The only true ambition I’ve ever had was to see the world (Picture: Crystal Crow)

I looked on in awe as I saw people dressed in their running gear, carrying backpacks with food and sleeping bags, prepared for days in the desert.

I immediately said: ‘I’m going to do that.’

This was when I was 23 in 1986 and I’d just turned on the 6 o’clock news to see the start of the very first Marathon des Sables – the toughest foot race on earth.

It’s a gruelling ultra-marathon, which has participants running 250km across the Sahara. It might sound like many people’s worst nightmare, but I knew it was a challenge that I had to take on.

It would take almost 40 years, but I’d finally get there.

In the meantime, I first started out in the restaurant industry but I eventually had to face the reality that my passion wasn’t food. I wanted to live my own dream.

The only true ambition I’ve ever had was to see the world.

So I enrolled in a teacher’s course – a job that I could go to the far corners of the world with. I went to teach in Asia when I was in my forties and spent my holidays travelling.

I’ve seen the Taj Mahal, the Everest Base Camp in Nepal, the Great Wall of China, Vietnam’s Hạ Long Bay, Sa Pa and the Củ Chi Tunnels. I’ve climbed Kilimanjaro and I’ve sailed from Cape Town as one of four crew delivering a catamaran to Cuba.

Racers taking part in the ultramarathon (Picture: JEAN-PHILIPPE KSIAZEK/AFP via Getty Images)

At the same time, running was my joy, but it was something I did alone. I would enter plenty of local races and, since meeting my partner six years ago, we’ve always done ultra races for our birthdays.

At 57, I suddenly suffered from a ‘frozen shoulder’, which was the first time my body did something that blindsided me. I had a hint of what ‘old’ was going to feel like.

And menopause came with its own symptoms – headaches, nausea, weight gain. I had no idea what was happening to me.

One day during a particularly pitiful moment, I heard a haunting voice in my head say, ‘now you’ll never do the Marathon des Sables’. I realised I’d regret it forever if I didn’t bring it into focus.

So I cleaned up my diet, got a coach that specialised in running with menopause – called Big Dave – and started my final journey to the start line of Marathon des Sables.

A competitor faces a sandstorm in the bivouac camp during Marathon des Sables (Picture: JEAN-PHILIPPE KSIAZEK/AFP via Getty Images)

I signed up in 2022, just after my 59th birthday, to race the 37th Edition in 2023. I thought it apt as it was my 60th birthday year.

I’d applied for it many times over the years but would always bail out. I suppose I thought I had more time, but menopause put things into perspective for me. This time, I paid £4,000 in full straight away. Total commitment.

I trained consistently throughout the winter. It was all about strength and conditioning on the days that you’re not running – with one rest day and long runs on weekends.

Sure enough, in April 2023, I set off for the marathon at the Sahara Desert. I was feeling calm, ready to race.

After having our bags thoroughly checked and weighed, it was finally time to start the race. Walking to the start line, I found myself fighting back the tears but only let them flow when we were in motion.

I am tough, I am enough, and I have worth (Picture: Crystal Crow)

Each morning, we would receive updates at the start line about the previous day’s dropouts. 

After the third day, they stopped telling us the rise in temperatures as it had got as high as 54 degrees. It got progressively hotter, so we switched our start time to 7am as opposed to 9am.

It was both epic and absolutely ruthless. The desert is sublime and peaceful, but the heat doesn’t allow much time for contemplation.

I had prepared for the race both physically and mentally. To handle the heat I did heat acclimation in the sauna for months on end. But being out in the desert was about testing my resilience and managing my attitude.

The desert is undulating and when it was flat for a while after descending from yet another peak, it was quite impressive to see us looking like a marching column of French Legionnaires in our white Sahara hats.

It was both epic and absolutely ruthless (Picture: JEAN-PHILIPPE KSIAZEK/AFP via Getty Images)

In 50-degree heat, the biggest challenge was managing water. After the finish line each day, we received six litres of water to carry to our tent – for the evening as well as the following morning.

I would take any left-over water and pour it over my body to cool down. I then took a sip of water every five minutes until I reached the next check point where you receive another three litres.

I have my five tent mates to thank for making the race the happiest 10 days of my life. There was so much laughter born out of so much misery! At one point, I stopped three men from quitting the race by walking with them through the night.

The people I met all had similar stories to me and it felt like these people were my tribe, no matter their age.

It was never about finishing on the podium for me. I was running for Heart Research UK. This was in memory of Big Dave, who we tragically lost to a cardiac arrest at a parkrun last summer.

I knew people had invested in me and quitting was never an option. People had parted with their hard-earned cash and I knew I had to deliver.

At the finish line, there were no tears as I had just passed my own litmus test. I am tough, I am enough, and I have worth.

I don’t see why people feel so limited by their age. Being really good at being yourself is the key to living free.

Rest in Peace, Coach.

Heart Research won’t stop until there are no more deaths from heart diseases. For more information, visit: heartresearch.org.uk 

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I ran 250km across the Sahara.