April 8: Temperatures soar as race route crosses dry lake bed
By Dan Morrison

A runner adjusts his pack

Bodies were sprawled out on the floor, which was nothing more than a woven rug. More were lying on makeshift stretchers and gurneys. Although everyone in the tent was still alive, a couple looked like they were about to have a close encounter with the fabled light at the end of the dark tunnel.

Men involuntarily cried out in pain as medical personnel lanced blisters or removed ripped and bleeding toenails from their feet. Three patients at a time were laid out to receive life-sustaining fluid drip injections. Three out, three more back in.

The waiting line into the tent was long, and its length remained constant throughout the late afternoon. Most of the media personnel felt obliged to visit the carnage once for at least a photo or a sound bite. Few went back for take two.

Day two of the 1997 Marathon des Sables in the Moroccan Sahara had been tough.

It had started out easy enough. The field of 358 competitors had been assigned to one of four groups depending on their performance the previous day. The slowest 25 percent of the runners would start stage 2 at 8:30 a.m.

A local Tuareg

Today's run would take the competitors into their first real sand dunes of any consequence, and by kilometer 5 many were struggling with a running surface they had never encountered before. Distances in soft sand are misleading, and require significantly more effort and energy to cover than a hard surface. Two steps forward, one back, with each footfall sinking a few inches into the dune, making forward progress frustratingly slow. Soon two media vehicles would become stuck in the sand, abandoned to be retrieved later.

By the first checkpoint, at kilometer 12, many of the runners simply sat down for a much-needed break. Others, like Russian Andrei Derksen and Italian Marco Gozzano, still battling for first position, barely slowed to a walk as they picked up their water rations and skidded down the backside of the steep dune on which the checkpoint was located.

By 9:35 a.m. when the first runner, English competitor Andrew Marshall (although not actually first overall, due to the staggered start) passed through the checkpoint, the temperature was already hovering near the century mark. Today the sun would exact its toll.

When Italian Giampietro Marion faltered near the gate, French runner Giles Jaudoin supported him and helped him to the checkpoint. There is a time for fierce competition, and a time for concern for your fellow man.

Just beyond the first checkpoint the competitors ran through 6 kilometers of mixed soil, mostly sand dunes or soft sand patches with the occasional rocky soil just to keep things interesting.

A Berber family watched from inside their low tent as the runners passed by. Four camels grazing nearby paid little attention. An adolescent donkey kicked his hind legs high in the air and skittered about nervously at the sight of the inexplicable human convoy.

At kilometer 18 lay this day's crucible: Lake Iriqui.

Until 40 years ago Lake Iriqui had been a major body of water in the desert. At that time its source was diverted to serve the needs of the growing population of Ouarzazate. The lake is dry now, and stretches out like an enormous solar collector. From entry to exit, the competitors would run under a punishing sun 12 kilometers across the sandy soil with surface temperature in excess of 120 degrees Fahrenheit.

As the line of runners stretched into the distance, they appeared to vanish into a shimmering blue sea — the ghostly remains of Iriqui at first glance, but in reality a mirage.

As brutal as the race for first position between Derksen and Gozzano. On across the lake bed they ran, first Derksen ahead, then Gozzano gaining the lead. Then Derksen pushing himself even harder to once again overtake the Italian.

Half a dozen media Land Rovers fell into line alongside the race course to watch the battle of wills, cameramen perched atop the vehicles recording the drama with telephoto lenses. At the end of the day it was Derksen, the three-time defending champion, who crossed under the arch first.

The Russian walked slowly to the medical tent, removed his pack, and quietly lay down. He would soon be joined by many others.

When Moroccan frontrunner Lahcen Ahansal finished the day's torturous 30-kilometer course, he was immediately asked by a camera crew how the run had been. Ahansal stopped, looked directly into the face of the reporter, shook his head and walked away without saying word. The unspoken answer was clear. How could anyone who had never run 12 kilometers across a scorching 125-degree dry lake bed ever hope to understand the full implication of what the experience meant?

When the last Spaniard walked under the arch, maintaining his team's obsession to finish absolutely last in this year's event, the two race camels lumbered in just behind him. Someone had attached a small Jolly Rogers flag to the animal's saddle. As the flag fluttered limply in the blast-furnace breeze, the white skull on the field of black grinned at the competitors.

British runner Sebastion Rich offered his assessment of the race.

"Well, it hasn't been too bad so far. But then everybody knows the first day is pretty good. And even the second day is pretty good. But then on the third day," he continued while smiling sardonically, "the Gates of Hell will open up."

Dan Morrison is a freelance writer-photographer based in Austin, Texas.