“Go to crazy places — you’ll meet crazy people,” says the ever-smiling Italian Dino Bonelli, one of my tent companions and running partners. He’s talking about me, himself and the other 75 or so competitors. The place in question is somewhere in the middle of the desert in Oman. We’re halfway through a six-day race from the village of Bidiyah to the Arabian Sea: 165km (102 miles) across soft sand in heat close to 40C and carrying all our provisions on our backs. It’s hard to deny that it’s a little crazy.
The third Oman Desert Marathon began earlier this month after a ceremonial dance by the villagers of Bidiyah, wearing white robes with swords and iPhones tucked inside their belts. We then shuffled off, laden with our backpacks along 100m of road before we hit the sand. Ten minutes later, leaving the outskirts of the village, we headed into the desert and left all signs of human life behind for the next six days.
The first 10km are fairly steady going. My bag is heavy, but the design of these running packs is so clever they hardly inhibit your movement. I grind my way to the first checkpoint where we get to refill our water bottles.