barely have time to write because I finished so damn late. Let’s just say it was tough going and tommorow is the 54 mile / 2-day stage.

I can’t tell you how great it is to get emails… all the way from Japan (thanks Mika!) Everyone reads them aloud in the tents like we’re some prisoner of war group.

Speaking of our tent, I will not expand on my tent-mates’ gastrointestinal goings-on because I am a polite person who would not want to make anyone ill.

Nona tells me the Bklyn Bunny Outfit made it on to the MdS website– I am so stylin’.

No dispatch tommorow as I’ll be running straight through the night.

Remind me to tell you how I put some singer from Japan in the dust in front of his documentary crew. Heh, heh.

(P.S. Ron, it looks like Star Wars here anyway)

Check out Lisa Smith Batchen’s blog for better daily coverage

Yesterday’s dunes are gone, and with it any semblance of a breeze. No official temperature but I’ve heard the high was in the range of 105 - 115. With no breeze. On the plus side, I saw some baby goats.

The insanity of the day goes to Andrew, a 21 year old college kid from Tenessee. He’s got a heavy pack, and was on the course for a long time yesterday which means more time on your feet, with less time to recover.

Today he made the error of going to “Doc Trotter’s” -the doctors at the checkpoints- and hacked the kid’s feet to bits. But when he came in after 11+ hours he was in as good of humor as the beginning of the day.

I have a hard time explaining how incredibly bad-ass this is. People think that the front leaders who come in under 3 hours must have really killed themselves. And they have. But the other end of the spectrum is just as brutal. Andrew is tough as nails.

Next stage combines today’s weather with yesterday’s dunes. I am scared in earnest.

Check out Lisa Smith Batchen’s blog for better daily coverage

Oh bugger. I knew this wouldn`t be a cakewalk, but I didn’t think I’d be so horridly slow.

7 something kilometers of dunes today. Do not for a minute imagine yourself at the beach strolling amongst the sea grass and turns’ nests.

Imagine instead a endless beach minus the ocean, located aroundabouts the new real estate lovingly called the 8th circle of hell.

I did not “find myself” in the desert Г la Emerson. My deepest thoughts today were mainly about pain.

The Brooklyn Bunny gear is *amazing*. A press person today told me that everyone assumed I am French because my outfit is “so elegant”. Mais non, je suis Americaine.

It did, however, take a bit to explain what “le lapin du Brooklyn” is.

Check out Lisa Smith Batchen’s blog for better daily coverage

What is this an image of?

(|)

It’s a to-scale size of Mustapha Ait Amar’s rump.

We went for a jog through Ouzazarte this morning, and the main topic of interest was the petite size of Mustapha’s derriere. Granted, I’ve had folks ask if I’m running to save the Rhinos based on my backside, but even next to the most fit of us, he’s got a nano-butt.

Other than that, it’s extreme anxiety as we pack, re-pack, debate calories and discuss where to fashion our water bottles. Nothing exciting.

Tomorrow we get bussed out to the desert and there’s no turning back.

Excuse me, I have to go cry in the corner and beg for my mother.

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What you see is what I got.It looks a bit like Death Valley, and is just as pleasant a place to go for a jog as I discovered this morning. There is as school for Cinema Studies nearby, this being a company town. Some crew is staying at our hotel. Unfortunately, some poor PA is going to get fired since I needed paper this morning and had to steal a call sheet. It’s every man for himself out in these parts, and I needed paper.

I’ve been begging every poor bastard I know with an email address to pass some suggestions on what I should listen to while running. I figure I’ve got about 40 or so hours of listening to fill. Without a doubt, the hands down winner for musical guidance is the irreplaceable Kelly Alba. Not only will she change your life should you ever have the fortune to witness her sing “Stand By Your Man” but her knowledge of music is without peer.However, this week the wayback machine put a friend from decades ago back in my path and though he may look like a corporate grumpy these days, he’s still got some serious Worcester cred – enough so that I trust his music suggestions (despite his having travelled something like 4,000 miles to see the Cure at an age beyond which it is becoming to do so.)

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Call me Aqualung. Or, being female, Aqualungette.

But I had to test out my stove get-up, so I took me, my cup and some Esbit tabs down to the local sandbox in the park– the closest facsimile of the Sahara you’re going to get on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

I’m not sure if it’s wonderful or incredibly frightening that not one soul among the veritable platoon of parents and their little ones at the playground ever glanced my way as I set up what must have looked like a hillbilly’s rocket launcher, or maybe a teensy dirty bomb created for some ferret extremists.

I set up my stove and 1) plopped the Esbit tab in the sandbox. 2) put a windscreen (read: cut up soda can) around the tab 3) lit it up 4) held the titanium cup with a 1/2 C coffee in it and waited for it to boil.

and waited. and waited. and waited.

After 13 minutes or so, I figured out that it wasn’t going to reach the boiling point any time soon. Why? Ah-ha! Oh-so wicked-smaht me figured out… titanium! Titanium is a refractory metal! Not conducive to conducting heat!

Well, I am one smart, scientific cookie. Pats on the back for me.

Except that when I posted my research findings on the Backpackinglight group site a few people pointed out — in a very helpful and not-at-all snotty way — that no, titanium is just fine. It’s the fact that I plopped the tab onto some damp sand, creating a what is essentially a big heat-sink.

