Runaway sucess

At 42, Louise Jordan completed the world's toughest foot race - a 150-mile slog accross the Sahara in temperatures of 125°F in only seven days. And yet Louise only took up running two years ago. She tells Anthea Gerrie her story.

Signing up for the Marathon des Sables, or the Marathon of the Sands, marked a watershed in my life. until then, I was utterly conventional and safe - I'm terrified of flying and won't even go on a roller-coaster. Even when I was young, I never risked taking a gap year or going to university; I married young and had two children, Thomas now 16, and Katie, 14.

I gained two stone after the pregnancies, and found it difficult to slim down. It was only when the children were teenagers that I got two dogs to encourage me to go walking with them on the common near my home in London. Obviously I wanted to regain my figure, and I thought that if I'm walking all this way, I might as well be running and making a difference. As soon as I started, I loved the buzz.

The first day, I stayed out for 30 minutes by running slowly. I trained with a heart monitor. which taught me to go at a steady pace to build up my endurance. The next day I ran a bit longer and loved it.

Until 18 months ago, I'd never challenged myself physically; I used to hide from sports at school, I'd join health clubs but lose interest. At the time, I was running a consultancy for children's writers - which provides editorial and marketing advice for writers who want their books published - and my lifestyle was rather sedentary.

My husband, Marcus, and the children thought it was great when I decided to enter the London Marathon. I started training, and once I'd exhausted the common, I began to run further - it became an addiction. After avoiding exercise most of my life, I was loving it.

I joined a gym, where the personal trainer, Ed Powell, helped me seriously train for the London Marathon - we built up to 60 miles a week around local parks. Despite this, however, the marathon was hard work; it took me more than four hours, which was slow. But I certainly liked the endurance aspect.

I ran the London Marathon with Chris Moon, who took part to raise money for a charity called Concern Worldwide, which helps landmine injury victims. Chris had been running with a false leg since he himself had been blown up by a landmine, and he told me about the Marathon des Sables, which he'd taken part in a few years before.

When I looked it up on the internet, it caught my imagination. It was so extreme - completing 150 miles in seven days is no mean feat. Add to that running in daytime temperatures of 125°F on stony ground and sand dunes and you begin to get the picture. Plus, it also includes a 50-mile trek across wilderness over two days, followed by a 26-mile marathon.

And as if all that isn't bad enough, competitors have to carry everything they need for the week (food, clothes, medical and survival kit. sleeping bag and so on) - which at the start of the race is about 26lb in their backpack. To add to the fun, you have to be prepared to encounter snakes and scorpions.

I phoned the organisers and asked them a million questions, because I was worried that, as a woman, it would be too much for me. But the more I found out, the more I loved the idea, although my children thought I was potty. And to allay my husband's fears about my safety, I found two guys, Jimmy and Simon, to run the race with me. I saved up the £2,000 registration fee and raised a further £8,000 in sponsorship for Facing Africa, a charity which tackles noma, a disfiguring disease in children.

I was in good shape, but my trainer still took me running twice a week. I knew I could manage the London Marathon, but the Marathon des Sables was something else: the equivalent of six marathons in terrific heat and carrying a heavy backpack.

Fit and ready to go

My first serious training involved a 31-mile trek through mud, fields and stiles, with the last hour and a half in pitch dark negotiating live electric fences! As I got more into exercise and fitness I'd run four or five hours every weekend carrying an increasingly heavier weight (my Delia Smith books came in handy!).

A few days before the race was due to start, we flew out to Ouarzazate in Morocco, four hours drive from Marrakech, and stayed overnight before setting out on the six-hour drive to Erfoud, the starting point. At the "base camp" everyone underwent a thorough medical and equipment check. The organisers also made sure that the food in our backpacks had enough energy - we needed about 2,000 calories per day - to see us through the week.

I took a few luxuries - disposable hand-warmers to ward off the cold on freezing nights, brandy to perk up my hot chocolate and baby wipes (we were allowed only 9 litres of water each day, so there was none to spare for washing) - and all were worth lugging around.

