Gobi March 2006 - Team MAGO

May 28 to June 4, 2006
“Ignorance is bliss”, or so the saying goes. That is the thought that occurred to me moments before the start of the first stage of the 2006 Gobi March in northern China. The point being that I no longer have the luxury of wondering how a race is going to feel. I already knew this one was going to hurt. When I first did this race in 2003, it was my first time racing in a 7 day format and I was full of the kind of enthusiasm that comes from not having a clue what I was getting into. Even though I won the race in 2003, I can still recall specific moments during that race that were as painful as any I can remember. Winning doesn’t make it any less traumatic, just a little shorter. Three years and 6 races later, I walked to the start line with a sense of dread. Kind of like going to the dentist for a voluntary root canal. Now that the race is over, it doesn’t seem so bad. Funny how the mind forgets pain. The following is a brief account of what happened. While no names have been purposely changed, a lack of oxygen to the brain has caused some names to be forgotten.

The format of this race is very much like the Tour de France. Every day is a stage of a different length to be determined by the race organizers. The total length for 6 stages will be about 250 kilometers. On average, racers will run a marathon per day for 6 days with one day of rest. Additionally, racers must carry all of their food and required equipment for the entire race. Only water is provided by the organization. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

The Gobi March 2006 took place in extreme Northern China in the Gobi Desert, not far from the Mongolian border. After the obligatory 12 hour flight (stuck in a middle seat) from LA to Beijing, I boarded a second flight to Urumqi, China. This was followed by a short taxi ride to the hotel that would serve as the race headquarters before and after the actual event.

Arrival at the pre race hotel is one of my favorite parts of these events. It is just like a family reunion, only better because most of these people don’t know about the time I woke up naked on a lawn chair at a Holiday Inn. The community of people that races these events is not that big so it is common to see many of the same people from previous races. The hotel offers a safe haven for catching up with old friends and posturing for the rookies that are coming in.

In this particular event, Ray Zahab and Kevin Lin and myself have joined together to form Team ChungHwa Telecom/MAGO. Say that fast three times. Since our upcoming expedition across the Sahara is only 3 months away, we decided it would be a good idea to see if we could go for a week without killing each other. I am happy to report that all 3 runners are still in good health.

Pre-Race check in went off without a hitch. One of the highlights of check in is the “weighing of the pack”. In this race format, each runner is required to carry their own food and mandatory gear for the duration of the event. So it becomes a bit of a contest to see who can pack everything into their backpack and still keep the load as light as possible. I am happy to report that out of about 100 runners, I had the second lightest pack out of the entire group, around 14.5 pounds. I was very proud of myself until about Day 3 of the race when I realized that I was starving and did not have enough food to change that anytime soon. I needed to lose a few pounds anyway.

Ray’s pack was only a bit heavier than mine while Kevin was actually carrying a few pounds more. I still suspect that he was carrying a cheeseboard and a couple of pizzas. Kevin only weighs about 115 pounds but is always concerned about being hungry. I didn’t give him a hard time about the extra weight because I know he is very strong and I figured “I don’t have to carry it”. Famous last words!!!

Day 1- In truth, Day 1 began the day before the actual start with an 8 hour bus ride to the first camp. In all my years of racing I have never done an event that did NOT include an epically painful ride on a bus, yet I always complain about it. Kind of a ritual of sorts. The problem is that deserts tend to be in the middle of nowhere or at least on the edge of nowhere. Since the desert won’t come to us……we go to the desert.

After an amazingly colorful ceremony at the start line, the race began by running us straight up a mountain and down the other side. This was the obligatory dramatic photo opportunity at the start. In fact, it was very dramatic and beautiful. And having a few hundred locals dressed in native garb and cheering for us was indeed inspirational. I can only imagine what the natives were thinking. In my experience, it is usually something like “what the hell is wrong with these people?” or “why would you want to run across the desert?”. Both of these questions crossed my mind as the race started. Luckily, a lack of oxygen to my brain stopped me from dwelling on these questions for long. The start line was located at an altitude of about 6,000 feet. Since I live at sea level, it felt as if I was running up Mt Everest.

So the race begins and we run up and down this mountain in front of us. Then we head out towards the salt flats. At this point, Team MAGO is running in the top 10 runners and moving steadily. Our stated goal in this race was to win the team title and beat as many individual runners as possible. Oh yea, and to learn to work together as a team (the grown up version of playing well with others). Two out of three ain’t bad.

