We woke up on 6th day knowing the Win had been bagged. We didn’t exactly know by how much, but were confident we weren’t going to be caught. It would turn out to be by 8 hours on the second team, a decorated group of world class endurance runners who had their troubles, and a group from . Two teams didn’t finish as a team, both from the .

My body was already acting up; it sensed the end and wanted to go through its finishing ritual; get sick, cold sores, or just plain apathy; a suitable finish to neither the end of a 10km, nor a 250km race; but rather the end of a monster 7 month project. I was a bit lost; “try to be in the moment” I thought. Enjoy it. Savor it.

The race started with some tent drama. Our mate Clancy Johanssen had been pulled from the race a day earlier. Possibly witnessing us getting close to the finish released some emotions for her.  She had spent herself on the course, and once pulled out of the race had selflessly given us her time, energy, and care. She was part of our team, a key player in our team’s success; not on the course but off the course. She wanted to run the finishing leg and experience her own closure but the race organization had denied her permission. I was encouraging her to do it for herself, and hoping we could run it with her. “Let’s finish together” I said to add to her confusion, “You are part of our team!” In the end, she chose the path of benevolence and again put others’ interests ahead of her own and decided to help our other tent mate Charlotte Valentine to her hotel; she was in visible pain with a strained knee.

The last Stage started and we all found our familiar roles; Ernie Votis in front pulling, Louie Santaguida in the middle grimacing in pain, and me at the back to keep him company. We weren’t moving fast but ran the whole way, needlessly. I wanted to re-enact a Tour De France last stage where the leaders drink champagne, take it in, laugh and smile, and let the guys willing to win the stage fight it out amongst themselves. But team and compromises go hand in hand; we were going to honorably push ourselves, beat all other teams on that stage again, and try to move up in the standing, which we did. It meant a delay to drinking, reflecting, laughing, and smiling until after. I felt robbed of “a moment” but got over it, trying to focus on the big picture and not sweat the smaller stuff on which I can get hooked so easily.

The Finish line should have magnetically pulled us in but in this case, it was just… painful.  2km from the finish, we came upon the amazing staff of the Tierra Atacama hotel where we had stayed prior to the race. They had come out to cheer us and lift our spirits to the finish. Upon seeing them our pace increased magically, soon followed by the hugs and high fives. A week before, they had massaged us, ran yoga practices for us, helped us summit Toco (18,500 foot volcano as a team bonding exercise), shared a couple of earthquakes with us, and even took us sand-boarding on huge Desert sand dunes. We had had unprecedented service and established strong relationships; we were essentially the only guests at the hotel in light of the earthquake.

As we neared the finish line we discussed how it was going to go and settled on holding hands. I held hands but closed my eyes at the crossing. With the “finish” medal around our necks we witnessed 70 others finishing behind us, each attaching their own meaning to crossing the line, and another 35 at the finish line to cheer us on despite having either abandoned or been pulled out. About two third of competitors also had the satisfaction of having raised money for a charity, in addition to a program by the race org to donate some funds to the earthquake relief efforts.

Simple things you take for granted then got really amplified. I had the best pizza and beer, sat on the cushiest couch, lied in the fluffiest pillow, and had the long out of body type shower experience. I placed the two key calls I had been meaning to make for a week, to my family and my mother. I resisted turning the Blackberry on for the rest of the day, floating in a rare state of disconnectedness. Damage assessment followed, and I had my own screaming moment de-taping my upper body, covered with Leukotape (medical duck tape) to prevent chafing from the back pack.

The Award ceremony followed and my feet had regained two sizes and I had to be carried back to my room after the acceptance speech. My comments were simple, I thanked the organizer for putting out an event allowing you to go back home more alive, more grateful for who you have in your life and to quote Mehmet Danis “for extracting you from your comforts to awaken you”. For a few moments I carried achievement and pride as opposed to a latte and a cell phone.

