The last day was a blur.  The start times were staggered into three groups 8:30 for the slowest competitors, 9:30 for the middle of the pack and 10:30 for the fastest third. They had promised that this last stage was flat but in the past, I’ve disagreed with their classification of the course terrain so I was doubtful and wondered what surprise obstacles they would throw in.  Thankfully, it was indeed flat.

It was a nice overcast morning, we followed the course as it snaked around the lake for 14 km to the finish line.  At the beginning of the 5 previous stages of the race, I always started at the back and missed the opportunity to see the fast runners.  Around 11:00, 30 minutes after the fastest group started, they bounded by me.  Chema, double Olympian and leader of the men, flashed a big, toothy smile and gave me thumbs up as he sprinted by.  Though this is a race, the beauty of these events is that there is a mutual respect and admiration for anyone who shares the course with you.  Being a slow walker at best, I always feel out of place in these races, but then I remind myself that each of us on that course must define our own success.  My idea of success was to cross the finish line with no injuries and a smile on my face, which I managed to accomplish.

The energy at the end was electric, runners who had been dealing with injuries and other aches and pains were suddenly energized to run across the finish line and even leap and dance for photos. People were sharing hugs and congratulations with one another, some shed tears of joy, and others sat and ravenously tore into meat dumplings and watermelon. A crowd of tourists had gathered and were posing for photos with the runners, essentially photo-bombing many of the victory shots.  One man asked if he could borrow my medal so he could pose under the Gobi banner for a few photos. 

A sound system had been set up and we were treated to a show of traditional dancers and musicians.  For the last part of the show, performers invited people from the crowd to join them in the middle to dance.  I spotted fellow Canadians Paul Borlinha and Hilary Ewart in the center and joined them.  The song ended and then over the speakers “na na na come on…” a familiar techno beat began to blare, it was Rihanna’s “S & M” song.  More and more runners joined the circle to jump, writhe and boogie, some with more intensity than they had shown all week on the course. While I danced, I was laughing uncontrollably for two reasons. First, at how utterly appropriate the lyrics were:

“Feels so good being bad
There's no way I'm turning back
Now the pain is my pleasure
Cause nothing could measure”

Second, because I had a particular thought pattern that started in Jordan. During the race, if I was having a rough day, I would grumble about Sam and Matt in my head. “You guys are killing me. I’m dying.” Not that they were directly responsible for the course and all its cruelty, but mainly because they were my first contacts as I was navigating the registration process and correspondence for the event.  So to me they were the faces of the race: the S & M tormentors.

So there we all were, runners who had voluntarily subjected ourselves to 250 km of challenging terrain, dragging our wounded bodies across the finish line, dancing to a song called “S & M” – oh the irony was just too much.  

“Love is great, love is fine
Out the box, out of line
The affliction of the feeling
Leaves me wanting more”

And it mattered little to me that I came second last among all the runners.  What mattered is that I had persevered and finished.   As the song says, “Cause I may be bad, But I'm perfectly good at it…….” So next, I plan to drag my bad-but-perfectly-good performance to the remaining 2 deserts and achieve what no other Canadian woman has before: the Four Deserts Grand Slam.

All in all, a wonderful end to an amazing week.  As we were leaving the area in our cramped buses, and as we gazed upon the terrain we had conquered, it felt very surreal that for 7 days we had been so submerged in it, that little else mattered.  Viewing it through the tiny bus windows, I was struck with a sense of sadness that soon we would be back to the bustle and noise of the city but I was really looking forward to a shower and clean clothes. And also, keeping with an old family tradition, I was able to celebrate at  KFC.  My brothers would have been so proud. 

We finished stage 4 quite late (9:30pm) so out of fairness for the runners, the start time was pushed back to 10:00 am instead of the usual 8:00 to allow some time to recover before the dreaded Stage 5 which spans over 2 days - for the slower runners. Some strong runners can finish that stage in 8 hours. Nuts.

