A tale of endurance and survival as Gower completes the ultimate race

GOWER TAN, nicknamed ‘the Forrest Gump of Herne Hill’, returned from a brutal ultra-endurance challenge that truly lived up to its reputation – running through the Sahara Desert for six days in searing temperatures.
Here Gower, 51, shares his experience of what is billed as “the toughest foot race on earth” and the “hell” he endured – on the first day – to complete it.

Only half the runners finished this year’s legendary Marathon Des Sables (MDS) – an annual six-day 156-mile run across the deserts of Morocco. It was one of the toughest ever.

I had planned, trained and prepared for a long time for the beast I’ve just completed.

Tragically, one competitor died on the second day. My thoughts are truly with his family and friends.

Temperatures were significantly higher than normal: over 50C in the shade, only four per cent humidity and little wind. A thermometer in the direct sun on registration day exploded at 65 degrees.

Runners are given a bag of coated salt tablets on registration day. I had taken two on the start line with water. By the second check point, I had drunk more than two litres with more salt tablets.

I felt sure I’d be fine. But the Sahara Desert was about to engulf me. Highway to Hell, which blares out as the participants cross the start line, was no longer just the signature AC/DC song – it had become my reality.

About 8km from the finish, my run was now a heavily-laboured shuffle. I was still regularly taking salt tablets, hydration tabs and fluids. By now it was warm water.

I started to feel faint. I was counting steps – never a good sign. One, two, three……100, 101….. all the way to 1,000. Another kilometre done. Then start again.

Then a deterioration – so rapid, so unexpected. I was scared and unsure if I would pass out or be forced to press my SOS beacon, ending my race before I had done the first day.

Within a few hundred meters, I suddenly vomited twice – flushing out much-needed liquid and electrolytes. Dehydration was now a very real risk.

I don’t fully understand the science but at a certain point, your body will no longer take more water. A sip can make you vomit.

I still had a lot of fluid in my two main flasks but could no longer stomach the now-hot, sweet energy and hydration fuel. I craved plain water, but I’d already drunk my reserves.

Before the race, my wife Julie had asked my running friend Rob Duncombe to look after me and added in jest ‘……please ensure he doesn’t die in the Sahara’.

He had finished an MDS, so I had already tapped heavily into his advice.

Suddenly I heard a familiar voice from behind. My guardian camel had arrived!  I was easy to identify – I had a tall Cancer Research UK flag on my backpack.

Rob and I have run many races together, but nothing like this. I wouldn’t have made it to the end without him.

He walked with me, forcing me to sip his plain water, take more salt and badgering me to keep moving when I was begging to stop.

My condition was deteriorating by the minute, even though this was far from the longest distance I’d completed. I was now running on fumes.

As Rob continued to usher me forward, my second guardian camel, Craig Horton, arrived.

A two-time MDS finisher, who has written a book about his 2017 near-death experience on MDS, brought strength, reassurance, kindness and purpose.

Another torturous kilometre felt like a marathon. I vomited twice more in quick succession.

Never have I seen, nor wish to see, liquid that colour again.  Momentarily I felt better, but it was short-lived.

I struggled on, dragging my feet through small dunes and soft sand, Rob feeding me gulps of water from one side, Craig intermittently holding up my pack.

I became disoriented and started to hallucinate – I saw myself from above, slowly being covered in sand.

I could hear myself apologising, thanking them and begging to get me to the finish alive.

I told Rob I had to stop, but he berated me, threatening to leave me in the dunes. I’m sure he wasn’t joking. While maybe not textbook motivational 101, thank God he did.

“Stopping is not good,” he said. “If we stop you’ll be out. We need to get out of the sun.”

Next, my cramping body decided it needed to empty the rest. I’ll spare you the details – it was not pretty.

My mind was racing…… “This is day one. I still have 5km to go. Just a parkrun. I can run 5k in about 18 minutes. Not far. Must finish. Too embarrassing to go out on day one.

Can’t let people down – so many friends have sponsored me. I’ve trained for years. It has cost me a ton. Must finish. Keep moving. One foot. Other foot. Small steps. Breathe.

“It’s so hot. Is this the hottest MDS ever? Other people have stopped already. It’s not my fault. I did my best. I can come back and try another year. I won’t be the only one. I‘ll just have a holiday in the sun.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a once or nothing. You don’t quit. What will my kids think of me? I won’t raise the money Cancer Research UK desperately need. If Kevin has done this four times with stage 4 Prostate cancer. Come on. Sort yourself out, Gower.”

I don’t recall exactly how long the last 5km took, but they were the longest of my life.

We passed Ian Corless – long-time ultra-running journalist, photographer. He radioed ahead that I was coming in and needed immediate attention.

As I stumbled over the day one finish line, my “sand brothers” dragged me to Doc Trotters.

It was like an army field hospital, with everything needed to treat the worst feet I’ve ever seen, ECG machines, ice blankets and – as I was about to experience – a profusion of IV drips.

A bunch of tests ensued – blood pressure, temperature, an ECG. It was all a blur – I was completely disorientated.

One medic gave me something to help rehydrate me. But a small sip and more of my stomach contents came straight back up over the bed.  I made the decision – game over.

But it wasn’t game over. After three intravenous drips, and a two-hour time penalty, I started to feel human again.

The medical attention saved my race, and possibly more. I had to keep going.

The following days were harrowing in other ways, not least hearing of the death of the fellow participant.

The searing temperatures remained, I had bouts of diarrhoea and was unable to keep down any solid foods.

The remaining 200km had a 900m-high mountain in the middle of the night.

But after six days, I made it to the finish – battered, humbled and thankful to be alive.

From my tent of eight, only three of us finished.

More than anything, this race is about solidarité – to use the French term. It is not an individual event.

I have seven “sand brothers” forever, all of whom I would trust with my life.

People told me you come back from the desert changed. They were right.

Physically I’m remarkably unscathed, but emotionally I am exhausted. But I’m so grateful for the incredible support I received.

My fundraising hit my target of £10,000. I think I’m now past £60,000 for Cancer Research UK in total, which I’m so thankful for.

I have seen first-hand the difference it makes.

Gower, who lost his father to lung cancer, is a cancer campaigns ambassador for Cancer Research UK.

You can donate at www.justgiving.com/gowertan2021