Stage 6: 15.5km (9.6 miles)

I'm swearing inside - where's the finish?!

A measly 9 1/2 miles. Piece of cake.

So the organisers gave us the big dunes today.

Bastards.

The last day was an actual race up to the first checkpoint. 6.5km of flat, stony ground. We all sped up to the start of the dunes. I felt like I was running a pb time, though it was probably still painfully slow.

Hit the dunes. And return to shuffle/walk.

And on. And on. And on.

It was deliciously awful and wonderful at the same time. You are so, so close but you aren't. You know there is only a few kilometres left from near 300km at the start, but you can't see the finish line.

I didn't think I'd be so relieved today, as it was only 91/2 miles, but I was. It felt so, so good to come in. People cheer you in. Some, having just finished around you giving you hugs. Others just staring vacantly in sheer exhaustion, can't believe what they've just done.

Magical.

Stage 5: 42.2km (26.2 miles)

The beauty of the desert. Today was a good day

Slightly apprehensive now about this stage, given the state of my rapidly-ballooning painful leg. Nothing to do though except shuffle off. Luckily the odds are in my favour today as the course terrain is pretty forgiving and I end the day completely, completely exhausted but strangely satisfied by my new-found ability to keep calm and carry on.

The day's environment varied widely from stony ground, to sandy, to dunes, to valley beds. I strangely found it easier to shuffle very slowly rather than walk, so the better half and I played a game of catch up. I would shuffle off. Then he would run to catch up with me and go back to a fast march. I would then catch up, overtake and repeat.

I also treated myself to some tunes today which made a world of difference. Nothing like a bit of Michael Jackson!

Today was quite an emotional day, but this time for a good reason - I was fairly staggered by how beautiful the dunes were. How lucky was I to be doing this and having this experience. I knew I wouldn't remember the pain of my leg once it was over, but I would remember the good parts.

The environment. The banter with other people about feet. Laughing out loud with the better half over some funny joke. The relief of crossing the finish line each day and being welcomed in with a clap, a smile and a cup of steaming hot mint tea. Even the freeze-dried food.

In a way what I found most refreshing was the race empties your mind of anything other than a) when was the last time you drank b) when was the last time you had a salt tablet c) when was the last time you ate (with a little bit of foot anxiety in between). Worries about daily life, work, or relationships disappear. It is a bit like finally being able to meditate, but in a non-happy clappy way.

Regardless of enjoying today's race, my body is starting to moan. At the finish I collapse completely and utterly exhausted. I can't move. I can't eat. I can't talk. My body is beginning to give up on me. It doesn't want anything in it though I force down a few dates, some salt tablets and another litre of water as I'm quite dehydrated.

I fall into a dark dreamless sleep, apprehensive and eager for tomorrow to come and go.

The rest day: marathon des sables

Can of coke? On a carpet? In a sleeping bag? In the Sahara? Don't mind if I do

Oh the relief. A day off. Our plan of stopping at checkpoint 5 to sleep worked well as we got in just after 9am on the rest day, but having had a good nights sleep as well.

Unfortunately this meant our placing was now towards the bottom, but I didn't care. I was so close to giving up yesterday because of my painful leg but I hadn't.

The long day was behind me. Only a marathon and 10 miles to go. Easy!

And a day of rest. Oh it was divine.

There has not been a day where I not wanted to do anything more than sit in the desert in a sleeping bag on a carpet drinking coke. So I did. And it was great.

Never mind that about an hour before the above photo was taken it was hailing. Yes hailing. In the Sahara. With a vicious sandstorm to boot. Some poor soles (ho ho) were still shuffling it in from the day before (not so ho ho)

Stage 4: 81.5km (50 1/2 miles)

About half way down the HUGE dune

And it arrives! The day of doom.

Tried to think positively (see my PMA training has paid off!) by thinking of those poor people whose feet are much worse than mine.

I've been religiously getting my blisters cleaned and taped by Doc Trotters each evening and am starting to see the evidence of some severely wounded feet. Mincemeat comes to mind.

So with that positive thought tucked safely in I set off.

As usual we started to jog to the first checkpoint but hat the stop as got too hot. I see a theme occurring here...

Pre checkpoint 1 we had to climb a long, steep rocky ascent, followed by the most fun I've had out here - a technical descent down the biggest sand dune I've ever seen. The organisers had to add a rope to hold onto to descend, but many people just ran down. I'm sure some of them would have lost their footing and rolled down. Faster I guess at least.

Trotted through some flat rocky plains to reach checkpoint 2. I had noticed my left ankle had started twinging. I tried to ignore it. Mind over matter. But unfortunately it got progressively worse.

I stopped halfway through checkpoint 2 to try and tape it up. Then at checkpoint 3 I had to ask them to tape it some more and supply me with some strong painkillers.

So frustrating.

This is the thing I've found about Marathon des Sables. It's not really all about fitness. It is a bit about luck. You may get blisters. You may not. You may get dehydrated. You may not. You may develop shin splints when you've never had a problem with them before. Or you may not. It's a bit of a gamble.

