“It was 110 km over two days in the Sahara desert in Morocco and it was freaking fabulous. It was hard and painful and absolutely awesome.”

(excerpt from an email I wrote to my friend)

Ever since I’d returned to Europe, I haven’t been able to finish any of the big races I signed up for. I earned DNFs for both the Forgotten Mountains Ultramarathon and the Ultra Trail Vipava Valley race. Heading into Ultra X Morocco, I knew one thing: no matter what, I would do my darndest to finish.

Sickness took me out for three weeks straight five weeks out from the race. I went directly into taper after not being able to run much. “If nothing else, I’m rested up!” I joked with Paul, a fantastic runner whom I met in Wales in 2022, on the bus to Ouarzazate.

(It had also been a journey to get on that bus; my Thursday afternoon flights got canceled that same Thursday at 4:25 a.m. and I spent three hours frantically searching for an alternate transport, almost giving up the race altogether. In the end, it took three train journeys, a night at a capsule hotel, and a flight from Zurich to get to Marrakech.)

(Note: This post will cover mostly just the race. I will post a separate blog with more photos from all the gorgeous sights with a bit of history and geology information in the future if that’s more your speed 🙂

The Evening Before the Storm

Food was quintessential. The only task we had the evening before the race was to stuff our faces with as many carbs and simple sugars as possible. The tables we occupied groaned under all the pasta, eggs, meat, sauces, tons of vegetables, and even more sweet desserts. Even though pre-race jitters tied a knot around my stomach, I happily stuffed my face until even air couldn’t fit in.

Conversation flowed just as water and coke did and smiling faces, some genuinely happy, some wearing a more nervous smile, filled the room. When it was time to retire for the evening, sleep came surprisingly easily to me, and with only a few moments when I awoke at night, the morning proved me rested and (almost) ready.

“I met a few good people there and saw again a few people I’d known from my three times volunteering with the company. They took excellent care of me and the two days’ journey was filled with lots of hugs and smiles.“

Day 1 aM: Welcome to the Oven.

Breakfast was gorgeous and delicious—coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, bread cakes similar to naan, fresh baguettes, hard-boiled eggs, vegetables, fruits, yogurt, cereal,… however, nervosity tied a knot around my stomach. It was the most beautiful breakfast spread I’d ever seen—and not having the stomach for it broke my heart.

The sun rose as we stood at the start line, surrounded by gorgeous architecture. The reddish-brown buildings glowed under the touch of the first sunrays and soon, Alex, the race director, was done with the safety brief and started the countdown. I don’t even remember if I actually heard it or just read his lips. The air buzzed with anticipation and then, finally, we were off.

Meet Matt

The first two miles passed by in a dusty blur, the sun illuminating the sand scattered into the air by some 150 runners. Local kids and adults called out to us Ça va and ishk Allah. Once we left Ouarzazate and its outskirts behind, a runner joined me, matching my pace effortlessly. His name was Matt and we spent every mile until Checkpoint 4 together.

The strategy of most runners was to get in some miles before the heat kicked in and slow down afterward. From my previous experiences of running in the heat, I had the same exact strategy—except the difference between my “fast” pace and “slowed-down” pace would be a bit smaller than most others, at least from what I gathered from the morning pre-start conversations.

Matt and I ticked off the miles until the first checkpoint during which we ate and drank and took photos of Ouarzazate in the distance. They flew by quickly, easy enough, and enjoyable; the surprise that we reached Checkpoint 1 quite fast was evident to both of us. (Mind you, we were still in the back of the pack; our fast miles were probably about half the pace of the really fast runners.)

Heat & Hills

Between CP1 and CP2, the heat started to really crawl in. We got lost for a little while and I thanked myself for having bought a new watch. The navigation was superb and quickly got us back on track after it beeped to notify me that I’d strayed from the path. A steep uphill had us both stopping and bending over to rest and breathe, beaten by the unforgiving sun. After a short downhill relieved our sore legs, a small canyon welcomed us, feeling like we’d walked straight into an oven.