Building on what I learnt in the Gobi Desert, I avoided returning home right away. I recalled decompressing then at home, needing space when I should have been elated to see everyone. I chose to stay there an extra couple of days. We had a celebratory dinner at the W Hotel in Santiago. Suitably, during dinner a 6.4 earthquake shook, adding to the already visible stress fractures on the hotel, its closed elevators. The roofed pool, closed, oscillated two meters. It was a signal to get out of town. I visited the beautiful wine valley and saw the ocean in Valparaiso before returning to a re-opening make shift airport.

I landed last Thursday on the red eye and to my surprise, my family had joined other friends at the airport. They had managed to misinform me and pretend they were in Florida, reunited at last. Later I went to work, and today, for the first time, I traded in my sandaled bare feet for socks and shoes.

While it has been a great 7 month journey, the bigger the project I take on, the more confusing it is to cross the finish line; the euphoria of finishing soon to be followed by post partum, and the inevitable question “So what’s next?”

I had no answers then, and none as of yet.

“You have to forget your last marathon before you try another. Your mind can't know what's coming.”

Frank Shorter     

Olympic Marathon Winner

I am trying to raise money for Nabs to help distressed and unemployed executives. If any of the above speaks to you, please visit www.running4nabs.com and make a small pledge.

I just finished reading some emails and looked at my cyber neighbour Erica Terreblanche, a South African second in the women's category. We both had the experience simultaneously of getting an intravenous dose of energy, love, and support. Never dismiss giving your support to a friend; you have no idea the impact it has. Thanks for taking some of your time to write a note.
 
At the end of 73.4km we ran into camp after I don't know how many hours. Attrition was taking its toll; we lost half, 4 in our tent alone; only Rod from CA stumbled in 4 hours later. Lorrie Brophy, the amazing 78 year old was pulled out by the medical team, so was Charlotte Valentine.  Clancy Johanssen, another tent mate, had been waiting and she doted on us as we arrived, nursing us, helping on each of our damaged toes, like a mother with her children. Both my hands seized up. I was looking at them like they didn't belong to me and Clancy massaged my arms to bring life back to them. All week I had been working actively to focus on others (the girls had showed me how by their actions) to cultivate a different experience here. When Charlotte arrived I didn't have anything in me to offer her. I looked at her from my corner of the tent, my eye got watery she was in so much pain, and I turned my head away to block the image. I did nothing. We all have our limits and I had reached mine.
 
The day started early at 730am to allow us to put as much mileage in as possible before the high sun. The first stage was in pure white salt hard flats, we were hopping from salt island to the next in a very irregular pace. The white, the puddles made me think it might look like Antarctica in the spring. It was spectacular; never seen anything like it. Ernie Votis took on the pacing while I got distracted and taking memorable pictures with a reborn camera; soaked the day before but willing to work on the long day. Our category has turned out to that of the Invalids. We had discussed playing D and protecting our lead; that outcome felt hollow. We chose to suffer, leave it out on the course and suffer, with pride to make the whole journey memorable. It worked.
 
The interesting about leadership is that you need followers to lead. We intermittently changed the pacer and everyone got a chance to pull from the front. Louie Santaguida found another gear and Ernie and I were grinning flocked behind him as he ran 2 meters in front of us for 90 minutes. Deep down, all of us needed to lead and it happened seamlessly.
 
After 30km or so we started climbing steadily and on the horizon, a massive sand dune was coming into view. I started wondering if we were going to have to climb. Asa we got closer, ant hills were on it and I started preparing mentally for the climb, knowing I would have to pull Louie up who had spent himself. We got to the bottom. Ernie looked back and needed the reward to run it up as he has endless gas in the tank. He went up; running the whole thing and in may ways having a personally defining moment. Louie and I zigzagged up, each turn I would stop and give him the water bottle. We would then lock hands, and I would help get him to the next turn. We got to the top and realized there was another one. Ernie and I changed roles and I ran up the last mound with my own "Rocky" moment at the top hyperventilating. It's all I needed to replenish prior to a re-focus on the team. The terrain at the top of the hill was extraordinary, hard crusts of mud and clay, dramatic rock formations; again running on another planet. a km later was the reverse of the climb a 500ft drop, with a Check Point 3 at the bottom - the 42km mark. I got selfish and asked Ernie to go down and filmed me running all out at 60 degrees. Louie was in very bad shape by then, not holding his food, in acute pain.
 