You can either go for it and be a competitor, and risk not finishing. Or you can err on the side of caution and be a completer - hobbling through it all come what may. There were a lot of teeth gritted out there let's say!

One of the high points of being a completer rather than a competitor was on day 4 the elites set off three hours after the rest of the field, so at around 1-2pm you see them all overtaking you.

Pretty incredible to watch them. My favourite, other than the legend that is Ahansal, was our incredibly talented Jen Salter. Women do tend to do better the further they run, and Jen is outstanding. Felt very proud to be British and a woman as she raced past.

And then I went back to my comical hobble/shuffle.

As the sun started to go down, we all entered the twilight zone. And dunes. Bastards.

I started to fantasise about sleeping while hobbling again, and begun to see motorway bridges. Not quite sure why. I kept thinking I was running underneath the M25.

More painkillers at checkpoint 4. And on. If it wasn't for the better half I think there is a chance I may have given up here. I was in pain, tired and tearful. My leg had ballooned.

We trekked on as we entered the dark phase (in more ways than one). The headtorches came on. The glowsticks attached to our bags. We past people kipping in their sleeping bags.

Along the way we gained a friend. A Korean man tagged onto the back of our train. I think he was feeling a bit low as well and wanted some company. Was quite touched on reaching checkpoint 5 that he wanted a photo with us. The most I could muster through those kilometres was a few grunts and shouts of pain.

I think the better half secretly enjoyed this phase as at one point we had a train of around 15 people with him leading the way. I heard the word "marines" mentioned a few times.

We made the not-difficult decision to get our heads down at checkpoint 5. I was really upset by this as I wanted to get it finished, but my leg was having non of it. We ended up sleeping for 7 hours which became a bit of a joke among our friends. And probably for those at home who know how much my better half and I love our sleep!

5am we carried on. Some malt loaf, salt tablets, immodium and painkillers were order of the day! The morning was a different story. It was light. We felt refreshed. It was cool. So we managed the last two checkpoints in record time and got in before 10am, giving us a full rest day, and having had some kip.

Seeing and finally crossing that finish line was stupidly emotional. The race wasn't over, but I was in bits. I was so relieved I hadn't given up. I was so grateful to the better half and I was so bloody relieved to stop moving!

Stage 3: 35km (21 3/4 miles)

Pretty happy chappy here

The nerves at the start line have been replaced by mild excitement and mild dread in equal doses. The days are starting to fall into a bit of a routine now.

All you think about is the next checkpoint. Do anything else and you will die. Your head cannot stray further than the next checkpoint, the next step even. Thinking too far ahead will mess with your mind. I refused to think about the dreaded day 4.

Most days start at 8:30am which gives enough time to jog up to the first checkpoint, before it gets too hot. It then turns into a fast march/hobble the rest of the way, with the sparse flat, not too hot sections jogged.

This morning's description in the roadbook was a "false, flat ascent". In other words: uphill.

Started jogging. Turned into a powerwalk as started overheating. I thought I'd be quite good in the heat as I generally operate about two degrees cooler than other people. I also did some sweaty yoga in London. Seems laughable here. Though I have heard it does help! I'm not really sure what else UK bods can do to acclimatize other than get a fair few heat chamber sessions in or go live in Morocco.

I was also increasingly worried about the effects of the heat as one of our tentmates had unfortunately been pulled from the race. We found him on the eve of day 2, grey with pulsing calf muscles. He was delirious. Seven drips later he returned and tried stage 1 of today's race, but dehydrated again and had to have another drip. Game over.

So with that thought, I carried steadily, boringly slowly on.

Stage 3, in the end, was really rather enjoyable. Stunning views. Bit of banter with fellow shufflers. Shuffled through a herd of camels who looked on mildly in confusion. More panic over ever-increasing blisters. (Annoyingly the better half got one blister the whole race. ONE. That's it! And on his little toe. It's embarrassing. All that prep for blister taping and nada!).

The best part was the last few kilometres where we managed to actually RUN. The temperature must have cooled slightly and it was nice and flat, so we gunned it. It felt like we were Usain Bolt, though I expect in reality we were going at 12 min mile pace.

No matter, it was great fun and captured the essence of what I wanted from this. Freedom, satisfaction, joy and relief.

Stage 2: 38.5km (24 miles)

Endless, endless valley beds

More Patrick Bauer chat. More ACDC. And....shuffle!

Felt pretty good after stage 1. Kept an eye on the blisters. On reflection I was rather paranoid about them. Been looking at too many gruesome pictures of people's feet. They got worse today, but were still manageable. Thank goodness I wasn't getting any on any weight bearing areas.

Stage 2 was a cool 52 degrees. I couldn't really tell the difference between this and stage 1 to be honest. It was just hot full stop.

Stop press: I managed to shuffle all the way to checkpoint 1 today! Rather pleased with myself. We then hit some small dunes (dunettes - how cute!) followed by another loooooooonnnnggggg valley bed stretch. The valley beds seem to hold the heat in more and are a little like an alternative reality. You move but you don't. You can see the trees in the distance (or can you?) but they don't come any closer.

Until they do.

