RUNNING THE PYRAMIDS: THE PHARAONIC 100K

by HOWARD WHITE

The world’s oldest race

The Egyptian King Taharka (690-665 B.C.), concerned about the fitness of his troops, instituted a race from Sakkara Pyramid to Faiyum Oasis, a distance of approximately 100 kilometers (62.2 miles). The king himself took part and the winner is said to have completed the distance in just 8 hours. Compared to this event, the marathon, supposedly based on a Greek soldier running from the scene of the Battle of Marathon to Athens in 490 BC is a comparative newcomer. But details of the earlier Egyptian race were lost to history until an inscribed stone was uncovered at Sakarra in 1977. The hieroglyphics translated to tell the above story: a copy of that stone is on the medal awarded to each person who completes the modern day version of the race.

Without wanting to sound like an ad, the race is also remarkably good value. The entry fee of 50 euros ($US60 or £37) covers not only the race itself, but two days of historical tours around Cairo preceding race day, a dinner following the awards ceremony, and your own support vehicle during the race itself. Yes, each runner has their own support vehicle. As a fun run option, teams of five can also enter, but clearly any real runner would want to do the whole 100k solo. .For more details of the race, and the February marathon at Luxor, visit www.egyptianmarathon.com.

Which race to run? The JFK 50 was close to home in Maryland. It’s a 50 miler which starts difficult - run up a mountain and then nine miles on the Appalachian trail - but then gets easier - 27 miles on the C&O canal tow path. More challenging sounded the new Hellgate 100k, starting at midnight in the depths of the Blue Mountains in early December. But then, surfing ultra marathon sites as one does, I came across the Pharonic 100 km. It sounded perfect. We were planning to travel to Egypt in precisely that week anyway. That requires some explanation. My wife, Amirah, is an Egyptian and, like me, an economist, and was due to start some fieldwork at the end of November. Not usually the biggest enthusiast for my running, especially ultras (“why can’t you do 10ks, then you’re home in time for breakfast”), she readily agreed to crew for me in this race, recruiting her 19 year old cousin, Alia, to accompany her.

The race decided, what pace to run? Was 9.00 minute miling a reasonable target? It’s a slow pace. But I’m a “fuller figured runner”, easily qualifying for the Clydesdale class here in the US for runners over 200 lbs (14 st 4 lbs). I placed third Clydesdale when I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in D.C., but it’s a not a trophy I display prominently as it’s for being “the third fattest runner” so to speak. I’ve been the size and shape basically since I was 16 so I’ve learned to live with it – but it does mean that I slow down a lot in the heat. My PBs in the 10k and 10 miles were run on back to back weekends during a very cold spell in 1995, both races taking place below freezing. Now, that’s good running weather. So was it wise to run 100k through the desert? Almost certainly not, so let’s go for it. As for the pace, I’ll try for nine minutes and just see what happens out there. Nine minutes works out at 9.20, so that’s my target, with a “slowest acceptable” of 10 hours, the same as I’d had for Mountain Masochist. Sounds a good plan, but I’ve really no idea what to expect as race day approaches.

Sponsorship

Back in my school days people got sponsored for doing 3 mile walks. Indeed there are many 5k walk/runs (“walkathons” – what’s that all about?) to raise money for good causes. And there’s many a marathon runner who gets their place by raising around $1000 for charity. But the pool of family and friends you can call on for sponsorship is limited, so I had not tried to raise money through running since L2B. It has to be an event to capture the imagination to raise the dosh (lolly), and this one seemed to. Previously I had raised money for Oxfam. I named them as the beneficiary charity this time as well, but also gave people the choice of that or providing money to go directly to a primary school in rural Ghana which I had links with through my work (for details see below).