We carried on for another 15km and found ways to amuse ourselves to pass the time. We decided to each do a lifeline telling each other our life story. After an hour of a detailed account of my life high and low points to my mates, Ernie put his iPod on. I felt cheated; I was only in 2001 at the time. I took the cue and changed the subject. Spent hearing me; they never did their lifelines.
 
About two hours later, as we carried on, we came upon needing to bring share how we felt about our respective experience on the race. We had a no holds barred conversation and stuff was said that can only happen when you no longer have inhibitions. It all came out. We realized we had somehow come together, but that our emotional suffering during the race was due to the fact we had unaligned expectations; one was here to win, one to finish, one out of guilt. It took us 5 days to reconcile our differences, make true peace with it. When you invest 6 months of time preparing and realize not all team members put the same priority on the event, it makes for a messy run in the Desert. That's why many teams here imploded as is usually the case. Kudos to guys; we kept it together while working through our issues. Cleansing done, I was able to truly enjoy the last two hours of the race like they were the most glorious. We got to the last Check Point, breeze above 50km/hour tent blown off. Louie got the right foods and meds in him and found another gear to see us home. Sun was setting, we put our lights on and we canyoned down for 6km, in a sandy bottom. Stars came out, glow sticks led us in and every turned in the endless bottom was beautiful. I wished my family was here with me to walk it down.
 
We were fed out on a road leading to the camp. Mehmet Danis, who won the race here last year, had mentioned he had never seen such shiny stars low on the horizon; so much so it was hard to get your balance as the sky appears to go all the way down to your feet. We ran in the balance of the never ending stage and crossed together knowing we were the better team (this week), despite being handicapped to fourth based on the experience of the others. 
 
The race turned out to be emotionally as opposed to physically draining for Ernie and I. For Louie, he suffered immensely physically and gifted us his best. He put his mid term health at risk - he will require surgery when he returns.
 
I leave the cyber tent now and will go put my dusty, disgusting running clothes on. I won “the worst toe in the tent” and I am not sure how my feet will get in the shoes. The camp looks like an infirmary. People hobbling, crying hugging... We have 10km to go as a community for a ceremonial finish. Real food is waiting for us. We could crawl and still win. We worked hard to put ourselves in this position; but I get a sense Ernie will want to run hard for honor's sake. Run, walk, crawl, it will turn out to be a life defining week where the adversity quotient grew; thanks to sun, sand, wind, and friendship.
 
Epilogue to follow some time in the future.
 
Stefan
 
I am raising much needed funds for Nabs, which helps individuals in distress. Consider a pledge at www.running4nabs.com 

I stayed up as late as I could to cheer my tent mates. Charlotte Valentine, an ER nurse from Charleston came in and was bruised beyond repair, yet she took the start this morning. She, Clancy Johannsen from SF and Rod Bovee all made it in; in various states of agony. We looked after them the best we could to comfort them. I waited for Lorrie Brophy, the 78 year old Brit, but got selfish and drugged myself to sleep. I had the best sleep ever in a tent set on a hill. We all moved our sleeping bags at an angle to prevent everyone rolling down to me, the far right side.
 
I lost two toe nails thus far and second skinned them, performing amateurish surgery, and made the start, just in time. Similar refrain; push Louie Santaguida as hard as possible early and then give him the lead once he is spent, encouraging him along. Unbeknownst to him, we took stuff from his pack and loaded it in Ernie Votis'. Louie would be too proud to allow it to happen but you do what you have to do to bring the hardware home.
 
