And so our adventure begins...

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Today has been a crazy day.
A Cairo kind of crazy.
I wake to Phoenix stirring with a groan. Without even opening my eyes I know he wasn’t well. “My neck is sore. So sore mom. I think have mumps.” I open my eyes and look. He was puffy and swollen, his flushed face and bright eyes betraying his fever.
Shit.
I groan as I stretch out a hand to feel his burning body.
Not today. Please. Not today of all days.
We had just flown halfway across the world to be standing at the finish line at the pyramids when Geoff crossed it, and this was not a good start to getting there.
I unzip my mobile homeopathic stash and tip a few little white pills into his mouth. Then I chase them down with a good, solid dose of Ponstel. Just to be sure…

I pack a bag with water, meds, balloons and Geoff’s banner, have a quick shower and then we headed off for an early breakfast.
Hmm. A challenging meal, but better that the bread basket the kids had consumed the night before.
You seem to have two choices when it comes to food here. Bread and meat. Or meat and bread. So skipping the processed yellow and green bread, we do the best we can and then set off walking, for the pyramids. I had been told it would take between 10 and 20 minutes to walk there, so I confidently waved off the numerous, insistent offers from taxi drivers.
What was I thinking?
Phoenix was sick and it was already a hot 35 degrees despite being so early. But no, onward and upward the ever-independent mother marches her faltering children, telling them “it’s not far” up when they remark on how hot it is.

En route we meet a nice young Egyptian man who shows us a much quieter way to walk. “Very easy to git to pyrimids” he assures me. “Quite. No trafik. Quik. Also chops. Chep water. Two pounds. Not twennie like ‘otel.” We grin at each other, and he helps us cross a hectic, busy road – as much an onslaught to one’s ears as to one’s limbs.

We chat as we walk.
When we get to the market he asks if I want to get water. It’s tempting. I know I am going to need more but I don’t want to be late. I check my iPhone clock. “No” I say. “I don’t want to be late. Which way?” “Jus stret, stret”. He grins and points straight. I follow his instruction but by the time we get to the end of the road there is no sign of any gate leading to the pyramids and we’re deep in local residential territory. No-one speaks a word of English.
Just then I get a text from Geoff saying he will be at the pyramids in ten minutes.
Fork!
We’re not even in the pyramids complex, let alone close to it. I ask a man with a gun holstered to his side which way to go but he doesn’t understand me.
No one does. No one speaks any English. And I speak no Arabic.
I start to panic.
This is awful. We are now right below the pyramids but on the wrong side of a wall that stretches as far as my eyes can see. Separating us from the wall is a buzzing 6 lane road with no place to cross.
We are so close, and yet so far and I have no idea of which way to turn. Where the hell is an entrance?
The policeman calls someone over.
He speaks English. I ask if he knows of the race. He nods and uses his hand to rev a quad bike.
“No, not bike.” I shake my head. “Running.” I mimic someone running.
“Yis, yis!” He nods vigorously.
“You know where they finish?” I ask hopefully.
“Yis yis. Coom!”
He and the policeman talk rapidly. Then they escort us across the cacophonic fast-racing road, weaving us between cars and enormous trucks. “Wall king. Wall king quik.”
“Where is the gate?” I ask.
“Pyramid or Sphinx?” my friend asks.
“I don’t know” I stammer, confused. “Just the pyramids. How do I get in? Quick, I have to be quick. I can’t miss my husband.” I quickly explain that my husband is racing in a race that that he is about to cross the finish line and that I have to be there.
I curse myself for not taking a taxi and being hours earlier.
The man stops a horse cart, and speaks to the driver rapidly.
Speaking the only two English words I think he knows, the policeman points at the buggy and says “Government. Free.” He indicates that we should climb in.
Damned if we do and damned if we don’t I hoist the kids up. Weirdly the horse cart driver jumps down and hands my new friend the reins and whip and a moment later, we’re off with our newly appointed friend driving.
I am relieved to get Phoenix out of the sun and off his feet.
I am more relieved to be – seemingly – moving in the right direction at last, and faster than I could on foot.
At is only then that I look down at the horse.
It is thin and emaciated, starving. And terribly mistreated.
On his back where the buggy harness meets his spine, is an enormous open red sore. I swallow, hoping the kids don’t notice. I know that I should get off the horse and refuse this abuse. But I do that and we miss Geoff for sure. As it is, I think we’re going to miss him. So instead, I just close my eyes and pray the horse forgives me.
Right now Geoff is more important to me than the animal. It’s that simple. I haven’t flown halfway around the world to miss him cross that line. I would never forgive myself for doing that. But I have completely underestimated the chaos and distance and mayhem I was encountering.

We trot up a steep hill. The kids would not have handled walking in it a hurry. I am grateful to the horse but feel like vomiting. My eyes can’t stop looking at the sore on his back and my “friend” keeps on hitting the horse although it is moving as fast as it can.
Silently I scream at him to stop.
And silently I scream at him to hit it harder. To make it go faster.
I am hating this. My insides are a mess but I smile calmly at the kids and pull them into my arms. They settle back. I pray they don’t see the sores, the beating, the abuse. I suppress my disgust at my contribution to it all.