I figured out why I have the dubious distinction of “worst blister” of the race. In Jordan, I was running with shoes 1.5 sizes bigger than my feet. I had used those shoes in Antarctica and North Pole to accommodate extra socks and they worked great in Jordan. When I bought my Hokas I bought my usual size 8, so my pinky toe on my right foot was swollen to twice its size. The medical staff took pictures of it.

The morning of stage 5 I was quite sombre – no jokes, no songs. I was dreading the 68 km. The start time 10:00 am Thursday, cut off time 11:00 am Friday. So essentially, I was mentally preparing to suffer for 25 hours. My swollen feet and bandaged toe made it really painful to put my shoes on. I had 2 choices, suffer and cram them into my shoes, OR take out my orthotics so my feet had more room. I opted for option 2 but 10 km into the monster day I could feel my feet start to ache without the arch support. The doctor at checkpoint 1 saw me and asked why I looked so defeated. I bawled and told him. His brilliant solution was the trim the toe part off the orthotic, leaving only the arch support. Done. Time to hammer away at the remaining 58 km. Gorgeous scenery of pasturelands and a few difficult ascents, one was 1000 m elevation gain between checkpoints 3-4. Our bags feel considerably lighter thank god. The locals are intrigued by us as well as the military. They often stop us to snap a photo. Reached checkpoint 5 at 10:30pm about 35 km into the race. I stopped to have a short sleep and had to leave the checkpoint by 3:00. There were about a dozen runners there. We all put on our headlamps and continued on the trail with 33 km to go. The course followed a loose gravel road and is marked by pink flags with reflector tape as well as glow sticks. Somehow, the makers were not visible and 6 of us veered off course. One of the race volunteers redirected us but I had lost about 30 minutes. At the 53 km point, because the race director is a masochist, there was a 10 km climb. I had the Red Hot Chili Peppers song on repeat for that section “Keep on trying til I reach a higher ground.” Made it across the line at 10:30. Tomorrow is an easy 14 km so essentially, I’VE FINISHED THE GOBI!

I’ve set my sights on the Four Deserts GRAND SLAM - let’s rock this!

In Jordan, my Salomon shoes gave me 1 blister, these Hokas, when I trained with them felt like I was walking on clouds. I was raving about them to everyone. They are proving to be an absolute nightmare here in the Gobi. I have 4 giant blisters and I can usually deal with them on my own but after the monster day of endless rocky fields, I decided to treat myself to a visit to the medical tent. Jay, the medical director had time to treat my feet. There were 4 other doctors there wrapping up the evening. Jay turned up the speakers because one of my favourite songs came on. I had had a shitty day that ended in tears, so when all of us were sitting in the medical tent singing “Fix You” by Coldplay. It was so touching and exactly what I needed.
“Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.”

Stage 3 – morning was cold and drizzling rain, which put me in such a foul mood. We prepared ourselves for a 40 km run that had incredibly challenging sections which added up to a 12.5 hour cut off. The first 12 km were steep ascents on dirt trails that the previous night’s rainfall had washed out into deep muddy paths. The mud clung onto the bottoms of our shoes which made every step so heavy. We started at 8:00 am and had until noon to make it to the first checkpoint. There is a great couple here that I’ve been hanging out. Fran (short for Francisco) and his girlfriend Sophie. They say that there are 2 Linhs: Camp Linh and Course Linh. When they passed me, all I could muster was a grunt. Fran says, “You’re like Fiona at camp, but turn into an ogre on the course…..you’re Liona!” The freezing rain turned into hail and I was thinking of ways that I could quit. There were also half a dozen small river crossings so by then my socks were soaked through. The security has been beefed up for this race so every kilometre or so, police stand guard to make sure we are safe. One of them saw me fall and slide a few feet down a small canyon. He rushed down to help me and held my arm and walked me up to the top. I scraped my knee a bit but cared more about the layer of mud that will be caked on my tights until the end of this race. By then, the wind had picked up and my hands were too frozen to hold my trek poles. I wondered what the hell I was doing. What do I need to prove? I finished one ultra, that is enough. Later on, I found out that this storm caused a competitor to drop out of the race. Cold, tired and dirty is how I describe my personal hell. I arrived at the 1st checkpoint by 11:45 and was told that the stage would be cut to 25km. I was elated! I imagined myself getting into camp around 3, instead of 8 and that instead of tents we would be spending the night in a ger camp because there was a big rain storm coming and the gers would keep us dry. I WAS elated until I realized that they would be tacking on that lost time onto another stage. The sun came out as I was leaving the checkpoint and I had 13 km of pasturelands and rolling hills flanked by snow-capped mountains. It was a sublime 3 hours and without the usual time constraints I was able to take lots of photos.

