Stand-up and keen runner Paul Tonkinson has written a book – out today – about taking on the Marathon des Sables Legendary, a gruelling 250km race across the Sahara, taking a week. In this exclusive extract from Running Through Sand, the comic describes what goes through his mind during one stage of the endurance challenge…
As I slowly approach the next real checkpoint I cannot help thinking Ian is going to catch me again. I keep glancing back, thinking it’s him.
Runners catch me all the time, I’m having a five-hour bad patch. Problem is, as l’ve said, Ian has one of those faces and his race outfit is fairly innocuous. Grey shorts, purple T-shirt, sunglasses. Maybe I’m still hallucinating, everyone looks like Ian, it’s like Being John Malkovich.
Then, as we come in finally to checkpoint 6, I see him speeding up behind me. Can you believe it? I don’t hold back. So lightheaded by now. spent and at the end of all decency I just launch in - a tirade of abuse
Here he is. The Grim Reaper. Every time. What you waiting for? Coward.
As Ian runs towards me, I double down, pure comic roast mode.
Let's fight it out like a man!! Property ponce. Let’s be having you!
I assume a boxing stance as he approaches
Who are ya! Who are ya!!
At a distance of approximately two metres, I realise who it is. It’s not Ian. I am shouting at a fella called Luc, and he’s from Belgium. Luc looks a bit freaked out by this assault from a stranger. I apologise, explain the situation
I thought you were my mate Ian; he keeps catching me up at every checkpoint so I was joking with him.
Luc totally blanks me. Nothing. No smile. Zero.
Not a massive surprise. You’re deep into the longest day of the Marathon Des Sables, it’s baking hot, you’re absolutely spannered and a complete stranger has suggested you’re a property ponce.
For some reason, this goads me on even further; I relay the story in great detail to two Americans as we saunter into the checkpoint.
I explain the scenario to Ian, babbling how he’s a real faffer, how he keeps overtaking me as we come in to checkpoints, how everyone looks like him and I ended up just insulting some Belgium bloke thinking it was him but it wasn’t.
They blank me.
Nothing. It’s like I don’t exist.
We move into the checkpoint.
At this moment, I feel that I’m being ghosted by the entire universe. I watch my footing lest the ground swallows me up.
Some locals have left little cups of nuts on tables, an unexpected treat. They like me! I thank them profusely, stuff them in my pocket, go through the checkpoint dance and then spin off out again. No Ian to be seen, I’ve dropped him.
As I leave, I see a lad I’d met in the airport, James from Brentwood. He’s talking to a mate who is urinating directly in front of him. Actually at him. They’ve gone full sables.
Two checkpoints to go.
By this time, the sun has begun to burn off. Things get a bit easier. Yellows turn to greyish greens, I can see stuff clearly, it had all become a bit of blur before.
• Extracted from Running Through Sand: An Ageing Comedian’s Ill-Thought-Out Ultra in the Sahara by Paul Tonkinson out today by Bloomsbury Sport, priced £18.99. It is available from Amazon priced £18.04 in hardback – or from uk.bookshop.org, below, which supports independent bookstores.