When we set off on the first leg of the race, the first shock was the heat: by 9am, it was over 90°F and it reached 125°F when we were running across the sand dunes. The second was the weight of my pack. Initially, I didn't drink enough water and became dehydrated, arriving back in camp with a blinding headache. I e-mailed my trainer back home, saying I might not make it - I couldn't imagine six more days of this.

At night I shared a tent with five guys (including Jimmy and Simon) and three girls. Really it was just brown sacking on poles and we were lined up inside like sardines in a tin, with no room to stand up. But I slept amazingly well, using my jacket as a pillow.

I wasn't bothered about not having enough water to wash in, although I was worried about having to pee in the open in front of hundreds of men - only 10 percent of the contestants were women. But I soon got used to it - I had no choice.

The second day - running up huge dunes that are acknowledged as the highest on the planet - seemed daunting, but I was spurred on by their beauty. And I came back feeling that, as long as I drank enough, I would make it. At the end of the day, however I had to visit the medical clinic, run by a very efficient team of voluntary doctors - although the set-up was like something out of M*A*S*H with boxes for pillows and wooden boards for stretchers. My injury was only swollen legs, caused by a reaction to the sunscreen we were given.

Day three was horrible, too: everything was spinning when I got back to camp that evening. But I realised how lucky I was when Simon turned up with his feet in such a state that he had to drop out of the race. Jimmy came in later still, and in an even worse condition: he had to be put on a drip because he was so dehydrated. When he also abandoned the race, I was heartbroken.

I was lucky to start the fourth day - the 50 mile segment that had to be completed within 48 hours - with no blisters. The remaining members of our tent agreed to run through the night; for me, the worst part of this stage was arriving at one of the checkpoints after dark desperately wanting to sleep. I rested for half an hour and after eating something and laughing with some of my tent-mates, I felt able to go on.

The route was lit by beacons, but a sandstorm blew up and we couldn't see them so we had to take a compass bearing and follow that. It was a great antidote to boredom and was actually the high point of the night. When we eventually came in, we'd been up for 24 hours.

I started day six with blisters, and was worried they'd bring me down before the end. I decided to walk some of the route so I would be fit enough to run all the way on the final morning. It was the first really hard running I'd done all week, because I'd been scared to really let myself go after seeing so many others go down with heatstroke.

The feeling of coming into Tazarine on our way to the finishing line was fantastic; I gave out the last of my food and water to the children lining the streets, thinking, Yes, I've done it, this is a brilliant achievement! There had been hellish moments, but I'd taken the time to appreciate the fabulous scenery and the experience.

But for many of the competitors the last straw was arriving at our camp, desperate for a bit of luxury, only to find a power cut and no water. But I didn't care; it was lovely just to be able to phone home. When I first called, only my daughter was home. She said, "Oh, Mummy, I'm so proud of you!" This meant so much to me, because while my son had always respected my passion about the race, Katie had found my training hard and felt a bit neglected.

A new lease of life

When I told friends I was entering this race, the typical reaction had been a rather overawed, "I can't even run for the bus!" Well, neither could I a few years ago. Running has changed my life. It has made me feel in control and has given me tremendous self-confidence, especially seeing myself through the eyes of people I don't know who've sponsored me because they think running the race is such a fantastic achievement. And although it's caused some problems - training was an enormous commitment that took me away from the family - I wouldn't swap the new me for the old me for anything.

Some of my friends put my running down to a mid-life madness, while others see the changes - weight loss, increased confidence, focus, a sense of achievement - and they wish they could do it, too. The point is, they can. If I can, anyone can.

Would I do the race again? Yes, I might, and try to do it faster (I came in 447th out of 630 starters). Meanwhile, I'm attempting the Desert Cup in Jordan in November. It's a non-stop 170km race over 62 hours, which I'm hoping to complete in two days. A British woman has yet to run it and I rather fancy being the first.

This article can be found in the October 2001 issue of 'Women and Home' which is available in supermarkets and all reputable newsagents.