April 12: Death march, final chapter
By Alex Blodgett, Team U.S. Army Watch

Treating blisters at the medical tent

Despite the enthusiasm early this morning, as we approached the 9 a.m. start the climate changed. Racers were bouncing up and down to calm nerves and many were off behind the bushes to deal with the stress in their own private way. Today was going to be a race, no doubt about it. This is the peculiar nature of ultrarunners.

It seemed incomprehensible to me that people remain so competitive after six days of heat, dirt, sand, snakes, broken and blistered toes, dehydration, now limited food, and a film of grime on all of us that promises to overwhelm the hotel's waste disposal system tomorrow night.

I found myself trapped by the same spirit. Although generally I never compete with anyone other than myself, I made an early decision that I was going to push hard today, run smart, and take a few risks to get myself back inside the top 20 percent (the 50-miler put me in a disappointing 103rd place out of 350+).

The marathon (26.2 miles) was divided roughly into four equal quarters, ending in a beautiful oasis nestled against the mountains. I felt strong during the first three-quarters of the race, despite the unrelenting heat. The breeze would occasional roll across the plains to cool the sweat, reminding me that I in fact had not been ostracized to Hell.

I continued to drink my fluids religiously every 10 minutes, and consumed a high-calorie, semi-fluid substance (Gu) every hour. I began to get quite dehydrated, however, about halfway, as evidenced by a high content of blood in my urine.

Urinating is unusual to begin with in this type of heat, with one's body absorbing every ounce of fluid it receives. My kidneys had a high level of acid in them at this point and were telling me that enough is enough (and I suspect all the anti-inflammatories I've been taking have aggravated the situation).

Although I was feeling strong and wasn't going to throw caution to the wind at this point as I've gone through this before, I continued to monitor the situation closely for the balance of the leg.

I seemed particularly sensitive to my body today, monitoring what was failing and what was doing just fine. My feet are deteriorating quickly, as the cumulative effect of over 125 miles in the past six days at a ground temperature consistently exceeding 110-120 degrees has burned through whatever protective layer our skin and shoes have to offer.

The ground heats the soles to the point that you can alter the composition of the rubber temporarily with the push of a finger, and the tape used to wrap my toes has melted into or been absorbed by the surface wounds.

I knew at the onset that the number of blisters on my feet was going to grow exponentially today. I wasn't disappointed. To further exacerbate things, my left large toe is black and the nail is dying an unattractive but quick death.

Despite the fact that my shoes are already one size larger than normal, I threw myself onto the ground at mile 10, tore off my shoes and threw away both my orthodics ($300) and my insoles to accommodate the swelling in my feet. A mother camel and her baby were the only welcome distraction in an otherwise brutal day.

The final 5 kilometers were the worst, as the direct sun had taken my body temperature to a dangerously high level; I could really feel the intensity of the heat in my head. I still refused to slow at this point as the bivouac was now in sight. Last year's female winner, a tall, curvaceous German, caught me at the last 2 kilometers, and we ran across the line together, holding hands. As in all survival sports, the language barrier was not an issue; we both realized that by working together and pushing each other, the finish line would materialize sooner. I was pleased with a four-hour marathon, given the elements, and an opportunity to make a new friend.

And thus the end of the lion's share of the race. I am now sitting in the press tent, nibbling away at a piece of bread and cheese that Dan has smuggled to me, hidden appropriately inside the American flag that hangs from our tent each night.

Everyone on Team U.S. Army Watch has made a tremendous effort. Chloe has done an incredible job, despite damaged feet that will take the balance of the summer to recover; her inspirational feats, competitiveness, and determination continue to make it clear to me why she is such a major contributor to our team in our various races.

Buddy had a major wake-up call in adventure racing, having only competed in marathons and a few ultras before arriving in the Sahara. He did an amazing job, and will go home with the newly inflicted scar tissue that will make him even stronger in his next adventure. He was great company and a large asset to the team.

Mary, although she dropped yesterday after never fully recovering with a bad bout of dehydration, achieved her objective, which was to return to the desert for a fifth straight year to be with her friends. Having completed the race four times previously (including a second-place showing), we all remain perplexed and in awe as to what motivates an individual to return to this punishing event year after year. She is the toughest one in the crowd, has an easy smile like her brother, and was the catalyst that pulled us all together for this race. For that we will all be eternally grateful once the muscles and feet recover.

First tip of the day: Your snake-bite kit isn't for throwing at the serpents; hold onto it, as they enjoy sneaking into the warmth of your sleeping bag at night.

Second tip of the day: If your urine is red, it isn't from last night's freeze-dried strawberry-rhubarb pie; your kidneys are shutting down and you are in big trouble — pay attention!