Back to the salt flats. I started this race with the goal of carrying my new fancy high definition Sony video camera with me so that I could document our suffering. This seemed like a great idea until we reached the salt flats. The flats themselves were visible well in advance. We were warned before the stage that we might encounter areas that would be “mushy” and maybe our shoes would get wet. “But don’t worry, it’s no big deal”. About 10 minutes into the salt flats, both of my shoes and socks have come off in thigh high mud. I have cursed the camera and crammed it into a carrying case. That was the last appearance of the race for the camera. My arms are buried to the shoulders in the muck, trying to retrieve my shoes. At this moment, it did occur to me that if I lost my shoes I wouldn’t be able to continue the race. Hmmmm………I am cursing and throwing a tantrum, covered in salty mud up to my neck. I can hear myself making deep grunting noises like a trapped animal. I turn around to see Kevin 50 meters back with both shoes in his hands and looking desperate. Ray is ahead of me and actually fairing pretty well. I hated him at that moment. If misery doesn’t actually love company, it certainly prefers it.

We struggled through and Ray was very encouraging. I managed to regain my composure somewhat and we regrouped and then continued on. Many people had problems in the flats but others passed by us with no problems at all. Three different people passed me and were kind enough to give me advice about how I might walk with a different style. “Walk like a duck” or “stay on your toes” or “think light thoughts”. I thanked them all through gritted teeth. If I just had a pellet gun, I would have thanked them properly.

The rest of the course on Day 1 was really pretty straight forward. Pain, suffering, blisters…..the usual. 37 kilometers finished, only 213K to go.

The best part of a 7 day stage race is the time spent NOT running. After each stage, the runners take their filthy bodies into dusty tents and spread out on dirt floors. Just like home. Seriously though, the friendships that are built inside our temporary home are the best part of the week. Each day the individual runners stagger into the tent and discuss the events of the day. The course was really tough/easy today. I have blisters/my feet are perfect. I have diarrhea/I am constipated. I got lost/the course was marked perfectly. I love this place/I hate this place.

By the end of the week, I know who is married and divorced and who has kids. I know intimate details about the lives of people that were strangers a few days earlier. At home it would take years to create this type of bond with new friends. Here in the desert, we only have a week so we don’t waste time.

So my tent consisted of 9 people. Kevin and Ray and I were racing as Team MAGO. My good friend Thierry traveled from France to join the race. Jack and Howard are Americans and are lifelong friends that decided to take the challenge together. Howard is a very strong and accomplished runner while Jack is tough but has suffered through years with a bad back and sees this as a true challenge for his body. Patrick is a good friend of Ray’s from Canada and also a really strong mountain runner. Becky is the lone woman in our tent and is a corporate type really stepping out of her element. She ended up being a very tough runner that surprised even herself. Finally, Colito was from Venezuela. He ended up being one of the most pleasant people I have ever met. In fact, he received special recognition after the race for being the runner with the best overall attitude. He was not fast and he certainly suffered but he was always smiling as if he had a secret.

Day 2-This day started with a birthday song for a 67 year old Japanese competitor in the race. A good reminder for me that I would like to keep exploring the world for many years to come.

Today was really a welcome break after yesterday’s tough stage. Lots of good terrain with some decent elevation gain and loss. But no tricks, no bogs or giant sand dunes. Those would come later but for today, all is well.

At the end of the day, Team MAGO is firmly in control of the team division and now we are setting our sites on individual runners. Even though we are not racing against the individuals, it gives our team something to focus on. The fact is we are very competitive runners and we don’t like to see anyone in front of us. In this race, we are forced to work as a team though. The problem is that there are three of us and it is rare that we all feel strong at the exact same time. Essentially, we can only go as fast as the person that feels the worst at any given time. This fact ended up teaching us all some lessons in patience. It was very frustrating for me to watch another runner pull away from us, knowing that I could keep pace with him. The same holds true for Ray and Kevin. But as a team, we needed to stick together. This cycle went on for the entire race. Sometimes it was me that was struggling and sometimes Kevin or Ray. But we adjusted well and regularly reminded ourselves that we were racing to win the team title.

