight, disheveled, middle-aged taxi porter wearing a black trousers and an oversized white button down shirt, took out his cell phone and entered the numbers 4-8-0 as his best price in Yuan before handing me the phone. Without hesitation I entered 9-0, and to my surprise he agreed straight away. Now, I either completely overpaid or he couldn't have been bothered to haggle at ten til seven in the morning. Regardless, for a 45 minute cab ride I was more than happy to pay a paltry