Half-marathon in the Atacama Desert
Risking immolation in the badlands (21.1km)
Part of Chapter 7 Flirting with the Atacama
Post #47
My only reference point is Mars. The gorge is long and narrow, each curve cutting so close to the other wall that on first glance they appear to be deadends. When I look closer, there’s space to shimmy through and shuffle on. At the end of the funnel, aptly named The Devil’s Throat, there’s a path leading skywards to a viewpoint. From this lofty perch the rock ripples and pulses red. The array of sharp points rising up are a bed of nails eager to pierce the suffocating heat.
This winding gorge is one of many demonically named tourist spots in these parts. It seems the Spanish colonisers took every opportunity to remind the oppressed peoples of the bible’s division of right and wrong (as they wiped out settlements and brutalised their inhabitants). The final attraction in the Catarpe valley is a dilapidated church at the turn around point of my run. The doorframe is tiny and the wooden door is painted blue and firmly locked. There are two wooden crosses, one atop the small tower and another on a platform of stones painted white out front. Apart from these simple features, the raised area upon which the church is built is nothing but a square of rufescent dust.
Huddled in the sliver of shade beneath the awnings of the roof, eyes stinging from sun cream diluted sweat, I’m toying with the idea of a running a marathon. I would really love to complete a second of the trip after San Martín a couple of months back. I probably won’t get a chance to run here again. And what a story to tell it would be; The Atacama Marathon. It just sounds good. However, the obstacles to realising this dream are many.
Firstly, there is the fiendish aridity mixed with a heat that feels like it has already reduced my brain water percentage from 70 to 35. Cerebral matter is sliding around my skull like a dust-covered attic cushion; the ability to make quick decisions dwindling by the minute. I’m in one of the driest places on earth where rain deposits a pitiful 5mm of water per year (about 15x less than the amount of toothpaste you get from an average sized tube).
But it’s the lack of moisture in the air, rather than the amount of rainfall that makes the greatest difference. My sopping wet washing was hung out as the sun was almost gone. Overnight the temperature dropped to 3 degrees, yet by dawn the clothes were bone dry. There is no humidity whatsoever. Cold is not the problem of English winter washing lines, it’s the 90% avg. humidity that keeps our clothes damp.
Secondly, there’s the small problem of oxygen deficiency. At 2,500m above sea level the air is markedly thinner. I’m going much slower than I normally would, siphoning air like a terminally ill wraith; doing all I can to make this slightly easier. Not being able to breathe is something I’d like to avoid if at all possible.
Finally, there’s the likelihood of my aching legs slowing us down in the coming days. Multiple 100km+ desert rides lie to the north. The Atacama is not kind to those who push their bodies beyond the accepted limits.
Back at the ticket office I pause to pour water over my head and watch it trickle down grimy limbs. The recerational cyclists look out from under hats, sunglasses and thick sun cream, nonplussed. I’ve run 23km at this point so the half-mara distance is secured. That’s a nice thought, because I like half-marathons.
To my mind, 13.1 miles is the perfect middle ground between significant challenge and fast recovery. If mummy bear’s marathon is a bit too long, and daddy bear’s 10k is a bit too short, baby bear’s half-marathon is just right. Although granted I haven’t got a clue why three bears would be running that far.
An average half marathon is around two hours of strenuous but achievable movement. The kind of thing the body would love you to do as long as you can convince your mind to go through with it. Contrary to popular belief, it’s been proven that long-distance runners have increased bone mineral density compare to non-runners (Lane, 1986). Plus, those runners were less likely to have musculoskeletal disability (Lane,1987) and less likely to suffer from arthritis than sedentary individuals (Alexander, 2022). Add that to a recent study by Ratey (2013) which found that running improves memory, well-being and learning, and now you know what you need to do: lace up!
In the first ever UK lockdown, as the world closed and the sun came out, the exercise hours were my salvation. The two weeks of Easter holidays, now empty of plans, stretched out ahead in sleepy West Country Frome. I wanted a week to remember despite these circumstances so I decided on a challenge: 5 half-marathons in 5 consecutive days. Two hours running on silent country lanes and across bright green farm fields to focus the mind and block out the madness. I would remember this week for what my body did and change my energy into some thing positive. It was a spring success, and a huge barrier to break down in understanding the healing power of putting in long miles. An excellent alternative to watching that awful red infection graph writhe higher and higher across the world map.
Since then, I’ve been lucky enough to do some halfs (halves?) in very memorable locations. Back and forth through Bath’s iconic two tunnels cycle track for example. Or down the streets of London, Northampton, Bristol and even Welwyn Garden City. Along the Salt Path coast from Sidmouth in August, round the Gower peninsula in bracing November rain or lapping Corfe Castle in the long grass of one luscious June. That’s not to mention the countless unofficial 13+mile rambles as part of training for longer runs. You can prepare yourself for one of these in 12 weeks and the rewards are oh so tasty. Plus, you then have the keys to running in fantastic places at home and abroad. First thing in the travel case? The running shoes, no further questions.
The route takes me close to our hostal in the direction of the Valley of the Moon. I wipe a sweaty wrist across drenched brows and this time, I fold. The temptation of shade is overpowering. It’s 17 miles in just over 3 hours all in. I had to be honest with myself, if I did do a full marathon, I’d have been ruined for the next days ride.
It’s a joint dinner effort tonight. I rustle up an ingredient laden guacamole and fry mashed kidney beans whilst Jake is in charge of cooking veg and and prepping fajitas. It’s low key delicious if we do say so ourselves; we’ve made enough for six big sandwiches stuffed full of the stuff for tomorrow’s traverse to Calama. Two cold coronas each make this a treat to remember.
Tomorrow we chart course for Bolivia, a true frontier unknown. Our knowledge is limited to a few news articles and cyclist warnings of cold, altitude and dodgy food. Argentina and Chile, new acquaintances only two and half months ago, now seem like old friends. Bolivia is no such thing, but at least we’ve been promised flamingos.
The story so far
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7
This is the third post that focuses on running after Maratón de Argentina explained how I got into the sport and 100% endurance touched on my greatest running achievement, finishing a 100 mile race.
Other running post
Maratón de Argentina
Chapter 4 Dale Dale Argentina (4/9) Komoot GPX San Martin de los Andes (42.3km) In a dark avenue of trees, park lights illuminate a jogger, struggling through the Racecourse after dark. November drizzle smoothers him. The sharp autumn wind ruffles his clothes and shivers down his arms.
I need a dictionary .. phew! Some writing! Some running! Is that Cley Hill by the way?