We pull up at some kind of gate. The man tells me to pay and says he’ll meet me higher up, inside the complex. It is all very bewildering and the queues are long but I just run to the front and straight to a window, making no eye contact with anyone. No one seems to mind my queue jumping.
“One please” I hold up one finger and hand over 100 pounds. I get 40 back. I drag the kids back to the gate, urging them to hurry. We’re still miles away from the pyramids.
We get to the gate and an official shakes his head and points back the way we’ve just come.
Aw, shoot ! Wrong way!
Cursing silently, I drag the kids back to the queue. It’s chaotic and confusing. I shove forward to the turnstile. A man tries to push us all through in one go because we’re all on one ticket but the turnstile snaps locked. The kids are one side, me the other. But they don’t realize that I haven’t come through and move on.
There are crowds of people and I lose eye contact with them as a wall now separates us. “Four down” the man nods his head to the left. I run down past the turnstiles. One, two, three, four…No, it’s the third he meant so I miss the turnstile. Meanwhile Phoenix has realised I haven’t come through behind him and gone back to look for me. Finally I get through and run catch to catch Faith and whistle for Monkey.

Together we run for the cart. Oh no! They all look just the same and I have no idea where the man told me to meet him. I stop and stare around bewildered. Suddenly I see him waving to me. We swing back into the buggy and are off.
“Faster, faster” I will the horse, the man. I am ashamed of my lack of care. This is so unlike me. All I can think of is my man and missing him crossing that damned line.
Fork the pyramids are far away! We’re never going to make it. It seems the man can sense my quiet desperation and he spurs the horse to go faster up a steep hill. I try to unglue my eyes from the horse’s bleeding spine and to shut my ears to the crack of the whip and the snap of the reins, and hug the children closer. The man points to a hill faroff.
There is a banner! And it looks green! Lime green! Yes! My heart sings!
The Sahara website is so clear in my mind after the many hours I have spent scouring it, that I’d know that green anywhere.
I nod and grin.
“That’s the finish” I tell the kids confidently. Then I text Geoff to say “Think we’ll make it - although the horse might not.”
The man drives the horse on.
I sit back. The kids lean into me.
Phoenix is flushed and not looking well so I quickly give him a dose of Neurofen and re-apply sunblock to them both. It is now seriously hot.
Soon we veer off the gravel road onto soft sand. The man drives the horse harder. “He’s going as fast as he can.” I scream inside my head. Then “Go faster!”
I do not feel like a nice person.

Big rocks lie jumbled on the sand. The buggy lurches. The man drives on. We are getting closer. I strain my eyes to see the what’s going on, on top of the dune. It looks like flags flying down the length of the finish.
We are getting closer.
Suddenly the man stops the buggy. “Too steep” he explains. “Walk from here.” He jumps out.
“One sixty.” he says sticking his hand out. “One hunnid ‘n sixty pounds”.
“But the man said it was free.” I respond, shocked. But I don’t stop moving for a moment. “Come we’re walking up this path” I show the kids. “Let’s go.”
“Ok. One fifty.” He is insistent.
I take my wallet out and peel off a note. I offer it to him. His eyes blaze, but I feel it is fair.
“One fifty” he says, his voice raising. But part of me doesn’t hear him. I am so focused on where I am going and am not going to let anything stop me. I fold the note over and push it into his shirt pocket and move on, leaving him to deal with his daylight robbery alone. Behind me I hear him muttering. But I don’t care. I don’t even look back. There is a long way to walk and I’ve got to get us there as fast as I can.
Yes!
This is it!

At last I can read the banner.
SAHARA RACE 2011! We are at the right place. The kids are great. They have recovered during the ride and they can feel my urgency. We get to the top of the hill and are greeted with big smiles from the camel men who line the sides of the finish with their beautifully adorned camels.
They move towards us and before I know it, a man is wrapping his red scarf around my head and setting us up for a photo with his camel. He lifts the kids onto the kneeling beast and tells me to get on. I defer and tell him I’ll stand, my eyes are sweeping the finish trying to figure out how it works and where the runners will come from. He takes my camera and takes a few photos and then he pushes me onto the camel by myself and before I know it, the snorting beast is lurching itself up like a giant seesaw. I clutch my backpack which is unzipped and hang on for dear life, hugging my belongings to my chest.
It is just all so bizarre. I start laughing. He snaps away with my camera, telling me to wave my arms in the air. I feel like an idiot but everyone is smiling and so friendly and my relief at finally being here expels itself in laughter.
I assume that this Egptian crew has been following the race all along and helping out as I have seen photos of them in each stage and so I wave as I laugh.
Eventually he lowers the camel down and I seesaw my way back to terra firma and the kids.
“Something for the camel” he says slyly. Suddenly the irritation that has been brewing in the background comes steaming forward. Everything here is about bucksheesh. “Later” I say and surge forward.
All I want to do is get to the finish. I’m meters away and I want to find out what’s going on. I see a woman standing to the side with a sarong draped over her head.
“Hi” I say. “Do you work for Racing the Planet?” I ask.
“No, my husband’s racing.
“No one in?” She shakes her head slowly, looking like she’s about to melt.
“Which way do you think they’ll come? Up here?” I indicate the hill we’ve just climbed. We are in the desert and the space around us is vast.
She nods.
I smile and cross over to a large van and put my bag down. The kids are fried. There is thin slither of shade that two Koreans are sitting in. The woman jumps up and tells the kids to sit in the shade. She disappears into the van. A moment later she returns with a can of some not-quite-warm orange Fanta-type drink and hands it to the kids. I smile my thanks at her, crack open the can and offer it to the kids but neither are interested.
It is hot.
They are hot.
Too hot.
I take out the balloons and begin to blow them up. Faith helps me. Phoenix just slumps onto the sand.
I tie the balloons onto their pre-cut strings but it is hard to keep them under control in the light breeze. The Korean helps, loving the idea of balloons out here, in the desert. She wants to blow them all up but I think a few are plenty.
It is already all surreal enough for me.

