Oman Desert Marathon Race Report
165km self-sufficient, 6 stage foot race through the desert of Oman to the Arabian Sea
The 105 runners got off the coaches and climbed into a fleet of 25 Land Cruisers which then gunned their way through the sand with the Omani drivers demonstrating a recklessness that would leave me fearing for my life later in the week.
We arrived at the desert camp and found our Bedouin tent which has one side open to the elements. They say that your choice of tent mates make or break a multi stage event and fortunately I was lucky. My tent mates were Erik the 2:37 marathon runner from Norway who worked for an ice cream company and carried a fake Cornetto, Simon an alpha male living in Dubai with his also competing, and very fast, wife Liz, Ian the accountant from Croydon, Juergen the German who has completed 1,000s of marathons and multi-stage races including a marathon around the North Pole and his fellow German friends wiry Wolfgang, Michael and Christian, who has a map of the world tattooed on his thigh where he records all the ultra marathon races he has completed. Elsewhere amongst the competitors were the Mo Faraha and Paula Radcliffe equivalents of the desert Running world, the elites, as well as an eclectic mix of nationalities including a 19 year old Korean who trained by doing a lot of swimming and a another who had the build of Pavarotti – we wondered if they would make it.
The event was “organized” by an Italian and the Germans found the resulting utter chaos challenging to deal with – a sense of humor was essential. The event began with an unintelligible opening ceremony involving the best Omani dancing troupe in the country. Imagine 30 old and disheveled men in robes shuffling forward slowly in a vague asemblance of order whilst singing and waving plastic swords. The race began.
Stage 1: A flat, easy stage basically around a camel racing track (it’s a big thing in Oman) on relatively hard sand. I ran very conservatively, starting at the back, and it did not trouble me too much. I ran through much of the field and finished ahead of my expectations of just being in the top half. Low humidity and the temperature high but manageable. Stupidly I had decided to tighten my shoes more than normal as I was worried about blisters but the result was two blisters on my toes. First learning, don’t change anything you know already works. I conducted some open toe surgery and taping and hoped things would not get worse.
Back at the tent it was time for dinner. In these races you carry all your own food mostly comprising freeze dried rations. Many built fires but I ate mine cold – chili con carne and it was delicious. We were in bed at 6:00pm just after dark as there is nothing else to do.
It was a miserable night. My minimalist sleeping mat was unbelievably uncomfortable and my single season sleeping bag inadequate for the desert night temperatures which plummet as soon as the sun sets. By the end of the night I was wearing my down jacket, two buffs, socks and my bag zipped over my head – I was freezing all night.
Eventually the singing of morning prayers by the Omani army teams nudged us out of our sleeping bags at 5:00am. Breakfast was freeze dried porridge eaten cold and then ready to race for a 6:30am start.
Stage 2: A tough stage which soft sand and dunes. I started mid pack and again ran conservatively and was able to finish strongly. I was comfortable throughout. The landscape was phenomenal – very Lawrence of Arabia but the soft sand saps energy on every step. Arriving at camp the tents were not ready and we were forced to huddle, cramped under the limited available shade. Eventually the camp was up and they even had the porta loos, showers and hot water up and running. I was told that the facilities in Oman were five star compared to what I would face in the Marathon Des Sables. Often however none of the above worked or was available when promised and it was a constant source of frustration.
The relatively short stages and my reasonably quick pace meant that we would usually be finished by 10 or 11am. There is nothing to do and the remainder of the day is spent attending to blisters (no further issues for me fortunately), resting and thinking and talking about eating. As we are all calorie limited food becomes an obsession. The endless hours of nothing to do was hard for me to deal with but by the end of the week the ability to relax and reflect on life became a blessing. One of the things that all this time meant was that small tasks, such as applying tape to blistered feet, were now performed with great precision and care to eat up as much time as possible. I had no phone and so being disconnected and totally off the grid was actually one of the highlights. The evenings ended with the ritual watching of the sunset over the dunes.
Temperatures were lower the second night. I went to sleep in my race kit as well as my camp clothes and deployed my survival blanket as a ground sheet and managed a better but still very uncomfortable night.
