Last year, when I went out to Namibia to test what is now the Race to the Wreck route (blog here, people) I honestly through I would never be going back. I knew I couldn’t afford it and I never thought there would be an opportunity for me to revisit one of the most beautiful places on earth.
Bright eyed and bushy tailed the first time round.
I spent time on that first trip sucking up every element of what it was like to be there. I horded memories that I would later need to tap into. Visions of vast plains, huge dunes. The feeling of calm. The way it stripped me back to thinking clean and straight. The stress that vanished as soon as we entered the park. All I had to do here was run. Run and be me. There were no phones, no internet and no distractions. There were no expectations. There was no society. All I had to do was live and move forward. And that felt like the best thing in the world.
For months I revisited those memories. Using them to calm the storm. Using the desert as a place in my head to go when everything overwhelmed me. My life was chaos but the desert was still. My life was chaos but the desert was still there. It would always be there. A place in my head to hide. There are no clouds on those plains.
With a more professional photo crew this time round. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
And then, about five months before the public event was due to go ahead, Jim emailed me and asked if I would go back, in a working role, as “comfort crew”. I literally couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even think of what my answer was going to be, what the repercussions would be or what anyone else thought. It was an immediate yes. I was overwhelmed. I’ve said it before, but I owe so much to Jim for believing in me.
The role was to support the forty odd runners and bikers heading out into the desert in 2019. This was the first public outing for the event. Ultimately, I would help give advice and answer kit faff questions in the run up to the event, and then be there on the ground to help them first-hand on their own journey. This was literally the best job ever.
I did actually wonder if this role was 100% needed. Won’t people be able to get on with it without me? I guess the only people that can really answer that are those who took part. What I do know is that the week I spent there was one of the most inspiring and fulfilling times of my life. So I thought I would write about what it’s like to be in the throes of an event when you’re not actually running in it.
I arrived in Windhoek with the rest of the crew on the Saturday to start the road journey to Namibgrens farm where we would be staying for the first two nights of the trip. I vividly remembered the first time I had been driven along these dirt roads. I loved it just as much the second time – seeing warthogs and baboons at the roadside, whizzing past Oryx and Zebra as they galloped along, confused at the convoy of vans.
When we arrived at camp, I was overwhelmed by the set up. It was insane. I remembered it being a very small area where all we did was have a braii and a meeting. We had stayed in the farmhouse bungalows for one night before the test trip, but here was a military style set up of tents to sleep in complete with beds off the floor (I know - posh!), a small natural swimming pool, a huge mess tent and an army of on the ground chefs, logistics managers and crew. It was insane how many people had pulled this together. It was a major operation that had been months in the making. There was as many crew as participants.
View of Namibgrens Farm Camp from the top of a hill I trotted up.
As the participants began to arrive, they appeared just as overwhelmed as us. I made myself useful manning the bar (most important job of the week, people) and everyone milled about introducing themselves in that nervous British way that people do. It was really exciting. The crew made an amazing dinner and people stayed up chatting and getting to know each other. I spoke to so many people that night. All of them nervous and full of questions. I also laughed a lot. This was an awesome group of adventurers. I had yet to find any dickheads. (Spolier – there were no dickheads).
“GET OUTTA MY PUB!”
The following day was logistics and kit day. The guys riding bikes for the first few days (aka the mentalists) got the chance to test them. I joined the crew in getting wavers signed and doing kit-check, but there was a good few hours in which to just relax. Some people went for a run, some out on their bikes. Some climbed the mountains around the camp. Some slept. Some packed and repacked their bags 900 times. I spent the day talking to people about the route and what to expect, clambering up mountains and jumping in the pool. Went for a little run. Remembered how hard it is trotting that high above sea-level. I really hoped that the route WAS the same as the one myself and Darren had plotted the year before or else I was actually talking bullshit to everyone. Turns out it was.
That evening, as the last of the (delayed) travellers arrived, we got down to business with briefings. I was introduced to the group and my role was explained. I would be with the runners for their whole journey. On foot. The plan was that the following day the runners would leave camp at 5am to travel 100km by bus to the gates of the Namib Nukluft park to start the run. We would run 200km over 5 days, to the wreck of the Eduard Bolen, which marked the end of their journey and the start of the rest of their lives. I know that is what it did for me.
