Ronhill Race Report: ULTRA X Morocco 110

Since restarting my love for running around 5 years ago, quickly picking up the mileage and eventually finding ultra running, there are plenty of races that quickly found their way onto my bucket list.

As many ultra runners know, race entries, travel, kit and all the rest quickly add up – leading to those bucket list races never being more than a dream!

This is why I made the promise to myself to book just one race that I can tick off my bucket list – one in particular being Ultra X Morocco 110km. Spread across two days, Day 1 is 60km with 1000m elevation gain, Day 2 is 50km with 500m elevation gain.

Neither day to be laughed at.

When I booked the race, I knew I would regret the 6.15am flight from Manchester to Marrakech (the £20 saved was not worth the early flight! I quickly found myself cursing my decision as I stood half awake shuffling through security at terminal 1.

After four hours of turbulence and some sweaty palms on landing, I was glad to see Marrakech, a city that had perked my interest after some time in Morocco on holiday as a kid. With less than 24 hours before travelling to the race HQ in Ouarzazete, I quickly got to exploring the Souks and squares – both exactly as hectic as I’d imagined!

After a few of hours dodging snake charmers and what seemed
to be every merchant in the city, I’d had my fill – heading back to the Riad
tucked away in the tight old city walls for some much-needed food and Moroccan
tea.

Not much to take note of here. A midday 4 hour coach journey took us through the Atlas mountains, through mountain villages that seemed other worldly. After what seemed like a short drive, we arrived at the race hotel for kit checks, last minute prep and rest for the first of two days in the desert.

After a night triple checking kit and organising hotel logistics, I somehow found myself in probably the least ideal situation to wake up with – illness. After 12 months of training, two days of travel and being extra precautionary with food when travelling, I somehow found myself awake from 5am with what I only assume was a stomach bug. After an hour or so of feeling sorry for myself and trying to keep down any fuel that I could even stomach, I sheepishly headed to the start line for what I knew would be an interesting day, to say the least.

Setting off from Taourirt Kasbah at 7.45am, I quickly found a familiar face in a lad from Liverpool that I had briefly met at the race hotel the night prior. A nice start to the race, we chatted away as we ran through a small village and into an oasis on the outskirts of Ouarzazate, before we began to enter the plains of the Atlas mountains.

I managed to stay with my new scouse friend for a good 8-10km, which is where my new found illness began to first take its toll on my big day out. Telling him to carry on as I would ‘catch up in a minute’, I was secretly struggling as I tried to find some form of stride and motivation as I tried to stomach the more palatable fuel in my pack.

Reaching the top of the first ‘climb’ and my new friend gone in the distance, my fuelling issues seemed to be forgotten for a few minutes,
as awe striking views of the snow capped Atlas mountains in the background briefly took my mind off how little I wanted a gel at 8.30am. However short lasted, this was the first ‘oh sh*t, I’m actually here’ moment, as I stopped to take a quick video for the memory bank.

Following a blissfully beautiful end to the first leg, I was met by cheering volunteers at checkpoint 1, where I quickly refilled my soft flasks with water and a fresh carb mix before cracking on to checkpoint 2, another 13km away.

After a quick stop and refill, I noticed that I somewhat felt okay compared to before the race, which in all honesty is where things probably went south. After a couple of km kicking on as I ‘felt okay’ and managing to bring up the pace a little, my stomach issues quickly came back to humble me – fighting to keep any fuel down as I trudged across what I can only describe as small boulder fields towards my next stop of the day. With the temperature rising with the sun, and no fuel staying in my system for longer
than a few minutes, I knew I was fighting a losing battle.

Battling on in the midday heat and carb mix now being my worth nightmare, I continued past the biggest climb of day 1, towards checkpoint two, where I knew deep down I would have to make a tough decision.

Following a slow, techy descent into checkpoint 2 at around 25km, I got myself over to medical for some anti sickness in an attempt to stop my sickness and at least be able to stomach some form of fuel to get through the next 35km.

After 25 minutes sat in medical waiting for the anti sickness to somehow work wonders, I made a decision that will probably haunt me for the rest of my days (or at least until I finally conquer the elusive 100km barrier) – I DNF’d at 25.64km on day 1.

Now stuck in a random part of the Atlas mountains, I was lucky enough to hitch a lift back to the Day 1 camp with some members of the Ultra X team – giving me enough time to rest and refuel.