The race

Race day should start with a 3.00 a.m. wake up call. By then I’ve already been awake for nearly two hours, only managing about three hours restless sleep before the adrenalin already creeping round my veins wires me too much for sleep. Wash and dress and check my supplies for the day one last time and then to a 3.30 am buffet breakfast. A subdued crowd of runners loading up on more carbs. I sit next to a Dutch runner who has equaled my 7.47 in London to Brighton but bettered my marathon PB of 2.49 by seven minutes. You can never judge the competition by its looks - they always look slimmer and more athletic than me, and generally better dressed. But details of hopes for the day or previous performances mean something. About the first of these subjects most just say “to finish” – but that’s a lie for any real runner, and there are only real runners sitting here at breakfast today.

By 4.00 am we are moving outside to the waiting minivans. Each runner has their own minivan to take them to the start and provide support throughout the race. About half the runners have a crew, the others having to rely on their drivers – who in the race director’s words “can speak some English”. Our driver is Ahmed, whose English seems good but since my wife is crewing she gives him the explanation in Arabic as I run through the plan for the day again. We’ll start out with support every 20 minutes, that’s every 3.5 km, with Gatorade every stop (not that I stop, I keep running and the crew member has to run alongside me), a gel every second stop and a banana every third stop. Water every stop once I ask for it.

We are amongst the first to arrive at the start line at 6.10 a.m., ten minutes after the scheduled start time. Before a race most runners are thinking one thing: “where can I pee?”. This was no exception. The desert here was flat, with Hauwara Pyramid and Faiyum Oasis over half a mile a way the only cover for toilet activities, so I followed the lead of other runners and put my back to the road. I jogged very lightly over the desert sand (surprisingly firm) and chatted to other runners. We took photos by the start line. But it was jolly cold so I returned to the minivan.

I am toward the front of the middle group, moving well clear of the back pack in the first couple of kilometers. To the 10k point I run with two Germans both hoping to do under ten hours. Both have done 100ks before, though not this one. I suspect we’re a bit over pace and we try to ease up a bit. We hit a 5k mark on the road in 25.50, well less than the planned 28 minutes – but 40 seconds later come to a 5k board by the side of the road, still two and a half minutes too fast. Shortly after 10k (still over pace) the German pair make a pit-stop and I team up with two Dutch runners, including my friend from breakfast who had told me he was planning a 27 pace, compared to my 28. “You told me you’d do 27, you were at least 26”. “What about you?” he replied. Fair enough. I really don’t know what to do. Nine minute miling feels easy, too easy. But if I sustain this pace will it take its toll later? I just haven’t done the sort of training and the miles to know. “Just do what feels right” advises another German as he passes me and moves off ahead of us. Other than him, the Dutch and I have left the other three runners still with us from the mid-pack behind and are increasing the gap as we pass 15k still over pace, but not so much, only 90 seconds.

At 20k we are only 30 seconds over pace, but we don’t feel we have slowed down, certainly not to under pace, so suspect the last 5k was rather long. Erratic marking was to become a theme for the day. The Dutch drop behind to refuel at 25km and I get chatting to a fellow Brit working in the British Council in one of the relay teams. We talk about schools in Cairo, Amirah is later annoyed I didn’t take notes. This section of the run is hilly, mostly up. Not too steep but long. 25k passes easily still chatting. He stops to take water and I press on.

Around 28k I pass the Japanese solo runner, who must have gone off fast and has already slowed considerably. He will take over 14 hours to finish. We chat briefly and then I push on having spotted another runner ahead I am closing in on – is it the German who left me behind 10k back? The next hill leads up to Kefren Pyramid. “We make this 30k, but the organizers say it’s 29”, Amirah shouts as I grab some water from her: “keep still I want a photo with the pyramid”! I run on. Putting down the water bottle I notice my hamstrings are already a little tight: not a good sign. For that last half hour it has been getting hotter, I hadn’t really noticed. There’s not a cloud in the sky. It will stay that way all day and soon be pushing into the 80s.

I catch the runner in front coming up to the official 30k point. A relay runner. Down hill and at around 31k we are out of the desert and running alongside a canal at the edge of the Nile valley. This is the road we will run for most the remaining seventy kilometers. For the next three kilometers there is shade, but I feel it getting hotter. I ask for drinks at every 3k rather than 3.5. The road is straight and there is no sign of anyone behind me. I feel I ought to slow down a bit because of the heat, but I know am not. After the race I calculate I was running around 8.30 pace between 25 and 40k. There’s no shade now and won’t be any for nearly four hours.