Someone on a bike on day one (not me). Looks pretty awesome right? Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
The bikers would start from the camp, riding 200km in the first two days and meeting back up with the running only group on the evening of day two. The bikers have it hard. You couldn’t pay me to get on one of those bikes in the desert. Some people looked more terrified by the early start than by the challenge ahead. Having had Jim get me up at 1am before to start running, I felt grateful for an almost lie in. This was it. We were ready to go.
It was really impressive how well trained everyone was when it came to going to sleep and getting up. There was very little waiting around in the morning. I counted everyone onto the coach and we were off at 5.10am, arriving three hours later at the gates of the park. My plan today was too start off at the front and work my way towards the back sense checking people going out too fat, not hydrating, or not coping with the scale of what was ahead of them. I honestly didn’t know what to expect.
I’m not going to go into detail about day on day stuff, because I did that in my original blog. I am going to talk about the five days as a whole, the experiences that I had as crew and the lessons that I learnt. This is a story of real human endurance from each and every participant. It is about acceptance, courage and adaptability. It’s a story about triumph in the face of adversity and it’s a story about the effect that those people in that desert had on me personally. At the end of the five days, I was profoundly humbled by all of them, their achievements, their attitudes and their kindness.
Runners Day One ASSEMBLE!
The first couple of days are the “easy days” terrain wise. They are long and mentally challenging, but not full of mega dunes. They are manageable on foot. What stops you is the heat, going out to fast, not drinking and eating enough and not knowing what is coming next. The group of runners I had at this point numbered 18 people. All of mixed abilities and mixed experience. Some of them had only ever run a half marathon, some had done MDS three times. To be honest I didn’t really care about their experience. I knew they were all fit and none of them were a danger to themselves. Half of this is a mental game, a quarter is taking advice and knowing when to ask for it and a quarter is in your physicality.
Having started at the front I quickly found myself towards the back as I had to chaperone people round and angry puff adder – as you do. Everyone was in such good spirits and looked strong. They weren’t going too fast, they were taking on water and they were eating. Being at the backed help – acting as pacer for people, chatting to them and making sure they were generally ok. I loved watching them take it all in, although a tiny part of me hated them for being on my bit of desert. I got a bit territorial. That feeling came and went. That’s the selfish part of me. It became apparent in the first couple of days that when the wind died down and midday came upon us – that was when people started to struggle, taking more time at aid stations, slowing right down and getting a bit confused. I came up with the idea of offering the slower runners and the ones REALLY struggling in the heat the chance to “boost” themselves onto the next aid station in the vehicle. There were reasons for this – we couldn’t have them out in the dark and if they were too far back, I couldn’t be of help to anyone else in the pack. I would rather they completed the day having got a lift for 10km than not completed it at all because it got dark.
Puff Adders. Don’t like being nearly stepped on. Hard to spot.
This is why Rat Race are brilliant and this is why they stand head and shoulders above all the sufferfest desert race companies. Getting a boost does not mean you are ‘cheating’, or cutting corners. You can’t cheat in an event that has no winners. RTTW is a race only in name. The only person you are racing against is yourself. And that’s life, people.
I explained to everyone I offered the boost option to that boosting didn’t mean failure, it meant that they were completing the journey in a slightly different way to those who didn't get in the vans. They were completing ‘by any means’, as Jim would say. I wanted people to get the most out of this experience, and see as much of the Namib as they could without flogging themselves to the point where they spent the next 3 days in a van or on a drip. The boost idea worked really well, and I was hugely impressed by the attitude of those who accepted it, got on board and then continued after the next checkpoint.
The main problems I came across in those two days were people not hydrating, waking up old injuries and not eating enough. On the first night I got a pretty heavy, shouty lecture from one of the on-the-ground medics about people not eating and drinking, and had to pass on the message to the team, which I did, for her sake, but sadly I wasn’t allowed to hold people down and force Nik Naks down their throats. I tried to explain to the runners that this was basically a warm-up week, culminating in day 4 and its massive dunes. I felt like I was teaching grannies to suck eggs, or in this case eat sandwiches. I felt like everyone hated me. I hated me a bit.