So back I go to Riverside Park. Maybe this time someone will See Something and Say Something and we can all rest well knowing that New York is safe from dingbats with beer cans and strike anywhere matches.

From the press release by the race organizers. Oh hell….

The route for 2008 is 245.3 Km long, making it the longest ever in the history of the MARATHON DES SABLES.

The race will be challenging from day one - and continue that way - offering all the variety of the Sahara. The course will take runners over ergs (dune zones), seriously steep jebels (up to 25% slope factor) and rocky plateaus. They’ll have to cross hard as iron salt-flats and the driest of wadis. The backdrop to all of this is the most beautiful of landscapes with vistas accessible only to those on foot. The desert has its secret gardens and competitors on MDS will be lucky enough

In its 22-year history since it was set up in 1986, the Marathon des Sables has brought together near-on 10,000 competitors in the south Moroccan Sahara.

Whether running individually or in teams, competitors are self-sufficient in food and must carry all their own equipment (food and compulsory kit) during the entire race.
Marathon runners and trail runners worldwide consider the race to be the “Grail” of footraces. It’s one of the most difficult in the world: around 230km, freestyle, run in 6 stages varying from 20 to 70km, taking in all the different terrain in this particularly beautiful part of Morocco.

With average speeds going from a minimum of 3 Km/h to maximum 14 Km/h, the Marathon des Sables is an extraordinary course, characterised by its spirit of conviviality and solidarity.

For this 23rd edition, organised by AOI under the aegis of the Moroccan Ministry of Tourism, around 850 competitors will be setting off to conquer the Moroccan sands on March 30th. 30% are French, the other 70% made up of more than 32 nationalities, with a strong Anglo-Saxon presence.

Sportsmanship, solidarity, conviviality and respect for the environment: these are the organisation’s key words.

“Sportsmanship,” “solidarity,” “conviviality” and “respect for the environment”, my fanny. Try key words like “blisters like broiled scallops,” “Maloxx dependency” and “serious back acne.”

Today I got in the mail, for reasons completely unbeknownst to me, a “RolyFresh Body Freshness Biodegradable Glove” lovingly sent to me from the fine folks at Darbaroud.com — in other words, the people organizing the Marathon des Sables.

I like a fresh body as much as the next girl, but I did not order any such item from Darbaroud. Or from anyone else, for that matter.

Now, I know the folks around the office have said a thing or two, but I mean really– I didn’t know it had made it all the way to France.

Someone please tell me that this is some strange complimentary item that they send to all the participants? And c’mon… let’s just get it out in the open here. I mean, we’re all thinking the same thing, right? Right?

WHO THE HELL ARE THE FRENCH TO GIVE ME ADVICE ABOUT MY BODY ODOR?!

There. I said it.

And why do they have a picture of Garth from Wayne’s World on their website? What is going on?

There is a show on NPR called “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me.” It is a news quiz filled with weird stories, comedians and a lot of snark. But that is not what I’m here to write about. I’m here (so to speak) to ask you to DEMAND that they allow me to become a “listener contestant.”

Why? Because last year I took lots of their podcasts to the North Pole with me. I assumed they’d barely be able to contain their excitement and ask me to be on the show. Once on, I’d casually something about doubleyoudoubleyoudoubleyouamericasnexttopwaddledotcom. All casual, like. Conversationally. And subliminally, public radio listeners around the world would be inexplicably drawn to the website to donate oodles of dough. But I never got on.

So this year I’m not taking any chances. I want to barrage them with emails. Emails, I might add, that you don’t even have to write. Yes, I have WRITTEN IT FOR YOU.

All you have to do is click

HERE

then click SEND.

UNLESS
you get a “bad request” in which case you can just copy and
paste the conveniently provided text below and send it to waitwait@npr.org

Yes, I have conveniently written the letter for you. Don’t worry, it is very professional sounding. It might just come out to be a bunch of gobbledygook depending on what email software to use, but what the hell– it took me something like two hours to figure out how to do that stupid MailTo thing.

Let those bunny-hugging, liberal, elitist brie-eating public radio people know what we want. Well, at least what I want.

THE CONVENIENTLY PROVIDED TEXT BELOW FOR CUTTING AND PASTING

Greetings,

I am writing to urge you, in the most vigorous manner humanly possible without producing spittle, to select Marianne DeMarco to be a listener contestant on Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me, preferably for the Listener Limerick Challenge because it’s the easiest and she’s not the swiftest boat in the ocean.

While I understand that the method NPR employs to select contestants is a heavily guarded FOIA-proof secret, I would nonetheless like to list a few reasons why she is ideal for your show.

REASON 1
Last April she was listening to WWDTM podcasts when the very bra she was wearing at the time froze solid. This was due to the fact she was listening to the podcast whilst running the North Pole Marathon to raise money for charity and not, as urban legend has it, because she lactates liquid nitrogen.

REASON 2
This April she will be listening to yet more WWDTM podcasts when she runs the Marathon des Sables, a 150 mile race through the Sahara to raise money for same charity. (Refer to above parenthetical re: intelligence).

REASON 3
She is pregnant with Carl Kassell’s child.

As a proud supporter of Marianne’s most recent idiot move to raise money for charity, I insist you immediately contact her at demarcom(at)verizon(dot)net.

Respectfully,
A friend of Marianne’s who now regrets telling her ‘I owe you one’ that time she agreed to water my plants when I was on vacation.