I did learn a wonderful lesson today. In reality I discovered this lesson yesterday but was too dense to recognize it. Here in this region of China, people do not wave as a greeting. I have now spent two days waving to anyone I encountered. Absolutely 100 percent of the time I did not receive a response. Nothing but blank faces. It finally dawned on me that waving is not customary here. In fact, it makes me wonder if I have been offending people for two days. I hope it doesn’t mean “piss off” or “how much for the sheep?” In any event, they don’t wave and it is too difficult to bow while running so I am just smiling at everyone instead. This seems to work fine.

So Day 2 is over and another 39 kilometers behind us. The comfort level in the tent has grown along with the graphic conversation. It is a little like visiting a chat room on the internet. There is a level of anonymity that allows people to speak freely. The attitude is, “I will probably never see these people again so why not say whatever I want to”. There is no judgment and if someone is disliked, you are only stuck with them for a few more days. It should be noted that by night # 2, it was in fact determined that Jack was the loudest snorer in our tent, and probably in any tent, anywhere on earth. Thankfully for me, earplugs are mandatory equipment in my bag of essentials. And since Howard was next to Jack, he would just give him a good poke if things got out of hand. Lucky for Jack he was very well liked.

Day 3 dawned to find a very cold morning with strong winds. While the Gobi is certainly a desert, it is not what most people would envision. In fact, on this morning I stepped out relieve myself and found that I was staring at massive snow covered mountains in the distance. To my dismay, I realized later that we would be running up and over those very same mountains. Not to worry though, Team MAGO was running strong. Kevin and Ray were both hitting on all cylinders at this point. I was on about 3 cylinders and in need of an oil change.

Kevin Lin and I actually met for the first time 3 years earlier right here in the Gobi Desert. During that race, we were both very serious about winning. By the time that race was finished, we had become close friends. Through the years, I have learned that intense mutual suffering creates a very strong bond. I have never been in the military, but I would guess that men that fight together also have the same experience.

So 40 kilometers more in the books. We finished at a beautiful camp but were dogged by 35 MPH winds that threatened to blow away our tents. The next day is the day that most runners dread but that I really look forward to……THE LONG DAY. 50 MILES. The standings can really change on the long day. Hours can be gained or lost. For Team MAGO, it was most important not to make any big mistakes since we already had a comfortable lead.

We left the start line at a conservative pace and followed other runners through the first kilometers of the stage. Suddenly there were no more flags marking the course and everyone just came to a stop. I call this the “slinky” phenomena. The frontrunners stop and the following runners catch up. Then someone spots a flag and it’s like the whole stage starts over again. It is frustrating if you are in the front and motivating if you are in the back. This happened a few times during the race. Usually the culprit was a well meaning local that thought he was just picking up some colorful flags that someone left behind. It is to be expected in these races.

So the stage continued on. A Korean runner has been in the overall lead from Day 1 and continues to run well. On this day he is far ahead of us and we are forced to ignore him because to chase him would be foolish. We have already learned the humbling lesson that one fast runner moves better than 3 fast runners. The second overall runner is Francesco, from Italy. Francesco is a really nice guy and a strong runner. As a team, we have set our sites on trying to reel him in and beat him in the overall standings. Ray is confident that we can do this, as Ray has beaten the Italian in head to head competition in the past. In fact, both Ray and Kevin beat the Korean runner the previous year in a race through the desert in Egypt.

On this day, Francesco has moved out ahead of us and we are trying to keep pace. As a team, we have to make a decision to chase him or let him go. Frankly, I don’t feel great early in the day and I am worried about using too much energy to chase. I don’t want to fall apart later. Plus, experience tells me that a conservative approach is best on the long day. Runners that go out too fast usually pay the price late in the day. Today would be no exception.

The long stage provided Ray and I an opportunity to learn more about each other. This is actually a nice way of saying that we had a disagreement. Okay, we had an argument. It was a simple question of strategy. Chase the Italian runner or let him go? If we pursue him, we risk a total physical meltdown that could hurt our ranking. If we let him go, we risk having to admit that he is running faster than we are. This would be painful to our collective ego. Neither of us can make a decision, so we just continue to debate. Ultimately the decision is made for us. After 15 minutes of bickering with each other, the Italian is now out of sight. Ray and I gave each other the silent treatment for a bit. This was really a challenge. Anyone that knows us realizes what an accomplishment it is for either Ray or me to remain silent for even a few minutes. Thirty minutes later we were laughing about it and congratulating ourselves for being such grownups.