Coming up to 40k I see the German solo runner – I think he may be the lead solo runner. Not realizing I have sped up I think he must be slowing so I am sure to catch him. From 40 to 45k he stays a constant distance from me, as I run much of the way with a relay runner who joined in at 40k, as I overtook his team member just before that. At 45k I get close as the German stops to drink, but the gap doesn’t seem to be narrowing. There’s been no shade for over 10k now, it’s around midday and getting very hot. I ought to slow down but want to catch him. I run alongside the van for a while to use its shade. The gap starts to close. At fifty I pass him as he stops again. I think I may be in the lead, but there may be other solo runners a long way ahead. He starts off 20-30 seconds behind me and drops back a bit rather than getting closer. By 55k he is at least a minute behind. It’s hot and I’m starting to tire but I’m coming to the 58k point when I can think “just a marathon to go”.

Just after 57k I look back to see if I’m clear of the German. Cramp contorts my left calf. I can’t put any weight on it. I veer across the road, hopping. I rub the calf and walk some steps. Ok, walk a bit more. After thirty seconds I start a slow jog. My calf holds. I speed up a bit, a bit more. The cramp comes back. I walk again, then run three minutes. Cramp. I walk then run, cramp. The German runner’s support van passes me: he must be getting close. Over the next three kilometers I have to stop every two to three minutes to walk the cramp out, then run a bit. I try to anticipate it and walk a little as I feel the spasm starting, that way I have to walk less to relax it – and I avoid the pain of the cramp. I get to 60k. Alia is by the side of the road and passes me water and gel. “I need ibuprofen” I say. She doesn’t get it. “Where’s Amirah?”. After over six hours of needing it she’s finally found a bathroom of sorts. But I don’t see that, I only see that I want to keep running, keep ahead of the runner behind me, and I need painkillers. “Amirah” I shout. Ahmed comes running up the road, followed by Amirah. “I need ibuprofen and heat rub now”. I wasn’t being very nice, and it would probably have done me good rather than harm to walk a couple of minutes and wait for her. But I didn’t see that then. Sorry. I also ask they that stop half way between each 3k just to give me water. It’s getting hotter and I need to pour water over myself and keep drinking to stay hydrated.

The cramps continue and I spend the next seven or eight kilometers having to stop to walk for 15-20 seconds every three-four minutes. It’s impossible to run when the cramps come. Am I going to make this? Will the cramps get worse? How long will it take if I have to walk more and more? I think of what I’m raising the money for, it keeps me going. Afterwards Amirah tells me she wouldn’t have let me give up anyway, reminding me of a runner in the Western States 100 mile whose wife locked the car so he couldn’t drop out. At 67k I mange a whole kilometer without stopping – 68k is special, there’s only 20 miles to go! I manage another kilometer.

I hear footsteps behind me – it’s one of the two Germans I was running with at the start of the race. He looks very fresh and is running easily. “You look good” I say “Have a good run”. “You look like you’re suffering he says”, clearly having no problem with being blunt. There’s no way I can stay with him, unless he hits a very bad wall which he doesn’t look like he will.

I run on through 70k: 6.41. Around three hours to go – if I do it in three hours I’m still well under 10 hours. The last 10k have taken 63 minutes – I can afford that pace. Now I’m running I think I’m at least getting further way from the other runner behind me. I’m worried the Dutch may catch me, but I haven’t seen their support vehicle since 45 km, so they must be way back. I’ll just keep a steady pace, take more ibuprofen at 80k. I ask Amirah to stop every kilometer now – the stops break up the run into easy steps in my mind, just 30 stops. The bottom of my feet are getting very sore, every step hurts. Just keep running.

At 73k the cramps come back. Run 3-4 minutes, walk 15-20 seconds for the next three kilometers. Cramps in both legs, I have to walk for nearly a minute to get them out. Start running again, just keep running. Next stop I’ll take the ibuprofen.