After a questionable rehydrated chili con carni, half a tube of electrolyte tablets, enough anti sickness for a small town and a few hours’ sleep in an open plan tent with 140 other runners, I woke up at 5.30am feeling a lot better than Day 1. Welcomed into the day by the clearest sky I have ever seen, something that I will never forget, I had a feeling that Day 2 had something more positive in store for me.

After forcing down another expedition meal breakfast consisting of 450kcal of granola and dried raspberries at 6am, I got my kit back on and got myself ready to go for Day 2, which after Day 1’s going was a big win in itself.

Standing on a random road in the desert, cold, waiting for the sun to rise, 300 runners were ready to take on 50km from Tazantoute back to the race HQ in Ouarzazate. With the technical terrain and elevation from Day 1, everyone was looking forward to a ‘chilled day’.

Standing there waiting for the claxen to sound another day of adventure, I was nervous, but with nothing to prove. After day 1, I had no expectations, but was determined to prove to myself what limits I can push myself to.

Around 2km in, after starting solo, I noticed a familiar face – it was the lovely scouse lad that I had the pleasure to run with on Day 1. After a hard 60km the day before, he was running with two other lads who he had finished Day 1 with. On battered legs but with enough enthusiasm to conquer the world, I knew my best bet was to stick with these guys for the day.

Km after km, we chatted away as we made out way through rural mountain villages, talking about everything from Z2 and Z3 training, right down to how much Tom’s wig cost (he is a barrister) … (It was £900 by the way).

As we smashed off the km’s and met lovely Moroccan locals as we went along, we all felt the effects of Day 1, albeit for different reasons. With the three lads on dead legs and me still recovering from Day 1 of no food, it seemed like a match made in heaven. Hitting a stride and using each other as pacers, we quickly found ourselves at the half way point of Day 2.

Running through villages and small towns, it was a big cultural shock to us all just how different life can be compared to what we experience in our daily lives. As we ran through villages, kids ran over greeting us, giving high fives – however ulterior motives were clear, with village elders watching from a distance as the kids tried to steal snacks, kit and even phones and Garmins!

Continuing on our way, tackling uphills with a solid walk and flats with a consistent effort, things were going amazingly for me until around 35km, which is when I experienced muscle cramps like never before. Whether it was my fuelling on the day or just lack of fuel from Day 1, my body was feeling it, and I had to make the tough decision to let the lads carry on without me. Reluctantly, they did.

With 16km or as I kept telling myself, ’just three 5km’ or ‘just one checkpoint’ to go, my body was completely cooked. I continued to fuel, walking to avoid any serious muscle seizures, making my way slowly through the rocky trails of the Atlas mountains.

After what felt like 50km on its own, but was actually just 6km of serious struggle, crossing what seemed like endless mountain plains, I arrived at the final checkpoint that welcomed me with enthusiastic volunteers, a cold can of Coke and a banana – a combo that every ultra runner comes to appreciate. After downing the two running delicacies, I reluctantly stepped back into the midday heat; continuing my final push to the finish, 11.5km away.

As I moved forward, every running stint got shorter and every walk got longer, as my hamstrings would cramp every 150-200m. Looking like a novice lost in my surroundings, I was quickly rescued by a local Moroccan who was there to support his friend who was also struggling.

With some broken translation and a few ‘Allez allez’, I knew this guy was determined to drag me through. As a trio, we slowly stepped our way towards the biggest and final climb of the whole weekend. In a world of pain but with a newfound determination to stick on the heels of my Moroccan saviour, I pushed through to the summit, where I saw our finish line for the first time all weekend, Paramount Studios Ouarzazate (still a good few km away).

As we descended, the last 3km was the hardest 3km of my life. With the finish line in my sights but no energy or push in my legs to move more than a quick walk, I have never felt so defeated, yet so proud.

Coming to the finish line, a literal movie set, and seeing the lads I ran with cheer me over the finish line, I knew I had given all I could give. Or should I say, Morocco took all that it could take.

With a handful of ultras already in the bag, this one truly humbled me and showed me the true levels to performance. Overall, a successful trip with a world of lessons for the future, even if the outcome wasn't what I wanted.

Will I be back in Morocco for full redemption next year? Who knows. All I know is that now is the time for rest – until I find my next goal race that is!