April 11: In survival mode
By Alex Blodgett, Team U.S. Army Watch

Alex and Chloe

The day was without any doubt the most physically demanding period of my life. Once again, the temperature skyrocketed to 120 degrees by noon, and the balance of the afternoon was spent in pure survival mode.

The winds were strong, and the afternoon clouds and double rainbow were aesthetically beautiful, but too far away to be of any help. My morning pace had been reduced to a shuffle.

To put things into perspective, the top runners finished this leg in seven to eight hours, while as I sit here at 7 p.m., 35 hours after the start, the last racer is just coming across the line to the applause of the entire encampment.

Buddy and I decided pretty early on that we were going to complete the segment together. The company is always welcome and our pace today was consistent throughout most of the run. Further, the first part of the race was snake-infested, and I needed a point person. It took us until 3:30 p.m. (six hours) to complete the first half (roughly equivalent to a marathon) which was through more sand dunes than we thought possible on such a long leg.

Both our heads felt as if they were going to overheat, although I was probably more concerned than Buddy. After seeing one of the other U.S. runners taking two IVs yesterday after dehydration and sun stroke took his temperature to 107 degrees, I knew what I didn't want to happen.

The second half, although considerably longer, was more interesting. We ran through two villages, both of which ran along a welcome oasis. The young children, in a fashion consistent in all villages, were friendly, excitable and very opportunistic if you gave them them the chance to steal a trinket off your pack. One unsuccessful rug rat successfully pinged me in the back of the head with a stone.

The villages were unreal to those of us accustomed to such conveniences and luxuries as drive-through beer barns and e-mail. The streets were thick in sand and largely passable only by foot; the homes were spartan with no running water or power; and the excitement of foreigners, media trucks, and overhead helicopters I am certain were a dramatic contrast to the day-to-day tranquillity and simplicity of these villages.

The last village was particularly interesting, as Buddy and I approached it after dark. Because of the lack of power, we heard lots of excitable chatter around us, but could see absolutely nothing, except children darting out of the dark at us.

As we passed through the second to last checkpoint (only 25 kilometers remaining), we were very fatigued. It was difficult to determine which part of our bodies felt worse. My legs were aching, my toes were severely blistered (despite lascivious thoughts about my French nurse, I knew I wasn't returning to the medic tent), and my mid-back was ailing from the pack. The sun was also taking its toll; I'm as dark as I have ever been, but can't differentiate between the skin tone and dirt — we are absolutely as dirty as one could image. I suspect my four boys would be quite envious, knowing that their father has not bathed or showered now for over a week.

During the final 15 kilometers, I felt as if I had been re-invigorated. Chloe had just passed the two of us at an unimaginable pace, and Buddy was starting to suffer from dehydration. Buddy and I stuck together, shuffling across the desert floor, which was now dark and starting to fill with nocturnal life.

Way off in the distance, we could see the beacon from the bivouac, but would be frustrated by our apparent lack of progress as we tracked toward the light for two and a half hours. It seemed as elusive as comet Hale Bopp.

As Buddy's legs continued to fatigue and water became a distant memory, I tracked the two of us straight across the last remaining sand dunes, rather than going out and around as suggested. This saved us 45 minutes.

For the final hour we traveled up and over what felt like a million sand mountains, each one extracting its own share of our calves and quads. Knowing that Buddy was fading, I kept my distance in front of him, roughly 50 yards, knowing that he would not allow himself to be left out there. I was constantly monitoring his whereabouts by tracking his fading headlamp. Buddy was a great sport yesterday, and deserves a lot of credit for having the determination and perseverance to push when his body was completely depleted. This is the essence of adventure racing, being able to push one's self to a perceived limit, and then pushing through it.

Tip of the day: When a beautiful French woman says to you, "Il fait plus chaud quand enfer," it doesn't mean, "You look tired, beautiful American man, may I bathe you."