The mountain and the quiver tree

Heat. Space. Time. Time is the third dimension of Namibia. In the middle of nowhere, where nothing happens, time seems to last for ever. Wind, silence, dust, and mountains in the distance. First let me tell you about the camp.
Ten blue tents, one each for the competitors, are pitched in the shadow of the magnificent Brandberg mountain, the highest peak in Namibia. There are larger brown tents for the race organisers, and the camp cooks.
The tents are pitched on the gravel dirt of the desert. There are two holes in the ground to act as toilets. That’s it. This morning after breakfast the entire group went for an acclimatisation walk. It lasted four hours and was a sharp lesson for all in the reality of moving in the desert.
Most had drunk their first litre of water before the sun had time to rise above the mountain and only an hour into the trek. They regretted it later. During the walk we climbed Beacon Hill, a towering rocky outcrop.
The sun was relentless. There was no breeze. From the top of the hill you could see the full majesty of the Namib desert. In every direction you looked it stretched forever. If you look hard you might see a tree.
We walked past one, a quiver tree, so called as the native bushmen used it to make the quivers for their arrows. The one thing you can’t acclimatise to here is distance. This is a land with no horizons.
The remainder of the long hot day was taken up with briefings. We were furnished with details of the route, and a satellite image map which was fascinating but turned out to be useless. Looking from above, the route did not look so far! Time in camp was also spent getting to know the other competitors.
The smoker turned out to be Tom Maguire, a 35-year-old world record holding ultra marathon runner, and a man with three victories in super distance races to his credit. He had eyes that really know the loneliness of the long distance runner.
The remainder of the crew were far less experienced, apart from Andy McMenemy, a veteran of the infamous Marathon Des Sables, who turned out to be a wealth of knowledge on ultra nutrition, hydration, foot care, equipment and training.
Both had target times in their mind. The rest of us were concentrating on completion and survival. Dinner as the sun set was swiftly followed by bed under the stars. We fell into a nervous sleep.

Beetle the size of a house

There are two things you can feel in Namibia. Space and heat. Lots of space and lots and lots of heat. We have just arrived.
Touchdown at Windhoek Airport and are now on the bus. A five hour transfer into the desert. The heat is evident even in the early morning as we get off the plane. As the hours pass it envelops you.
The space just yawns around you. The roads are everlastingly long, straight, rugged highways, with endless views of the Namibian bush.
Even the streets of the quaint capital city of Windhoek have an old-fashioned emptiness about them, though their names “Robert Mugabe/Fidel Castro/Jan Jonkers remind you of more modern realities.
Space like this is a new experience, even for someone from the south west. Everything feels bigger, and you feel a hell of a lot smaller. At the airport today we saw a beetle the size of a house.
Around us now the bush is green. It seems too green for what lies ahead of us, but then we still have a long way to go. On the bus around me the rest of the competitors are sleeping.
They are a refreshingly normal crowd; friendly, energetic, all with the look in their eyes of eager anticipation, nerves and adrenaline that I can feel in my own. I am not sure of all their names yet.
We have shaken hands, introduced ourselves and compared training routines and former race experience.
On the journey to Gatwick Pete and I had joked that the other competitors would all be stick thin, wild-eyed crazies who feasted only on nuts and would never be seen without clutching the obligatory bottle of water. They seem quite the opposite. They are fit, no doubt, but grounded guys up for a challenge.
We have a banker and solicitor from London, an ultra marathon expert who sells cars for a living, me and pete, and three guys from Ireland. Or three guys with Irish accents! Two of them came to run a marathon but think they might do the ultra because everyone else is, and the other one is a smoker. Hallelujah!!
We have just turned off the tarmac road. The dust of the track we are on trails high behind us, and you just begin to get a feel for the type of terrain we are heading for.
This afternoon we have time to chill out at the camp. It will be a chance to unpack our rucksacks and find out what we have left behind. Nearly all my worst dreams about this ultra marathon challenge have involved not having crucial equipment, or not knowing how to use my GPS (Global Positioning System).
Time in the camp is crucial, though I now feel a compulsion to start this thing and get it done. The Skeleton Coast beckons.

We've arrived!

WE'VE ARRIVED! We're both fine, even though it's very hot. Having survived the journey now comes the tough part - and we're both nervous about the challenge ahead.
Reception isn't great, but we'll rry to keep you informed of our progress.