The Kuiseb River Valley. You run/bike round it and then you get into it. It’s like being on Mars, I imagine. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
Day two was tough on everyone – it was the long day and it took in 20km of the kuseb river valley. I felt some of the runners start to mentally dip as the cyclists began to catch them up. I had loved day two the previous year and done really well on it with a run/march strategy over the flats. I knew the riverbed was a twat to run down and so was prepared for it. I zipped in and out of the pack, running to check on the ones out front and slowing down at checkpoints to check on the ones towards the back. I boosted people if they felt they needed it and checked in on people who had slowed down. Everyone was doing really well, but the mental battles were real. I was still mega impressed by their overall will to succeed and finish the day on foot. Everyone hated the riverbed. I knew they would.
That desert into the Kuiseb Valley. Something I have tried and failed to capture. Leo wins as always. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
I spent the evenings helping people with foot issues, pole issues, mental health issues and all the other issues that came up. On the evening of day two, one of the cyclists (Carl) came up to me with his shoes, the velcro from his gaiters completely ripped off where his cobbler had done a botch job. He also deserved it, because he was a cyclist. I pretty much laughed in his face as he asked if I could glue them back on. “Sure pal, I’ll just nip to Co-Op and get some superglue” was my helpful feedback. But David Scott (the legend) found me some superglue from one of the crew. WTF? So I glued them back on. I did a totally shit job and was almost crying laughing as I did it, but I did do it. The next morning I showed my handiwork to Carl (or Shoey McShoeface as I was now calling him). We decided to duck-tape his gaiters to his feet instead.
A very professional job, I think you’ll agree. Well done Carl!
Another one of my little jobs was to get the satellite internet to work in order to send images back to Rat Race HQ for social media. This turned out to be a lengthy and expensive exercise. We had promised participants internet should they need it (and be able to afford it) but it was just too slow to be of any real use to a group bigger than one, so we kept the fact we had it on the downlow. I mentioned it to a couple of people when they asked what I was doing waving a piece of plastic around a desert. All of them said they would prefer to be without. This was one of the most heart-warming and glorious things about this trip.
Nobody could use their phones for anything other than taking pictures, so all of them were interacting with each other. Talking in groups, sharing stories, laughing. People from all social classes, age groups, political standpoints and ethnic backgrounds, sitting together, sharing a beer and tales of their families and friends. It was wonderful to watch. I think if they’d have had internet access, this would have been half the trip it was. Lack of internet meant they were really living. It meant they were appreciating life and not living it through their handheld echo chamber.
I loved the evenings. I drank beer with people, talked to everyone and shared stories and advice with them. I tried to act as a sounding board for people struggling – I didn’t need to tell them what to do, they just wanted someone to listen. I hung out with the rest of the crew and felt incredibly lucky to be back in a place I had revisited in my mind hundreds of times the previous year. The conflicting feelings of wanting to be on my own in a place that was so special to me and sharing it without a group of random strangers were really interesting. But if these participants take anything like what I took from it, then I am truly grateful to be allowed to return and walk them through it.
The next few days had a different feel to them. The bikers were back and everyone was now running. There was a clear split between the compete and complete groups. There were very fit, pretty competitive people (otherwise knows as “men”) at the front, and this was fine – I just needed to make sure they didn’t blow up. Then there was the completers – my people. The ones that would get the job done well but not break any records or bones. We decided to hand the front of pack off to the vehicles to keep an eye on. I would stay towards the back acting as tail runner and picking up the people who felt like they maybe falling behind. This was a strategy that proved to work really well.
Mo’ runers, mo’ problems. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
Day three and people were knackered – especially the cyclists. We had a few touch and go hydration situations that proved how important it was to have a human member of the crew in with the runners. The vans were being used more and more for boosting, but we were holding it together. This was the day I spent a lot of time with three guys I really liked – Carl, Karim and Paul. Three guys who had been friends since University and all worked in Singapore. This trip had been Carl’s idea. Karim and Paul had little to no experience and both of them constantly ribbed Carl about how much they hated him. But they were LOVING it. They were a pleasure to run with, despite Paul scaring everyone by having a dehydration wobbly in the back of a van towards lunchtime (he was fine after a rest, people - don’t fret).
Shout out to Rob as well, who scared the shit out of me by turning white and looking like he was going to collapse just as my radio failed and Karim and co plus the vans disappeared from sight. I fed him some salt and talked him through it, eventually getting him in a van when it came past. When I got back to base, he was smiling and drinking beer, so guessing my ‘chat bullshit to distract and feed salt’ strategy worked. I might patent it.