It’s going to be like this for the next 27 kilometers, having to stop once or twice every kilometer. Once I manage the whole kilometer. Mostly I walk to take water. “Don’t stop, sweetheart, keep running” Amirah shouts. The few kilometers I managed to run have made a difference to my mental state: there is no way I am not going to do this now. The target is to make sure I’m under ten hours. Just keep running.

I spot a runner ahead. He’s walking a lot so I’m gaining ground quickly. “Come on catch that runner” Amirah says at the next drink stop. “He’s a relay runner”. “No, he’s solo, but he’s got a problem with his leg and says he’s walking the rest”. He starts running but I soon catch him. He’s Italian, the oldest entrant (62), speaks little English. I wish him luck and move on.

Eighty kilometers comes: 7 hours 50 minutes. Nearly seventy minutes for the last 10k. I need to be faster to keep under 10 hours. But if I go too fast the cramps come immediately. The trick is to get the balance right, as fast as I can without cramps. It’s the having to walk that is really slowing me down. I still get cramps, but I can reduce the frequency and intensity by getting the pace right.

Just after 81 km we turn away from the canal toward El-Shet Pyramid. It’s an out and back (back into the desert, but the worst of the heat is over) of just over 7k, so I can see who is ahead of me. The first two runners coming the other way are relay runners – they must be about 3-4 km ahead of me. The German passes me going the other way after I enter the grounds of the pyramid – he’s already over one kilometer ahead of me. A stony road goes up the hill toward the pyramid. I didn’t realize before that pyramids were built on top of hills, but there seems to be a pattern emerging here. The stones hurt the bottom of my feet and the hill brings on the cramps. The turnaround is at the 85k just over the top of the hill.

The downhill is more painful on the feet. Each minute further from the turnaround is two minutes more that the next runner I pass is behind me. Seven minutes after the turnaround I pass the Italian – he’s close to 15 minutes behind. I pass two more who are nearly half an hour behind and a last one as I get close to the junction who is 40 minutes behind. At the kilometer stop before the junction we’re passing through a village, Amirah has organized all the children who are shouting “Yella [come on], Howard”. Just 12 km to go and no chance that any of the runners behind will catch me as long as I keep moving.

Back on the road and there’s finally some shade. I keep to the left, facing the oncoming traffic, to get the benefit of the shade. The road is busy and already the light is fading. The slower runners are going to have problems with the traffic. I make 90k in 8.55, 65 minutes for the last 10k. Better, but I still need to be faster. I try to step the pace up but the cramp comes immediately. The kilometer passes quickly, but the cramps keep coming and the bottom of my feet seem impossibly sore. Just keep running. 92k: just five miles to go. I’m managing 6.30 a kilometer, I need to be a bit faster. 95k comes, I crash into a pedestrian. Just keep running. 5k, just over three miles left. Getting cool now, try to pick up the pace. I just need to run 6 minutes a km, something I wouldn’t usually even consider a jog. As I get to that pace the cramps come. A bit slower, just keep running.

What went wrong?

I finished in under 10 hours, so why is anything wrong? I averaged 9.37, or possibly even 9.13 if we in fact ran just over104 km as my support van’s odometer suggested. But my pacing shows that I was doing nine minute miling or faster for the first half of the race, but slower than ten minute miling for the second half. A good run is an even split, and most records, including my own, are run as negative splits. So I messed up the race. The principal thing wrong was that the first half was too fast. Was it too fast because I was running faster than the planned nine minute miling some of the time (or all of it if the race really was long) or was the target pace itself too fast? I made two mistakes in training so that I don’t really know the answer to that question. First, it was a mistake to run the two training marathons at my target pace for the 100k. At least one of the marathons should have been faster (say 8.30s for a 3.30 marathon, or possibly even 3.15-3.20). Second I should have done some races and full race pace, preferably a half marathon and one or two 10ks. Racing not only toughens you in a way training never can it helps you body learn its own pace control. I’ve run marathons keeping within two seconds of pace over each 5k, but to do that you need to have raced so your body can internalize pace.

