Marathon des Cèdres: Le début pour les débutants

"Well Christina, this is my last trip to Morocco."
"I don't know. There's always the Marathon of Cedars next year."
"Yeah right- you can keep those ultra-long races to yourself. There's no way in Hell I'd do that!"

-An exchange between me and Christina at the Casablanca Half Marathon, October 2011

 

Soooo.... how the heck did I suddenly find myself standing here?

 
I don't fancy myself much of an athlete. Nor do I ever premeditate participating in punishing feats of endurance that reside outside mandatory-voluntary activities like military service and jury duty. I'm just not that motivated of a person.
 
But somehow during this past week, I found myself mustering with a handful of Olmsted Scholars out in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco for a race that I loudly proclaimed I was unfit ever to run. How the Hell did I get here? I think it has something to do with that Emerson quote: Always do what you are afraid to do. This kind of activity seems to be the story of my life- and again, I have no idea why.

Our mini Odyssey started in the rather posh locale of downtown Ifrane, a ski resort town located in the Atlas Mountains at 1665 meters. This place looks like you should be in an alpine village, riding a bike and singing Sound of Music showtunes.


I am always so taken with how green many parts of Morocco actually are. Chalk it up to my own ignorance, but prior to visiting Morocco I always imagined it to have that Star Wars feel everywhere (you know, the part filmed in Tunisia that shows Luke's house). And the landscaping in this town cannot be beat! Here you can see that a star (think Moroccan flag, people) has been designed into the ground.

 
At the registration I am very impressed with the warm welcome, professionalism and organization exhibited by the race organizers. That probably sounds bad, but you've got to remember that you're talking to a girl who ran a 5K in Dakar that only ended up measuring about 2.8 miles (hey, at least I got a new PR!). 

This is higher quality than my observer badge for the Senegalese Presidential Elections. I wonder if it will make me run faster...  

Our race fee covers gas, food and lodging, so as we wait for the bus to take us to our camp site, we are served fantastic refreshments. This guy in the white collared shirt is one of the waiters- and he's wearing white gloves! This is going to be fabulous. At least the eating portion will be...

At last everyone is checked in, and we climb aboard the bus. For the next four days and nights, we're going to be eating, sleeping, run/walking and bathing together. Really.

The bus is too cumbersome to bring us to our bivouacky doorstep, so we are dropped off on the paved road and we gather our stuff to walk to the train towards our home away from home.

 I'm absolutely taken with the majestic trees that blanket the Atlas Mountains. They remind me of Maine- a place where I spent many fantastic summers (and some Christmases) as a child. Be it pine trees or cedar trees- the woodsy feel is making me incredibly happy at the moment.

 
So here we are, tucked away in the outskirts of Ifrane and ready to take part in a four-day 54-mile (or 94 kilometers if you want to sound really impressive) trail marathon. 

As Olmsted Scholars, we are active duty military officers who received scholarships to reside in non-English speaking countries and attend the local universities. A significant objective of the our program is to "be educated broadly"- really to immerse yourself as much as possible in the local culture during your scholarship. Here in the Atlas Mountains, we've got scholars who came in from the cities of Brussels, Lyon, Jerusalem, Rabat and Dakar. We're either going to be best buds or mortal enemies at the end of this experience. Kidding.

Our digs are spartan- but given our normal day jobs, we are all pretty much happy and accustomed to both multi- and non-star accommodations. Just be happy I'm not posting for you a photo of the toilet and shower "facilities".

As service members, we wanted not only to run this race, but also give back to the community of Ifrane. One of the Rabat scholars knew of a great non-profit organization called the High Atlas Foundation, and we selected this Peace Corps-founded initiative as a charity that was very worthy of a fundraising effort. So fund raising goal identified, marathon registration completed and airplane tickets purchased, all we had to do was get our minds and bodies ready for this four-day trip into the wilderness.

  
I ran this race for a few reasons. A major reason was for the camaraderie. As the only Olmsted Scholar in Sub Saharan Africa, I value the opportunity to link up with other slackers officers and compare notes on their respective experiences. Another reason to run was that I had always wanted to see Ifrane (this city was on my list of places to study when I initially applied for the scholarship). A third reason was that my running pal Christina would be participating. We have completed two half marathons together in Morocco- in addition to getting lost on many a long run in other random countries. Running can be a pretty solitary activity, but at the same time I value fellow runners who not only share your twisted mentality, but will be by your side in wordless support as you both gut out a few miles. I've got a family of running friends back in D.C. who do just that, and here on the African continent I was grateful to count Christina as an addition to this fine group of friends. 

We've got an on-site band in the woods. Another race first for Megan. I'm incredibly impressed as I slowly realize that the running portion is only a tiny aspect of this marathon. It seems more like a festival for people who spend far too much time wrapping themselves in synthetic sweat-wicking material.

The next morning, Day One started off with us rising and getting our costumes together for about 13 miles of God knows what. We're all still excited, but perhaps now we've got a bit of nervous energy too.

Morocco is a wonderful country- and one of the reasons I say this is because of the food (especially the orange juice!). Here's the morning spread.

All of our meals were served on tablecloths with plates and silverware. Nothing but the finest for these mountain runners. 


I couldn't really risk a saucer of olive oil for my breakfast (really it's for dipping bread), so I played it safe with a Clif Bar, pain au chocolat and black coffee. Breakfast of Champions as old Kurt would say.

At the start of the Stage One, I have no idea how I am going to fare over the next four days. "The essential is to participate" a Senegalese friend of mine told me just before hopping on a plane. She was right, but I was still going to arm myself with as much inspiration/motivation as possible. I put on one of my Team BT shirts and Sharpied the word "hope" onto my wrist- a nod to my amazing friend and brain tumor survivor, Beth Ann. 

And we're off! It's all smiles at the very beginning, and judging from subsequent photographs taken of me, I'm actually running at a pretty good clip. This would be the first and only day where I would run with such clueless abandon. The hills would soon humble these legs.


Operation Demoralization commenced once we started to weave through our first of too many "valleys of death"- cloud-free sunny sky and no cedar canopy overhead. Tomorrow I am so wearing my hat. 


The open spaces soon give way to those cedars that should be an integral part of this marathon...Brian here is quite happy to see them.

....meanwhile our intrepid friend Ken is jockeying for position on the trail with some of the mountain wildlife. Really. The law of gross tonnage says that these guys are going to send you off the train and onto an embankment until they cruise on by.


About 13.5 miles later,I'm happy to be standing on the other side of the finish line.



This is Morocco, so you should absolutely expect dates to be included as part of your post-run food stash.


The bulk of our group (minus Christina- who was the only person to have run this race last year). 

Ken and Dave are asked for a photo op before climbing aboard the bus. The guy in the middle stood around at the registration point until he found someone who would pay his 1500DH registration fee (aobut 170 bucks). Don't worry- he's quite the poser, so you're sure to see him again in subsequent race entries.


A little post-run stretching and I can see that my nasty road rash from a week prior is starting to look better!


After we all make it to the end of Stage One, we climb back aboard the bus to be transported back to our campsite. It's hot, we're hungry....



...and we all smell. I photograph the air vent in the dim hope that some cool air will be coaxed out.

Before heading to camp, we pause for a group shot under a race banner. We look fresh, pretty well rested and only somewhat bewildered that we are only 25% of the way to the finish line.
 

The journey is the destination, and at the moment we are destined for showers and food. More to come!