The day continued at a steady pace. We had a superb tailwind pushing us along and we were confident that we could stay strong thru the end of the day. We reached checkpoint 4 and were told that it might be a bit windy ahead. As it turned out, that statement didn’t quite cover it. We took a sharp left turn to run across a dam that was about a half mile across. Immediately, we were slammed with a crosswind blowing at about 50 MPH. Kevin tried to tuck in behind me but was almost blown right off the dam. For a minute I thought I might just tie a string to him and carry him like a balloon. In retrospect it was a fantastic 10 minute crossing. It felt edgy and dangerous and forced us to concentrate. The adrenaline was rushing and I fantasized about being blown over the edge. How would I get out of the water? Are there any man eating fish in the water? Did I turn off the coffee maker at home? A thousand thoughts at a time. My mind always seems to troll around the fuzzy edges of my life whenever I feel threatened. It would make more sense to me if I thought about more important things like my kids and my girlfriend. But my mind goes where it wants to go. I guess my mind has a mind of its own.

We made it across the dam and moved ever closer to the finish of Stage 4. We were told to expect some massive sand dunes before the finish. It turns out that this was not just idle gossip. We could see the dunes from many miles away and could also easily see the sand being blown off the top dune like powdered sugar off a beignet. I could tell that Ray was getting excited. He craves the sand. His Arab heritage is obvious in both his looks and his love of deserts. This is his element and he takes the lead. He guides us thru the best routes and his joy is obvious as he glides along. It should also be noted that Ray weighs about 140 pounds and floats on top of the sand. On the opposite end of the scale, I weigh about 185 and there is no sandfloating for me. Instead, with each heavy step, it feels like my feet sink up to the ankles, searching for more solid ground. There is none, of course. These dunes have been here for centuries and don’t even notice our presence.

We make it to the top of the biggest dune and are rewarded with an expansive view, a full 360 degrees of snow covered mountains and lush green valleys. Is this really a desert? But my attention is completely focused on a fluttering red banner far below: The Finish Line. My favorite part of any stage. We cruise in and head right to our home for next two nights. Instead of our usual tent, we are treated to a beautifully constructed yurt, the native dwelling for this region. This one even has a coal burning furnace. It is amazing what passes for luxury after five days in the desert.

As always, the first thing I do is remove my shoes to check for any damage to my feet. I am usually pretty lucky, as years of running have taught me how to avoid blisters for the most part. But today is different. Today I am rewarded with a massive blister full of blood on top of my right little toe. It is the size of a grape. In fact, it is the perfect blister. It doesn’t really hurt, yet it looks quite painful. I wander around camp showing it off to anyone that will look. I receive sympathy without actually suffering. I announce that I will be draining the blister in 10 minutes for anyone that cares to watch. Ten minutes later, a crowd has gathered to witness the event. A fleeting thought crosses my mind. What the hell is wrong with us? Fortunately, I am able to push aside this rational question in favor of a more interesting question: How far can I squirt this blood? If I pop it just right, I am confident that I can get 4 or 5 feet in total distance.

The moment arrives. I am surrounded by about 10 people. There are 2 video cameras rolling. I squeeze the blister to create pressure. I have chosen a safety pin as the desired instrument of puncture. I push the sharp point thru my skin and nothing happens. Moans of disappointment rise from the crowd. Then I give the “grape” a hard squeeze and a blood geyser shoots out about 5 feet. The crowd cheers and steps back to avoid any overspray. I squeeze repeatedly and the blister continues to produce. After a lot of backslapping and high fiving, everyone heads back to their own yurts. Another tale for the grandchildren we will all have someday.

Over the next few hours, the rest of the gang rolls in and the yurt fills with stories from the day’s torment. Tomorrow is a day of rest so the mood is very light. There is a lot of laughing and everyone seems relieved that the race is nearing an end. The day off from running gives me a chance to reflect on my race and my current life situation. I conclude that the race is going well and my life leaves something to be desired. I am in one of those phases where I have tremendous potential in many areas. My love life is solid. My business is tenuous at best. My debts are out of control. My kids are wonderful but I am too busy to be as involved as I want to be. I need to finish my website. I need to finish my book proposal. I need to stay healthy. I need to do yoga. I need to run. I step outside the yurt to pee and look up to see a blazing pink and orange sunset radiating over a massive sand dune with snow capped peaks as a backdrop. I try to concentrate on the colors and forget about everything else. I try to slow my breathing. I try to appreciate what I am seeing. I try to turn off my brain and filter out all of the shit so I can just enjoy this one moment. Is that too much to ask? Apparently it is. I suck at this!