Pretty tired by the third checkpoint but still had about 10km of dunettes (not so cute now). My overwhelming need at this point was to lay down and sleep. I was even fantasising about working out how to sleep while shuffling and tried it a bit.

Managed to shuffle in the last half kilometre or so.

I was very pleased to reach "home" today. By now our camp was complete luxury to me. A sight for sore eyes. Sultan tea sponsors the Marathon des Sables so you are welcomed over the finish line with a hot cup of sweet Moroccan mint tea. Heavenly.

Stage 1: 33.8km (21 miles)

You won't be smiling in 5 hours time

Oh the nerves! It was rather strange as I knew I wasn't going to all out for a pb, it was going to be more of a shuffle race, but I was so incredibly nervous before we started.

Each day starts with a round up of news from the infamous Patrick Bauer, the founder of the MDS. The briefing includes information about the course du jour, birthday wishes,and the elites and their placement. Excitement is increased with a daily rendition of ACDC's "Highway to Hell". Then we're off! And shuffle!

The first day I found fairly pleasant.

This was probably because I walked all of it.

My better half aka Captain Sensible said "We're come here with two objectives. 1) To finish 2) To enjoy it. So let's not burn out on the first day."

Agreed.

Stage 1 (day 1) was a mild 46 degrees apparently. It felt hot anyway. I endearingly named my hands "sausage fingers" as they were so swollen. Dread to think what my poor feet were looking like. I can only imagine them thinking "wtf! WHY have you stuffed me in two pairs of socks, doused me in talc and decided to shuffle 21 miles in 46 degrees?!"

Day 1 I managed to acquire a couple of blisters on both big toes. Fairly impressed by them really.

The day started fairly flat, and passed through some old ruins. Children came tumbling out to say hello, and steal stuff out of our side pockets. I think Patrick Bauer may have placed them their to get us slower movers going faster.

Our first technical ascent and descent came after the first checkpoint. It was pretty tough but not horrendous. All that hill training definitely paid off as my legs felt good powering up the slopes. The view from the top was just magical.

Our excitement changed rapidly on the downhill as we started to see the first casualties. One Japanese man puking for Japan. Another guy sat convulsing along the first valley bed.

And take salt tablet and drink water.

And drink a bit more just in case.

And now eat because I'm now paranoid I've drunk too much.

And repeat.

A couple of ridiculously hot, hot, hot valleys later, we began the last climb up a sandy ascent, followed by the first glimpse of camp about 3km away.

Oh the agony! It's like a carrot in front of a donkey. Never comes closer.

Until it does. And it did. And we finished. Phew!

I did lie earlier. We did run. We ran about 200m then gave up as it was too hot. But we tried.

Day zero: Camp life on the Marathon des Sables

Marathon des Sables is more than just running. It's a different way of life for a week. Two days before the race starts, we head out to the desert to settle into what will be our home.

After five hours on the road comes a rather amusing cattle lorry ride - with-bags-and-all - for a couple of kilometres. Blinking nervously once the lorry doors open, we all descend down and into the strangely familiar sight of a semi-circle of black canvas tents, peppered with berbers and camels.

Tent 61 is my tent. I am sharing with my two friends, better half, and two laid back Israeli guys. We are lucky to only have six people. The tents do hold up to eight.

The tents are pretty robust. They consist of a large sheet of black canvas nailed down into the ground and supported by wooden poles. The berbers take these tents down and reassemble them on every stage. I thought we'd be sleeping on bare ground but they put down a red-coloured carpet as well - luxury! The tents can be adjusted slightly, which is really useful to know if there is a sandstorm.

Tent 61 ends up being a rather valued tent. We are the first tent on the left as you finish. Those spared metres end up being a godsend after trekking all day! Tent 61 also faces opposite the legend that is Mohamed Ahansel - one of Morocco's finest runners. I found it fairly staggering that little old me could be opposite such an elite runner. What other races offer this opportunity?

Before the race starts, runners are looked after in what I thought was 5-star luxury. Food and drink is provided. And it's good food. Crusty bread, fresh yogurt, spaghetti bolognaise with parmesan cheese, creamy mushroom soup. Even red wine is thoughfully given in the evenings!

The purpose of going out earlier is to go through all the logistics - medical sign offs, kit check, final bag pack. So for the whole of day zero, all 800 plus nervous racers packed, unpacked, repacked, took things out, put them back, then panic bought from the "shop" cleverly engineered.

My bag ended up weighing 9kg pre water, which is fairly reasonable. Bags tend to range between 6.5kg-15kg.

The checks went well for me. My ECG was signed off and no one wanted to see the contents of my bag. Now just the anxious wait till stage 1.

Marathon des Sables: I made it!

So I made it. Thank goodness. And part of the reason I did was so that I didn't have to come back and blog about my failed mission!

It was an epic adventure. Equally amazing and awful. As time goes on the horrendousness of it has disappeared and I am left with an overriding sense that I did enjoy it. Parts of it anyway!

I'm going to post updates on each stage over this week and next, followed by some handy hints and tips I learnt along the way, and what worked and what didn't in terms of training and kit. I hope it will be useful and a good read for past and future Marathon des Sablers!