We had a surprisingly strong start in sloppy sand, steadily climbing. We were running hard, wanting the impact of our fast time at Checkpoint 1 to deflate the competitors. Air was cool, shaded and the idea was to get as far as we could before the 45 degree temperature would fry us. The top of the ridge fed into another 50 degree glorious sand dune, a 300 footer. I snapped a couple of pictures from the top and leaped in, told a couple of slower guys I was passing left going mad speed, uninhibited screaming down. Ernie was having a similar experience and went all the way to the bottom, unable to stop tasting the descent. The three of us did. There were no flags down there. We had overshot the 90 degree right turn by 50 feet and needed to get back up. From dream to nightmare in 5 seconds. We finally saw ourselves back up, two steps up, one sliding backward. Then ran side hill causing more pain for Louie's fragile ankles. We then arrived to the bottom where thick brush awaited us, jungle running with a snaking river to cross or hop. At the last crossing, Ernie fell in the water, chest high. Thinking he had slipped, Louie ventured in and disappeared. I jumped in, pushed him out and started sinking in a 5 foot deep mud hole in the middle of the river. They pulled me out. We shook ourselves out and noticed our iPods and iTouches stopped working, permanently. We weren't happy. We flagged it to the organizers who redirected the folks behind us, but at camp tonight, the "hole" could claim its share of victims. We pitted and cleaned our muddy shoes and ran into a small village.
 
Temperatures were rising and I ran under the trees to find shade until I sloppily hit my head on a large branch. The guys helped me back up; and I now sport a clean Atacama tree cut on the top of my head. We made it to Check Point 2 and learnt that the team from the had imploded. They have two top 10 individual previous Desert finishers in their team.
 
We rolled into the dreaded salt flats knowing this race is now ours to lose. Louie was spent so we walked. And walked. The flats are made of the sharp dry corral that shreds your shoes. By the time we were there in 25th position, a path had been created. I can't believe how Ryan Sands who won the event could have gone in first, hopping around, foot at times puncturing the surface, for 10km. But that's his problem; ours became dehydration. We stayed together all the way. I followed Louie to assess his foot planting and as soon as he was getting sloppy I'd ask him to move his right hand backward, sometimes twice as he was nauseous and haggard and would feed it electrolytes, pepperoni, gel to give him a surge.
 
We got caught by a few people but made it to camp under 8 hours. We did what we had to get it done, working as a team, everyone with a role, Ernie pacing, me pushing from the back; then alternating. We put 90 minutes on our closest competitors today; padding up the lead to over 3 hours we believe.
 
Camp is next to a pure white salt flat lake, with a dozen volcanoes in the background. Two of our tent mates are now out of the race, pulled out by the medical crew, and they are staying on to cheer us and the others for tomorrow - a complete act of generosity (I'd be heading for the spa).
 
Tomorrow will be the most physically demanding day of my life. We are moving slowly as a team and expect to be run-walking for about 16 hours. I can run, but I can't walk. When we make it through, we will have won the team competition of the Atacama Crossing.
 
Due to the earthquake of 10 days ago, the long day race will start at 730am tomorrow for 74km. We will hopefully make it by 1AM, but most of the field will come in the morning having moved along as fast as they can. They are the champions here; it is incomprehensible how they can continue to move along, one step at a time overcoming adversity I can't even understand. The final ceremonial 17km would have otherwise started on Sunday but it will now happen around 4pm Saturday. Some folks will roll in around 1 or 2pm, eat, and start again. We will hopefully have had a chance to sleep.
 
Looking at the medical tent, I can't help but to pinch myself and reflect how lucky I am. The experience thus far has had ups and downs, slowly learning to work as a team being. I finished the stage today, sat down, was told there was another earthquake in Santiago today - a 7.2. This may affect our flight back. I walked to the tent and started weeping - don't know why. Sometimes you need to step outside of your comfortable environment and suffer on the salt flats to re-learn to be grateful for the ones you have.
 