Mini Dune day well underway Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
As we got towards the end of the third day we ran across some dunes that Darren and I had crossed before – we did some filming for the promo video here. The sides of the dunes that we had run down still held our footprints. They had stayed the same all this time, as the rest of the world carried on with it’s business. Maybe the dunes had remembered me as much as I had remembered them.
I stuck to the back of the pack for days four and five. Day four was big dune day and my back of the pack party crew grew bigger. One of the volunteers, Matt, joined me to run sections – it was great to have someone else to help out and chat to. I loved being at the back, because at times I felt like I was alone out there again. We were running for longer than most other people – sometimes doing 10-12 hour days. When my crew felt down or frustrated about pace, I reminded them that this was endurance. The longer you are out there, the harder it is. I spent time on day four with Kirsten, another person who I have huge respect for. This was the first event like this she had ever done. She was taking part in ALL the Rat Race events across 2020 to celebrate her 50th birthday. What a fucking badass.
Sunset on day four. Still out there. Still going. Alone again. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
This was not easy for Kirsten, and she was worried about being cut off. We stuck together, Matt, Kirsten and I, and I promised her she wouldn’t be cut if she just kept moving forwards. She was a fucking legend that day, and went on to totally smash it on day five. I was hugely proud of her. As evening drew in, the winds picked up, blowing loose sand across the dunes like snow. I was later told the higher dunes had shifted that year by over 40 metres. This was a place that hadn’t remembered me at all.
That sand/snow stuff. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
Day five and only thirteen miles to the wreck. I had spent a lot of time with Cath in the last few days – an Australian blogger who runs the Plus Size Adventurer socials. Cath has one speed – fucking badass march speed. This means she is out there for longer, but dammit she gets shit done. I had boosted her a few times, marched with her a few times and really go to know her across the week. I loved her, she had a brilliant attitude to life and was constantly wonderful to be around, even when she caught fire on day 2 (that’s another story). On day five, she wanted to do all 13 miles and I promised I would be with her every step of the way.
Cath serves it to the last thirteen miles.
I’m not going to lie, it was a long final day. I watched the rest of the pack disappear into the distance as I marched it in with Cath. The year before, the weather had been overcast and grey and oddly cold, and I’d had a jager induced hangover, so I’d felt shocking. This year it was clear blue skies, clear head and it looked like a totally different route. Gone was the mile and a half of deep flowing estuary I’d had to plod through. Instead mirages shone on the horizon, temperatures rose and the sky stayed bright. The remains of a million shells littered the coastline, standing to attention like wierd dead generals. It was like a fishy graveyard.
Sometimes Cath and I talked, and sometimes I let her go on ahead. I wanted her to be with her own thoughts at the end of such an epic journey. I’d wanted to be in my own head at this point. My wonder for this place hadn’t changed. This is the skeleton coast. A place the bushmen have called "The Land God Made in Anger". A place portugese sailors once referred to as "The Gates of Hell". Death is everywhere, preserved in sand and silt. The remains of whale bones form a bygone era of whaling, glass bottles washed up from wrecks and bleached jackal and seal bones litter the sand. Everything is so still. It has been for hundreds of years. Only the environment will change this area. It’s believed the wreck of the Bolen will be fully submerged in sand in the next 5 years. Fuck you, Trump. Save us Greta!
So close, yet so fucking far.
Once off the shell plains, the wreck comes into sight, but it is still two miles away. A hard two miles across soft sand, I backed off from Cath at the point. This was her time. I trotted behind her scouring the floor for bones and bottle, keeping an eye out for jackals and seals to talk to. I wondered if Cath felt the same sick, sad feeling that I felt when I finished last year. I could see and hear the rest of the group by the wreck of the Bolen. They were celebrating completing their journey. I got something in my eye.
Finally, Cath crossed the line – everyone was home. We had done it, and nobody was dead or injured. This was a win, not only for Rat Race as a company but for me as an individual in the role I held. I was now also the only women in history to have crossed the Namib-Nukluft park on foot twice.*
Classic end shot. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
So we were done. We ate Oysters and drank pink fizzy wine. We loaded up on beer and got in vans and headed for Swakopmund where we partied hard. The 2am transfer to the airport was an endurance challenge in itself, but we’re all professionals here. Special thanks to Leo for looking after me in my darkest period (3-6am).