The one day hiatus from running passes too quickly for my sore feet and not fast enough for my overactive mind. Not surprisingly, time passes at the same speed as always and it is time to run again. Stage 5 promises to punish us for a few missed kilometers from Stage 4. I assured Rolf, the race course director, that it was fine with me if we didn’t try to make up for the missed distance. I would still tell the folks back home that I ran 250k and nobody would know the difference. I know this to be true because most Americans don’t know a kilometer from a fathom anyway. Unfortunately Rolf is an honorable man and he insists that I will thank him later for his strict insistence on completing the entire race course. I doubt it.

Stage 5 is like talking to a bipolar schizophrenic hermaphrodite. The extremes are mind boggling but the possibilities are endless. First we run straight up a mountain and then we run for 20K back down the other side. Then we wind our way thru canyons and streams and sand. Finally, we must climb again for the last few kilometers. When we finally hit the finish line, there are six of us together. Team MAGO, the Korean, the Italian and the Brit. It is a good and satisfying way to end a very tough day.

All that is left now is the final stage of 12k or so. The relief is palpable. Racers have stopped complaining about the hard course and started to fantasize about food. For me, French toast and eggs occupy about 75% of my thoughts. I think the other 25% just wants a shower. Maybe I can eat my French toast in the shower!!

Stage 6 starts very early. It always amazes me how fast people run on the final day. I wonder where all of this energy is coming from. Have they just been saving up for a sprint finish? Anyway, Team MAGO tucks safely into a pack of about 10 runners. I am in the back of the line. For all of the years I have been racing, I have always gravitated to the back of the pack. It’s a safety thing I guess. I don’t like having another runner on my heels. I also don’t like to be forced into following too closely behind another runner. Too many twisted ankles from not being able to see the ground in front of me. So basically I either want to be in the front or the back of a group.

On this day, Team MAGO stayed at the back until the 9K mark of the day’s 12K stage. The path thru the slot canyon had been very narrow and not suitable for passing but at 9K the trail opened up and we made our move. I jumped in front of Ray and Kevin and tried to push the pace up the only big hill of the day. We passed everyone that was in site. I thought we had moved into the lead but Ray told me there was at least one runner that had gotten away from us and was too far ahead. We gave chase but to no avail. It was fun trying though.

As we neared the village I could see the finish line. That is one of the best feelings ever. Finished!!! Oops, not so fast. We were pushed towards one last detour, a lap around the village. My legs protested but it turned out to be kind of cool. The locals looked puzzled but they were cheering anyway. The race staff looked anxious and tired but they were enthusiastic. After a quick loop, Team ChungHwa/MAGO crossed the finish line hand in hand. It was an inspiring scene. I was presented with a small Chinese flag by a sweet little girl of about 4 years old. Then a 90 year old Chinese man hung a medal around my neck and bowed. It was very humbling. This moment reminded me once again that traveling is my true passion in life. Seeing different cultures and experiencing them firsthand has really changed me. I also take my responsibility as an American very seriously. Most of the world dislikes Americans and I don’t blame them. I do my best change that perception whenever possible.

Team MAGO won the team division by a wide margin and we managed to beat all the individuals except for the top 2 finishers, the Korean and the Italian. Of course we congratulate ourselves for the win and assure each other that we could have beaten the top 2 if we were racing as individuals. Our fragile runner egos are showing. In truth, Kevin and Ray and I really did have a good team race. It has clearly given us confidence that we can be successful in our Sahara crossing.

As for the rest of our tent, we absolutely had the fastest tent in the race. Thierry and Howard were only separated by about 30 seconds going into the final stage. Thierry pulled ahead at the finish and won his age group. Howard was sixth overall and probably could have done better if he hadn’t started the race with a 29 pound backpack! Patrick ran really strong for the last few stages and finished high in the rankings. Becky fought to the end and finished strong. She says she will never do a race like this again but I don’t believe her. Colito completed the course with his customary smile. Jack surprised me by getting stronger every day. He will be back.

So another race is over, except for the obligatory 10 hour bus ride, followed by the anti climactic awards ceremony, followed by the 24 hours of air travel to get home. Then of course there will be the swelling of hands and feet, the shedding of skin for weeks, the rashes that won’t go away and the clothes that will retain that certain aroma. These races are the gifts that just keep on giving.

I too will be back to try again someday.