Stage 3: I was using the Oman race to learn about pacing and nutrition so this stage I ran a little harder and restricted my calories. I had a good race and achieved my best position of the event. I was not troubled by the stage. Others on the other hand were beginning to suffer – the Korean and Pavarotti were now in a bad way as were many others. Runners would hobble around camp and our Bedouin village began to resemble a World War I field hospital.
A constant source of amusement for our tent were the Italians who would strut proudly around camp in their budgie smugglers. I can only assume that their minimalist approach to camp wear was a desire to keep the weight of their packs down. I began the race with a pack weighing 7.2kg and I hope to get it down to the minimum of 6.5kg for MDS. I will not take my mug or stove as cold freeze dried food is fine and I will not take my “luxury” item. Runners are recommended to bring a luxury to keep their spirits up. Some bought iPods, a small book, cake, I brought loads of loo paper. For some reason my fear was running out mid-race. I have now learnt you can survive on 7 sheets per day!
Stage 4: Today I decided to push a bit harder still to find the upper range to sustainable pace. I had a strong start and was feeling good until I hit the last 6 km which consisted of a series of mid sized soft dunes which you had to climb and then descend. I suffered complete power failure and my pace dropped dramatically – I dropped a few places so it was not a major disaster and I was more frustrated than emotionally damaged – that would come later. It was valuable learning in terms of where my limits lie. The race was an exercise in listening to your body. Triathletes just work to numbers and I know in an Ironman race what watts to produce on the bike and what speed to run the marathon. In these events the heat, fatigue and terrain mean that heart rate and pace are meaningless – I am having to learn about running on feel again – it’s good for me and I hope will make me a better athlete.
The camp was in chaos at the finish. This was largely due to the organizer having to deal with irate camel farmers as the runners had scared away the camels and the farmers were having to spend many hours searching for them. Eventually things calmed down and temperatures at night were a little higher and the nights were more comfortable. I also learnt I had been sleeping on my mat upside down and once this school boy error was addressed I managed not an unreasonable nights sleep.
Stage 5: The Marathon stage, 42km starting mid day so that we would be running partly at night under the stars. The roadbook promised 15km initially of soft sand followed by compact sand which is easier to run on. We later discovered that they had simply issued last years road book but just updated the edition from 4th to 5th. The route was in fact a straight soft sandy track with endless false summits which always disappointed as the hard compact sand never came. I ran with Liz from my tent and we agreed to run together at a very steady pace. We started slowly and just ran the same pace all night – it worked well and it was a great run, we placed well and even switched off our headlamps to take in the most incredible stars. The last 1.5 hours I fueled with caffeine shots – this was a mistake!
I was wired and despite being a late night – 9:00pm – I lay awake in my sleeping bag all night, my heart pounding and my body twitching. It meant I would see Pavarotti and the Korean finish at 2:30am having been on the track for 12.5 hours. They would have two hours to rest before getting up at 5:00am to be ready to race again. Apparently they simply lay down in their race kit and then got up at 5:00am ready to go again. The suffering is beyond comprehension.
The Final Stage 6: Despite the lack of sleep and limited food the night before I felt good. I thought I would go for it and went out quite hard. I was maintaining a good pace until we hit the big dunes. These were a series of really high, super soft, white dunes which guarded the route to the Arabian Sea which we could glimpse for about 10km out from the finish. It was at this point the wheels came off.
The descent off the top of the first dune resulted in my gaiters coming off – these gaiters protect your shoes from sand entering your shoes. Sand in your shoes is the equivalent of running in socks made of sand paper. The humidity of being close to the sea had caused my sweat to soak the shoes and the Velcro that holds the gaiters in place was now encased in wet sand and useless. I was also being pursued by a runner who, if they put time into me, would push me down the rankings which stressed me further. I arrived at the foot of the first large dune in a delicate emotional state with the lack of sleep and limited food really making an impact. I had to attempt to climb a wall of soft, shifting sand and every step seemed to result in no noticeable progress. It was like being trapped in a nightmare and I could manage about 5 steps before I had to rest. Eventually I crested the dune but it had consumed the last of my reserves and I still had 6km to go and many more of these monsters to climb – I broke mentally.