Good night
 
Stefan
 
Thanks for the email support. It is extraordinarily uplifting. Sometimes I hold on to the terminal and read them twice even if there is a line up.
 
I'm running to win but also to help raise money for Nabs. Consider visiting www.running4nabs.com and make a small pledge.

On the second day, our tent mates came in after 12 hours on the course. Rod threw his walking poles out, Charlotte badly banged up her knee, Clancy decided to stay with her to help her in and suffered equally from the different pace, and Kent separated from Rod with a severe waist problem. Lorrie Brophy who learnt to run in his 60's came in just before them. He was happy with finishing the day as he had been pulled out the year before on the second Atacama day. Whereas it makes you feel like you are helping when supporting the others, Lorrie prefers to have no help.
 
This morning started as usual, grumpy. The only difference was that I needed to sanitize my blisters, cut them, squeeze, and tape them. These decisions involve the whole tent, whoever seems most persuasive on the technique for the blisters is what I went with - Kent in this case who spoke with authority.
 
Race started in crusty muddy field with tall grass, most foot plants blind, running through the brush. I'm sure footed and wanted to go fast. Louie further damaged his ankles and he was visibly in pain. Before checkpoint one, I made the call that we had pushed him enough and told him to take over. Put a new goose in front and honk from behind. All day, until we personally break down. Ernie needs to run fast, he is unable to jog. For me, I'm not a fast walker and I don't handle the heat well. I thought only he knew the pace he could handle and I was fearful to break him; have him decide where we end up as a team today and trust he will push himself and give it his everything, which of course he did. I learnt in the Gobi that you always have a little more gas in the tank than you know you have; today we chose not to test it. Louie took on the role and we all adjusted to a different role, very difficult. It worked, we finished first amongst teams, but did it at a pace foreign to Ernie and I. The day was brutal overall. We were out for 7 hours in searing heat. I dry heaved twice baking in the sun; longer than I can handle. I did my business and caught up to the guys. The last 2 stages were uphill in red slate rocks with sand around them. Sand is loose and moving fast is nearly impossible unless you have been serving in Afghanistan.
 
As Mehmet Danis, Atacama previous winner, said to me, the finish line is the gravity you need. We saw it in the distance, but had to go down 3 steep soft sandy canyons, each time putting a dagger in. We pulled or pushed Louie up each hill - working as a team - he in so much pain he had nothing more to give. Being on the course longer than expected introduced other issues we have to learn from; water rationing and food intake. We all ran out thinking we would have been done in 6 hours as opposed to 7.
 
We debriefed after the race and the day occurred completely differently to the 3 of us. In the heat of exhaustion, it gets confusing out there. Good news is we are now very clear on how we want to proceed. My secret plan is to make Ernie suffer and take some of Louie's gear and put it in his back pack to equalize us as Ernie is the strongest - I need to slow him down for our collective benefit.
 
Tomorrow we sprint out to the infamous Salt Flats - a corral sharp crusty surface which brakes under the impact of your weight; ankle or knee deep in salt water of course. This is rated the "killer" stage. At least we know!
 
We believe we have about a 2 hour lead on the good guys. Now it's up to us to bring it home. We do not have results here so these are loose estimates. If anyone cares to send in the time difference, it would help us on the long double marathon day where we will want to mark them. Winning the stage, we went through mandatory testing. This involves going through a detailed inspection of your gear to ensure you are carrying all the necessary equipment and are therefore safe and unaided. When the race was in its earlier days; people would chuck third stuff in the desert to lighten up the load or have it carried by a "mule" at the back.
 
Good evening to everyone and thanks for the emails. Emotions are amplified here. People reading well wishes from home break down at the cyber station.
 