A view like no other opened before us after another hot climb; up from a ridge, we suddenly glanced at a deep valley filled with green trees. A river snaked along the valley, carving its way through the rock—and my legs, heat-tired though they were, started to flow down the steep rocky descent just like the water.

Day 1 PM: Keep Pouring the Sand Out!

At Checkpoint 2, the medics addressed a sharp pain that’d been bothering me for a few miles. They concluded that it was something they described as “a more severe stitch” but honestly, I forgot the name of it the moment I heard it. My calves got massaged as they turned rock-hard. I think I will never again complain about hitting the corner of a table with my leg; the massage hurt about a hundred times more.

I left the checkpoint with 2.6 liters of water and electrolytes. I couldn’t fit that much into my pack; the most I could squeeze in with everything else was 1.6 liters. The minimum capacity had to be 1.5 liters so I was just barely past the required amount. The ace in my sleeve was a collapsible Platypus bottle that could carry an extra 1 liter of fluids.

The strategy was to walk the first two or three kilometers out from a checkpoint, sipping on the electrolyte-filled flask as often as needed to finish it within that distance. That would allow me to replenish the fluids lost under the unrelenting sun.

We crossed a river, said hi to a few women who were doing the laundry and a donkey resting in the shade, and set out to enjoy the only shaded mile of the whole course—a little local path that snaked along tiny fields and canals.

The Dreamy Desert

“In places, the desert there reminded me of the Nevada desert. It was a bitter-sweet homage to that place. I reminisced a lot about Eastern Sierras, too—that part along route 395 between Mono and Mammoth, all the way down to Bishop, and 120, really is one of the most gorgeous places on this planet.”

Matt and I split apart for about three miles when walking just hurt too much and I needed to run. Up on a hill, he caught up to me before I pulled ahead again, death-marching towards Checkpoint 4. When I finally saw it, I called out to Matt to give him the extra boost to get up that last hill.

“That was the only thing that kept me going at that point,” he later said.

Night 1: Starlink, Spiders, Snakes.

“I saw the sunset twice on my journey—and both nights, when I was out there only by the light of my headlamp, were simply gorgeous. I’ve never seen the night sky like that. Even the stars as I see them from where I live now are nothing in comparison with the beauty that is the nighttime sky out in the desert. The Milky Way looked like somebody spilled white paint filled with glitter across the sky. The night was, impossibly, filled with light. It was pure and beautiful and silvery and, impossibly, brighter than the light smog we tend to see near cities nowadays.“

Matt and I split again about 2 miles out from the last checkpoint of the day. One volunteer went ahead with Matt while I stayed back, slowed down by my suddenly immobile legs. The rest I got at Checkpoint 4 did little to make things better—if anything, it made it harder to start moving again. (Getting up from that chair was a battle between my will and the gods themselves.) Nick, another volunteer, paced me the rest of the way.

Midnight Musings

We looked at stars and talked about life, the typical stuff one does at mile whatever-the-hell after marching all day while being baked under the desert sun. We saw the Starlink—even though Nick didn’t know at first what it was.

“If you didn’t tell me, I would have honestly believed I was looking at aliens!” he proclaimed.

Swearing at the Sand

“They can take all this loose sand and shove it up their—” I cursed when we walked across a dry riverbed full of—yes—loose sand. That was about a mile before the Day 1 finish line. Whoever decided to send us through loose sand at that point is nothing short of an absolute sadist.

The last mile was also marked by walking along and on tops of narrow water channels and even hopping a few. If anything, it was an interesting choice… who am I kidding, it was so much damn fun!

“We’re here,” Nick eventually said. I didn’t know where but then—music. “The finish line is right there around the corner; you should try running!” he said.

So I did.

I forced my legs to pretend that we were running. I rounded the corner and suddenly, there was a burst of light and cheering—and the Day 1 finish line. I’d made it.