I gave up racing and just wanted to finish. I was not mentally tough enough to keep racing. I kept on for 3km in a stupor, despondent and pathetic. I hated myself for my weakness but then saw this as the opportunity to grow that mental toughness I knew deep down I lacked as an athlete . I thought about the poor example I was setting for Tristan and Amelie and vowed to fight.
On the next dune I shouted out their names on every step and tears immediately fell onto the sand. I was not fast, there was nothing in the tank, but I was racing again, pushing as hard as my body would allow. I pushed on for them, hoping that somehow my example would make them strong and protect them. Slowly the dunes subsided and from 1km out I saw the finish. It was hardly a sprint finish but Catie, Tristan, Amelie and I came over the finish line together. Pavarotti and the Korean were also to finish.
Epilogue – Oman Desert Marathon
After the race we were entertained on the beach by a robe wearing Omani band comprising two bongo drummers and a bad bag pipe player. Apparently the British introduced the bagpipes to Oman and its a big thing. The Omani men loved it and danced til the early hours – i.e. 6pm.
I slept really well on my last night in our tent and woke to the magical combination of the sound of crashing waves accompanied by 5:00am morning prayers. We then began the five hour bus journey back to our hotel which was close to the camel race track where the event began and where the closing ceremony would take place. I had to ask one of the locals to ask the driver to stop using social media whilst driving.
Originally I planned not to attend the finishers gala dinner as I knew it would be chaotic but then I thought I would go to see how bad it was – I was not disappointed.
The bus drivers drove us directly to the camel race track and we were ushered to our seats – women segregated into the cheap seats and the men into the VIP area. We sat around feeling hungry for an hour before we were asked to leave. We then stood by the buses for 20 minutes wondering what was going on before the drivers appeared and drove us around the corner to where the meal was – they had taken us to the wrong venue. The organizers were no where to be seen.
Dinner was served immediately. Huge plates of rice with a goat carcass on top – head’n all. As there were no serving implements we wondered what to do until the members of the local Omani army team showed us the way. They used their hands to tear the flesh of the carcass onto their plates and shovelled the rice on with another plate. It was medieval and resembled a pack of hyenas gorging themselves on a discarded recent kill. I got stuck in and it was delicious. Some were traumatized by the experience. Due to the earlier delay we had about 20 minutes to eat before being driven back to the stadium.
The ceremony consisted mainly of fawning to his excellency / highness / sultan and gifts for all the “organizers” followed by the presentation of gifts to his excellency. These included three oil paintings of race horses, each progressively worse than the last. They may race camels but they dream of horses. This was then followed by the best all male Omani dance troupe once again delivering the same shuffling routine before the band played a series of tunes including the one where you shout “tequila” at points during the song – a bizarre choice for a dry country. The evening finished with a pipe band which was actually surprisingly good. The runners were largely ignored. We returned to the hotel at 11pm and I set my alarm for the 3:45am to be ready for the 4:30am bus and the 2.5 hour transfer to Muscat airport.
Amazingly the bus left as scheduled which was impressive as they had to send a bell boy to wake up the driver. Apparently he had taken some runners to a secret bar that served alcohol and prostitutes in the bus and stayed with them until late. We were unsure as to whether he had partaken of either. We were bid goodbye from the Italian organizer and left alone with the driver who spoke no English. Fortunately they had made him put his phone in his pocket so he would not be distracted by his social media habit. I was in the front seat and quickly realized he was struggling to stay awake. When he put his head on the wheel we all shouted and I moved into the guide seat right at the front to watch him and make sure he stayed awake.
The national speed limit in Oman is 120kph and no doubt a lot slower for busses. On a number of occasions he exceeded 130kph setting off the alarm on his tacograph and he took the racing line through corners as I signaled to him to take his foot off the gas. I have never been more terrified in my life – it was like a bad remake of speed and I never took my eyes off him, shouting every time his blink rate slowed. Thankfully we arrived at the airport alive and in only 1.5 hours. A few of the runners shook my hand afterwards and thanked me for keeping him awake!
It’s been an interesting experience and I was happy with my result of 18th overall (results on the website were not accurate) – I learnt a lot and it’s built my confidence for MDS. Every aspect of the shared experience with strangers was incredible and I would recommend multi-stage event races, especially for friends or couples, but perhaps not this race unless the Swiss take responsibility for organisation.
Expeditions 