I got into camp by 3:30, and was able to rest in the sunshine for an hour before the rain clouds rolled over us. Never in a million years would I imagine being this cold and this wet IN A DESERT! I’m heading to bed now and since the next two days are long I’m not sure if will be able to access the cybertent before it closes. But if you would like to understand how I’m feeling, listen to Kings of Leon “Cold Desert”

“No one ever carried my load…I’m too young to feel this old.
Everyone notices, everyone has seen the signs,
I’ve always been known to cross lines…” (I hope I can cross it a few days from now!)

Day 1 was an absolutely brutal way to start the race – 49 km through steep rocky canyons and a high of 35 degrees.
For the first 15 km, my mind and body were really reluctant. “What the hell are you making us do this for? I hate you.”
It took from 2nd checkpoint onward for me to find my groove. It was also in this section that a military vehicle passed by me as I was taking photos of rocks, pulled up and shouted, “No photos!” Got into camp at 8:30.

Day 2 – described as “easy” by the organizer as 39 km through grass steppes of the Gobi, I would describe it as 39 km of flat, interminable grass field littered with jagged rocks. The view is deceptive because it looks flat but the hidden gem of torture is that every few hundred yards there are deep rocky canyons that we have descend into and climb out of. And at the day ended with a cold windy rain. Four people dropped out today. I crossed the line at 10 hours 15 minutes and sat in my tent, and bawled for 20 minutes.

This can only get better.

Calgary - Beijing - Urumqi - Tomorrow Bole I am so tired and jet lagged I want to cry. I am in Urumqi at the moment, there is an extraordinary level of military presence due to the explosion of last week that killed dozens of people. So, the city is quite safe with armed guards, tanks, and metal detectors everywhere. Met up with Atul, a runner from Virginia who I ran with in the North Pole and Jordan. We have one more domestic flight tomorrow morning to a small city in the NW corner of China. All the runners will be there for our orientation tomorrow evening. Feeling more nervous as the race approaches!

When I did the Jordan race earlier this year, I prayed that I could just get through it. I negotiated with the universe, “Please just let me get through this and I’ll do the next one better.  I'll have a better hydration system, I'll carry lighter food, I'll find more comfortable shoes, I’ll bring music, I’ll take more photos, and most importantly, I promise I’ll train more.”  How did these months fly by between Jordan and Gobi?  I am as unprepared physically as I was for Jordan.  But mentally, I’m remarkably zen and really looking forward to this race. 

Someone asked me recently why I would do these races. “I love the pain,” I replied.

“No you don’t,” he eyed me dubiously.

“Okay, fine.  I mean, I love the epiphany that comes with the pain. There is no situation in my regular life that allows me the time and space to connect with my thoughts than endless hours traipsing through the desert.”

I love that in the course of a day, I will well up with feelings of infinite gratitude, blurt expletives at the glimpse of yet another sand dune, enjoy the chorus of a song as it repeats in my head, laugh at an almost forgotten childhood memory or cry at the immense solitude between check points.  I am continually wonderstruck by the memories, thoughts, and feelings that bubble to the surface.

A million thanks to Duck Tape who are my sponsors for the race.  I will do my very best to “stick to it.”

So here we go, bring on the pain………and love, and laughter.