A few minutes later the music starts.It is shrill and unnerving. A strident, screeching noise. The kids flinch. The heat pulses. The sweat runs down my face, our faces. Then the first runner arrives and the mayhem starts in earnest.

Phoenix wants to go home. It’s too noisy for him and he’s too hot. I grab a bottle of water from beneath the pizza table and pour it over him. He immediately feels better but Faith won’t let me come near her with the water. Instead she yells at me for wetting one shoe with a drop of water “I’m freezing” she shrieks. I look at her. It’s a circus I think. A three-ringed circus. “I’m freezing” she keeps shrieking at me, her hot red sweaty face burning with fury.
Sometimes I just don’t understand my daughter.

Through the chaos, my eyes strain to find Geoff.
I am looking for his red baggies with their striking white sun. Many racers cross the line. But Geoff does not arrive.

Phoenix comes and goes. I plug his ears with tissue paper and try to settle him. Geoff’s banner hangs over my shoulder. The balloons tug at my bag. It’s total chaos out here. The pipes shriek. Bursts of applause split the hot air. People mill about cheering, eating pizza and drinking warm beer. I am constantly ducking under, over, around arms. Moving, trying to see the finish line, looking for Geoff, straining to catch a flash of red shorts.
Suddenly I feel him.
I duck and re-focuss my eyes. Ahead of me I see bib 83. Its his number. Yes! There’s Geoff with a beard and bandana and sunnies. He’s in white shorts. I didn’t know he’d packed them. I push forward and hold out the banner, grinning from ear to ear. Suddenly the kids are with me, clutching my legs and yelling “Daddy, daddy!”

Geoff stumbles towards the finish.I can see he is in pain, his one leg swollen. He crosses the line and receives his medal and then sees me. His eyes are beautiful. I catch my breath. He is so gorgeous. Suddenly I want to cry. He’s here! At last. Broken, but safe. We clutch each other. He reaches for the children.

I step back as others step forward to congratulate him. The runners are all so happy, so upbeat. It is wonderful to watch.
This is his moment. He has worked so hard for it.
I stand, overlooking the pyramids and enjoy watching it, him, them.

And then suddenly it’s over. As fast as it started, the madness disperses and runners begin boarding three large buses. A smart black-suited man swoops to open the boot of a swanky car, then steps back. A perfectly groomed woman steps forward and rummages in a large, smart turquoise box nestling in the expansive boot. The box is filled with delectable picnic goodies, all perfectly packaged. I notice The Four Seasons Hotel elegantly scripted on the car door. She beckons her son forward. The runner seems embarrassed. It is clear that after what these guys have gone through, this luxury makes him feel uncomfortable, but he does not want to hurt his mother’s feelings and accepts one or two of the parcels. I am happy for him that he has challenged himself like this. I am also impressed that his parents have flown all this way to support him. Suddenly I wonder if I should ask them to give us a lift to the gates. Geoff and I agree not to. Silly really. I’m sure they would have been happy to oblige. After all, we’re all one out here. If anyone were to raise a nose, I suspect it would be the driver.

His usual gallant self, Geoff offers to walk back with the kids and I. “I’ve flown half way around the world to get here. I’m sure I’ll manage to get back.” I wink at him. “Now get on that bus and go and have fun.” Then I blow him a kiss and turn to go…

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Photos

The finish line...
At last we cross our own finish line!

Visualisation works!
The image we've had stuck to our bed's headboard - in reality at last.

Mr Fantastic.
How proud are we?

Happy who?
Geoff's midlife re-birth?

Different strokes...
Some people will do anything for free beer and pizza!

Anything but lift music.
Earplugs anyone?

The Gate of Swords.
An Egyptian twist to crossing the finish.

We had a date...
...to meet at the pyramids.

Raising the flag.
The SA boys did us proud.

Up yours Nike!
I did it!