Tiny Bailey, big old boat. One of my favourite pictures ever. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
And like that it’s done. What have I taken from this? I have learnt a fuck tonne . I don’t think you can ever know enough about patience or kindness, or what it is to help your fellow human. I am not perfect, and I am sure I made mistakes on that trip, in fact I know I did. But none of them stopped anyone from achieving their goal. I hope that in some way I helped some of that amazing group of people on one of the greatest journeys of their lives. I will cherish that week and those people.
And like that, we’re done. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
I have learnt that the Rat Race team are the best on earth and they do something that nobody else does. They provide a holistic and life changing experience free of pressure or judgement. A space for people to grow and be themselves and enjoy their own journey. You complete that race regardless of how many times you get boosted or need to rest. If you want to smash it out, that’s cool too. Just be kind. There are people to spot you and look after you everywhere. Not one person was timed out. Not one person ended up in hospital. The logistical effort was immense, and as I said before, was months in planning. To get 70-80 people fed, showered, watered, toileted, beered up and out of that desert healthy takes an army of experts. Their efforts were phenomenal.
I am so grateful to have been given this opportunity and I hope to return to the desert again. I would like to extend my thanks and admiration to the following people for their help, support and guidance, I am guessing on behalf of not only myself, but all the other competitors.
Jim Mee – Test Pilot in Chief, co-conspirator and suggestion maker for creating something incredible and always supporting me in everything I do. You have truly shown me what it is to live. To David Scott for his unwavering Scottish honesty and delivery of the greatest show on earth. To the UK events team, Stuart Smith, Stewart Caithness and Nick Wright as medic in chief. I love, respect and admire you all and LOVE working with you. To the volunteers, Bill, Cari, Chris, Dani and Helen – you made the trip – without you we would have been nothing. You showed true kindness to each and every person that came through your stations.
To our filming team, Pete and Leo – creating memories that people will take away forever and making me laugh and looking after me. I bloody love you two. Some of the pictures are OK as well (cheers Leo).
o the on the on the ground team at Live the Journey in Africa. Words don’t do you justice. Your efforts were staggering, your humour amazing and your drinking unrivalled. Your chefs smashed it, your medics took care of us and you all made me want to come and work with you.
And to the competitors, a huge congratulations and massive respect on your achievement. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know all of you as well as I would have liked, but some of you were just too fast to catch! With that in mind, a quick note on the people I spent the most time with.
To Charlie – thanks for being my tent mate, even though I snore and am weird. I’m so glad you have learnt how to eat AND run! To Carl, Paul and Karim – I loved spending days trying to learn maths and talking shit with you guys – you’re very special and thanks for the wine. To Elinor – you’re a legend, so inspiring in your attitude, and to Gill – you smashed it out each and every day with a massive smile on your face. To Jany – Jesus Christ you’re a monster, but with the best smile on earth. To Anya, my friendly ghost on days two and three. A total babe of a human. To Rob – I’m really glad you didn’t die on me, and to Andy, I am so glad you came (and bought salt tabs when i left mine in my kitchen) – good chats on the dunes. Alice Kirk – proving yourself yet again to be a badass, and Fiona and Toni who always just got on with it no matter what. To Lisa who ran in pain most of the time – I’m sorry I kept telling you off and I’m so glad you’re OK. To Kirsten – one down 234 to go! You nailed this one. I am so excited for Panama! To Budgie and the lads – thanks for all the bantz. And finally to Cath. You triumphed in the face of adversity and you proved to everyone what is possible no matter who the fuck you are. I loved spending time with you and really hope to catch up soon. You’re a massive inspiration.
I’m sorry for anyone I have missed here. I’m shit with memory. Now I’m having a month off adventuring. Because next year is the year that I end up travelling pretty much round the world doing this stuff. And I couldn’t be happier about it. More about that in December. Peace out.
Off she goes, onto the next one…Tiny Bailey, big old dune. Photo credit: Leo Francis Photography
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*Note for pedants – I got in the van twice over the week to help boost people to checkpoints and catch up with the back runners so missed about 8 miles of the route overall this time. It’s not official. I did most of it mind and ran backwards a few times…