Maybe I didn’t eat or drink enough on the run. But I don’t think so. I got through 5 litres of sports drink, mostly Gatorade, 22 litres of water, mostly over myself but drank 4-5 litres, 20 gels, and 12 bananas. I have trouble digesting solids like energy bars or sandwiches on the run, though usually have dried fruit which I didn’t this time. It probably would have been a good idea to have had a peanut butter sandwich at around 3-4 hours, stopping to walk to eat it if necessary.

Afterwards

I don’t expect to be able to walk, let alone go up and downstairs afterwards, and there are no surprises there. I didn’t expect the bottom of my feet to be sore for days, so there’s a new experience. But the cramps are, mostly, gone. The award ceremony/dinner is good. As I pick up my trophy I want to say some words about how I owe the result to my wife for he support during the race, but they rush on to the second place. So, thank you Amirah for your support that made it possible. There was an Egyptian runner ahead of me all along who finished in a remarkable 8.33. The German came second in 9.30. There was not a single DNF, which is rare if not unknown for an ultra. The last runner, the Japanese man who finished in over 14 hours, comes in toward the end of the dinner to great applause. Runners congratulate each over and tell tales of the day. Twice I have to struggle onto the stage for photos. I even manage a short dance but Amirah tells me to sit down again as I’m embarrassing her.

What’s the money for?

The money I raise will go to two beneficiaries: Oxfam and Kodzefo Primary School in the Volta Region of Ghana.

Kodzefo Primary School

Kodzefo is a small, poor village about 10 km from the town of Hohoe. It has a single, unwalled three classroom block constructed under a World Bank project in the 1990s, but not much furniture. I have already given them some school materials and a small amount of cash which they used to buy two teachers’ desks and chairs, complete the school office (see picture of school and with work in progress), clear some land for mango trees and buy two footballs for the school football team. They also constructed an additional classroom for which they made their own blackboard out of plyboard. The money will be sent to one of the teachers, Mr. Alex Ankorah, who together with his neighbour, the PTA Chairman, the Head Teacher and the Village Chairman will decide the use of funds.

You can still donate. Here's how...

If you are in the UK and you wish to give to Oxfam you can do it directly by going to:

http://www.oxfam.org.uk/what_you_can_do/give_to_oxfam/donate/cashdonation.htm

Once you have filled in the amount, click the Click Here box below where it says To send by credit card click here (obvious really). UK tax payers can tick the box for Oxfam to get the tax back. The money you give won’t be “attached to me” in any way. Just send me an email saying how much you’ve donated so I can add it to my total.

In the US, you can give to Oxfam by clicking on the following link:

https://secure.ga3.org/02/oxfamamerica

and filling out the required boxes. As in the UK, I am not notified about your contribution so please send me an email saying how much you’ve donated so I can add it to my total.

Alternatively

You can make a cheque payable to me (either UK or US accounts) and give it to me or Julie McWilliam (IDS).

You can give cash to me or Julie McWilliam (IDS).

If you give cash or cheque please let me know if you want the money to go to Oxfam or to Kodzefo Primary School.

Cheques/cash in the UK should be sent to:

Julie McWilliam
Institute of Development Studies
University of Sussex BN1 9RE
United Kingdom

and in the US:

Howard White
6213 43rd Avenue
Hyattsville, MD 20781

Supporters in other countries can send money to the development organisation of
their choice if they prefer. Just let me know who and how much.

How much have I raised so far?

Total so far is a over $2000 (or approx £1100 - that pound is very strong at the moment). All much appreciated - keep it coming. Thanks!

Some other neat stuff

This web page is courtesy of my brother, Nick White - click here to see some of his pictures (he’s a photographer and web designer).

You can also visit my niece's website - she has been to Ghana working for Raleigh International, building a school and a playground among other things - not the same school as featured here. The address is http://www.sonica-bonica.co.uk/. Her site will be updated shortly to give a report of her time there (or maybe it won't 'cos she's just too busy teaching and learning all those outdoor skills at a PGL - parents get lost - centre out near Shrewsbury in the UK).