Stefan
 
Sorry for typos - the terminal is half the regular size and there's a line up of bloggers so i have to move fast.
 
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We also were concerned with high altitude; I was unable to sleep at all on the first night. Waking up Saturday morning and looking at 10 volcanoes was again awe inspiring. The Licancabur is a perfect cone, rising to 18800 feet. I was hypnotized and decided we might as well try to summit one and see how we react to high altitude. Off we went, trying summit Toco, an 18,500 peak that novices like us can attempt. A little risky, we had been at high altitude for 34 hours only, and of course we have to run a marathon on Monday. But “Once in Rome, do as Romans do” and we disregarded best practices.  Rollie Aird, at 33 already a veteran of 3 Deserts (Namibia 09, Sahara 08, and Gobi 07), also joined us – young, fit he was 12^th in Namibia. The organizers of the race looked at us puzzled as we departed.

A 50km drive away, we drove as high as we could. We loaded on coca leaves which we kept in our mouths and started walking uphill with Cristobal, our guide. As we reached about 17000 feet, Ernie started to struggle and I stayed with him to pace him up. He has trained heavily for the race and was shocked to be struggling. He felt having lived in Aspen at 9000 feet and trained in Edmonton would have been enough. But high altitude sickness attacks randomly. We all had searing headaches, heart rates well above 100 but had the most beautiful views one could hope for. “My stomach is tight – I feel like I’m going to black out. My legs weigh a 1000 pounds.” A little panicked, he related the results of his last EKG. I shared mine and laughed. I let him walk up at his pace and took pictures and then ran uphill little legs of 50 to 100m to catch up and see the impact on my heart rate. It was frightening, getting in my red zone. “I have a splitting headache – I can’t keep my head up – it weighs 100 pounds” said Louie. My head was about to explode but seemed we all had it. As we were spreading out on the mountain, we passed the 18000 feet I started yelling to the guys to summit together as everyone was getting a burst of energy being pulled by seeing the top. People become a bit incoherent at that altitude and before long I was yelling to get the attention of my type A mates. We agreed to stay together, all for one, one for all. We sent Rollie up first to take pictures of us reaching the top together. To be expected, the guys started running up our own little “Hillary Steps”– it was a race.

We couldn’t have asked for a better day. Sun shining, no wind and warm temperature, with pristine views of Bolivia, Argentina, and the Chilean Desert. The Andes are jagged and beautiful and their white peaks are in perfect harmony with the white salt flats which can be seen mineral sparkling on the ground. We were sitting on a 200 square foot flat top and pinched myself, not only had we all made it, conditions made it enjoyable to stay up there. This compared to my wife’s 6 day climb to Kili where she may have spent 5 minutes top at the top with countless others, in 60km wind and freezing cold. And we were almost as high! I got a wireless signal and took a picture in the direction of Aconcagua, South America’s highest peak, next on my wife’s list of summits and emailed it to her and I spoke to my mom. It was emotional.

Our spiritual guide took us through the Atacaman ritual of facing thanking our blessings. Out loud he thanked the other volcanoes who guard the area, the sun, the desert, his family and spoke about his Chilean compadres to the South affected by the earthquake all the while holding 3 coca leaves in each of the direction where he sent his blessings. He then blew the leaves towards his home. We did the same, silently, a perfect way to thank the mountain. We had also asked permission at the bottom of it, prior to climbing.

We thanked Cristobal for the experience and I wanted to reciprocate by sharing a Canadian custom. I pulled out Cuban cigars and a bottle of champagne! Rollie was rolling himself on the floor, Cristobal confirmed this was his first time drinking and smoking atop a volcano. Neglecting the effect of the high pressure, as I started unwrapping its top the cork exploded and flew to 19000 feet. We were doused with the bubbly laughing. We all drank from the bottle; another best practice at high altitude, and shared a cigar. Louie was upset to have forgotten his prosciutto. It was one these moments where you had to be there…

It was now time to descend after 45 minutes up there.

