Fantastic! Incredible! Mile after mile of stunning vistas. Snow-capped peaks in the distance, sheer rock walls on either side of boiling rapids, razor-thin passages in places, local people cheering us on, wonderful weather. After getting off to my usual slow start I quickly throttled back to a more sustainable pace. No blisters, to loose toenails, only slightly sore knees. The are only slightly sore because I was able to soak them in the ice-cold water of the river we have been following when I got to camp. It is a wonderful campsite, with hot tea being delivered directly to our tents and hot water available just outside our tent door. There are others waiting to e-mail and blog, so I’ll stop now. I am feeling great and looking forward to Stage 2. Terri – in your next e-mail to me, please send your e-mail address. I wrote it down but left it in my suitcase. Love to all

While in London I was supposed to meet Steve Partridge yesterday at 09:30 at the Royal Exchange on Wednesday morning. I had planned to do so until about 04:30 Wednesday morning. That's when all hell broke loose in my intestinal tract. Something I ate? Or drank? Or something else altogether? No matter. It's gone now and I am a couple of kilos lighter on my feet than before. However, it did keep me from leaving my hotel room until about noon and there was no way to let Steve know in advance that I would not be meeting him.

Prior to Wednesday, I was able to get in some nice runs early in the mornings on Monday and Tuesday. Monday morning it was

This post is primarily for those who are already signed up to participate in an RtP event, or are thinking about doing so, but have never participated in an RtP race or anything like them. You can look forward to an experience that will create memories that will last a lifetime. Here are a few of my favorites:

My first siting of the Southern Cross during the Atacama Crossing. It was at about midnight at Camp 1 on the eve of the start of the race. I wandered away from camp a ways to "de-hydrate", looked up, and there it was. Easily seen in the midst of thousands of stars in the clear, dry air. I had seen pictures of the Southern Cross, read stories in which it was mentioned and dreamed of seeing with my own eyes since I was a little boy. I was not disappointed.

Finishing Stage 1 of the Atacama Crossing. The bad news was that Stage 1 started at an altitude of over 10,000', The good news was that it was all downhill from there. Since all of my training had been done at an altitude of 1,100', the air seemed mighty thin (which, in fact, it was). The fact that I have only four instead of five lung lobes (lost one to a lung tumor years ago) was also a hindrance. I had no choice but to move at a pace slow enough to enable me to keep my breathing under control and maintain a decent level of blood oxygenation. Passing out on a narrow stretch of Inca Trail high above the river was simply not acceptable. It was a long, long day and a very challenging start to a fantastic experience.

Camp at the Valle del Muerte during the Atacama Crossing. This was the camp at the end of the 80K stage. It was a beautiful day, providing everyone with an opportunity to relax outside the tents, tend to their wounds and swap stories. With only the short final stage to do the next day, everyone was in a very upbeat mood. In our tent, all of the food anyone had left was piled up in the middle of the tent and you could help yourself to whatever you wanted. Watching Charlie Engle "surf" down the side of the huge sand dune next to camp on a sandboard was the highlight of the day. I videotaped the whole thing.

Walking the entire 80K stage of the Sahara Race with Derek Kwik. Derek had a nerve inflammation (or something like that) in both of his lower legs and could not run. His only option was to walk the whole thing or DNF. DNF was not an option because Derek's goal was to be an official finisher of the Sahara Race in order to qualify for The Last Desert in Antartica. Derek and I had become good friends while trekking about half of the Atacama Crossing together the year before, so I told him I would walk the whole thing with him. We swapped mp3 players, discussed theology and politics, spent hours in total silence, shared food (I am now addicted to marinated, hard-boiled quail eggs), shared taking the lead into sometimes vicious winds, talked each other out of believing that our hallucinations were real, took short naps leaning against each other back-to-back in the middle of nowhere, hit the last CP just before dawn and made it to camp by mid-morning. It was the most enjoyable 50 mile hike imaginable.

Not waving the "surrender flag". The Sahara Race was all about surviving the incredible heat. At one point during the race four or five of us were huddled in a sliver of shade created by a small rock ledge in the White Desert. I had a small white hand towel that we were getting wet and waving back and forth on the end of one of my trekking poles so the evaporation would cool the cloth. We had done that a few times when someone in the group notice a cloud of dust some distance away. It was impossible to tell what was causing it. In a minute or so, it was obvious that the dust cloud was caused by a vehicle headed our way fast. It drove right up in front of us and out jumped one of the race officials. He asked what the problem was and we told him that there was no problem, we were just trying to cool off. I asked him why he thought there was a problem. He said he had seen the white flag waving from his observation point and took it as a sign of surrender by one of the competitors. I told him that none of us were about to surrender and we all had a good laugh.