Poetically, we found the cork! There, all of us started struggling as the pressure change can affect you even more as you descend. Sprinkle a bit of champagne and it made for a sloppy walk down. Louie had to hold me part of the way – all of us had issues. Splitting headaches, Rollie was green, his eyes bloodshot. “I’m unfocussed, I am nausious” he said.

We stopped in town to by Coca leaves. The idea is to keep them in your mouth while running as we did while we climbed. We trust it is a good idea…

Over the next few hours, the headaches all became bearable. It was a memorable day which we will never forget. And hopefully it doesn’t mess up our run. My next blog will be sent be satellite from somewhere in the desert at Camp 1.

Gracias,

Stefan

For more info on the fundraising campaign for Nabs, please visit www.running4nabs.com

Race day panic starts when you begin comparing the size of your bag to others. I weighed in at 12.2kg, well above my teammates but for the fact I am carrying a small bottle of champagne for one of those special moments. I think this moment will be now; just making it to the start was an accomplishment in light of injuries and a busier work schedule. 

My thoughts today are about the choices you make when you train this hard. Saying Yes to Atacama meant No to my friends, skiing, reading, TV, date night. A sacrifice which will right itself in 10 days when it is all over. (Thanks Les for your patience and support).

The air is thin in camp 1, we are at 10670 feet. I think climbing a volcano two days ago is aiding a great deal. The landscape is mars like; high clay cliffs, reds, blood colors and ochre. Stunning and reminiscent of the Gobi. The stage tomorrow is designed to hurt us early; the elite runners (230 marathoners and under) will run the first 10km in 1h20 or so. Running at the altitude with a full pack will be challenging and we have discussed our plan as a team. Team violation has already occurred; while I waited in line to blog, I re-read some of the notes of the last few days and I came upon a passage written by my good friend Ernie who clearly was having a grand old time at my expense. The gauntlet has been thrown and I will be looking for my moment - sand in his sleeping bag? rocks in his back pack? Just planning will keep my mind off the jitters we all have. 

Running as a team will be an extraordinary challenge. We seem to be on the same page and the first stage will be the one where we find out how are running styles will blend. I will pace the guys early and will look to Ernie for bursts of acceleration. Louie will see us through the lulls - he is a tank and never stops. 

There are world class runners running as a team and our objective is to finish. Some of the running pedigrees around here are extraordinary; as such our strategy is hope. Stay alive, stay around, and who knows. We have already hedged our trip here by creating incredible memories for ourselves, hiking up to a volcano, and yesterday I hired a car to take me into the desert and sand boarded with a local pro. Imagine hurling yourself down a 45 degree 300 foot sand dune and taking turns barefoot on a board with straps. A complete rush.

At the same time as our competitive spirit is sure to be awakened, our objective is to fully partake on the communal experience. Believe it or not, we share a tent with Laurie Brophy who is returning to the Atacama after being pulled out of the race last year for being too slow as he was helping another racer in distress. The medical team felt they had to leave a doctor behind to look after him in case he put himself at risk. What injustice; but he decided to return this year despite his anger at the way it was handled. Laurie is from Wales and I will find out more about him in the days to come. He is 78 years old! He is the embodiment that nothing is impossible. another noteworthy tent mate is a nurse in Charleston; I think we will get to know each other well... (mom I am therefore safe).   

I reconnected with a few racers from the Gobi who are here; my incredible former tent mate Berenice an aussie, and Norma Bastidas a Mexican Canadian. Norma is being followed by a camera for the Oprah Winfrey TV. She is one of 8 amazing women who are single parents doing extreme activities to bring attention to their charities. Norma has a special place in my heart; she introduced me to Desert racing! There are 3 other crews here filming for other networks, for other purposes. 

Time to go and eat my back pack to start reduce its weight. 

This will be my first marathon since June 09.

Cheers