MDS Legendary 2026 (270km through the Sahara): Race Review

Almost twenty years ago a running friend John told me about this race he was going to do: the Marathon des Sables (MDS). It seemed like a week of masochism running through the heat of the Sahara desert, being mostly self-sufficient apart from water and an open-sided tent that you share with strangers. It genuinely didn’t appeal. Then another friend did it a couple years later. And just three years ago, another friend. Somewhere in my subconscious this race went from “hell no” to “I think I’m fit and stubborn enough to give this a go”. So I started following the event organisers on Instagram, and when the race entries opened for the original – “The Legendary” race, I signed up in 2025 for the 2026 race. 6 stages of racing across 7 days, including the notorious long stage what takes some people two whole days to complete. The unforgiving Saharan sun, burning sand, rationed water, carrying your own kit and armed with a map and compass… I was ready to dive in.

This is my race report of the MDS Legendary in 2026.

Down the rabbit hole

If you don’t like attention to detail and logistics, the Marathon des Sables may not be the ideal race for you. There are so many rabbit holes to go down in the build-up, and I went down all of them. I know things that will probably serve me no use for the remainder of my mortal life unless I do another MDS. The obsessive weighing of every item, labelling kit with its weight, choosing toothpaste tablets over traditional toothpaste, evaluating food for its calorie-to-weight-to-palatability ratio, and testing, over and over. I built a heat chamber in a room in my house with industrial heaters and dehumidifiers. I figured out how to get my ageing Garmin Fenix 6 to last the whole race on a single charge. I researched head torches for their lumen-to-weight-to-battery-life ratios. I tested foods for how they sit in my stomach on a long run. The only thing I didn’t test was what would melt. Turns out jelly babies turn into a solid technicolour mass of sugar in the desert.

It was the afternoon before I headed into the desert that I finally sorted out my calories and weight, despite having been testing foods for months. My pack weight came in at about 8.5kg – they weighed it minus a few bits, but I reckoned it started closer to 9.2kg. It’s normal for food to account for about 4kg of pack weight.

Hurry up and wait

There’s a huge amount of build-up to MDS. You may attend an event in the UK beforehand. Then you fly to Morocco, get to Ouarzazate, hang out there for a day or two, then travel for the best part of a day to the desert. Then it’s more than one more full day before you set off. Pace yourself.

MDS has many rituals. The start line rituals are part of it – they try to get you psyched. My take: get as swept up in it as you like. I entered the race hugely practical, and maintained that approach to the end. Some got swept up in the emotions, and fair enough – some people came to the desert with some deep personal stories.

Stage 1

Amazing. Essentially a loop back to camp. The very start was over some greenery then it straightened out into decent running terrain. Lots of getting used to the pace and everyone feeling each other out. In retrospect I went a notch faster than necessary, but hey, it’s a race. I finished feeling good.

By the end of the day my shoulders hurt to touch and my left shoulder was swollen from the pack. A super light pack can also be super uncomfortable. I used Leukotape to tie strips that I had cut from my foam roll mat to provide padding, and it worked for the rest of the race.

Stage 2

Started in the dark, which promised to be interesting. I set off too fast and I was on zero carbs – foolish. I ended up walking a lot of it, and had to dig deep to find some psychological games to play with myself to get my legs running again towards the end. Beautiful scenery though. Cooler by the evening. Felt pretty well rested by the end of it, and getting used to the sand.

This was the lowest point of the race. A quick rejig of my remaining days’ food and all was good from there. Lesson learned: don’t cut the carbs.

Stage 3

Flying. Great day, got in at 11-something. My pack was lighter after I jettisoned things – it took till day two of running to realise how much unnecessary kit I had packed. It felt sinful binning a titanium pot and stove plus a travel pillow, but the grams add up.

Stage 4 – The Long Stage

The big one. First hour and a half in the dark. Then the big dune early on – some bizarre party atmosphere at the top of a really hard climb, music and cheering as people went up. The big sand dunes were a sport in themselves.

My plan was to walk from 12:30 to 18:30, with the day broken into roughly 35km, 35km and 30km. I recall getting to 12:00 on the dot and counting down the seconds to walk. The next several hours passed in a blur. I think I walked 35k in that time, though I found a slightly deranged video of myself quoting Goggins whilst running and generally looking psyched, so I must have had strong moments even in the heat.

At checkpoint 7 I was sorting out some posterior chafing. Mark caught up with me. I was being a prude trying to apply ointment, whilst Mark and a lady I had never met before whipped her shorts down and started slathering ointment on herself. It was windy at checkpoint 7. I also put my feet up for 10 to 12 minutes, which really helped. I’d done the maths: ten minutes of legs up would save me ten minutes over the next hour of movement.

There was a good stretch as it got windy – just desert, what I had imagined a desert looks like before I arrived, as far as I could see. I had my music on and I was picking people off as I approached 70k. As the wind picked up I finally got to use my desert goggles, and lost no momentum whilst others slowed down.

I struggled to get momentum later on. By checkpoint 9 I wanted to put my feet up again. The volunteers encouraged me to keep going. By checkpoint 10 – was that disco themed? – I told someone I wanted to lie down. I’d done the maths and I was walking so slowly that I was confident I could pick up the pace with just ten minutes’ rest. Plus I noticed I was warmer than I should have been, and was wondering if I was still recovering from the heat of the day. Ten minutes lying down did the job. My legs responded, more or less, and I was shivering from having stopped. I knew that was an overcorrection so I just embraced it and kept moving into the dark.

At some point I lost my music player. I wasn’t going to comb a field for a device the size of a postage stamp in the dark.

I ran the last 10k with a lady from South Africa, an anaesthetist, and we kept each other company chatting. Both of us generally cursing our pace but at peace with our power walk. We crossed the line together.

I can’t think of another ultra where I’ve crossed the finish line then immediately had to switch my brain back on. Orientate myself, find my tent, make food and hydration decisions – I think I decided against food – brush my teeth, and get into my sack. Unlike the end of your average 100km race, no one was going to help me or give me a hot meal. One small luxury: an iced lemon wedge that they handed out. That was good.

Camp Life

Somewhere over those days there was a slow transition. In the beginning I was a traveller in the desert – managing my kit, figuring out routines, adjusting. By the time the long stage was done, something had shifted.

How quickly tent 86 built up its camaraderie. There was a healthy amount of bartering that went on around camp. The ladies’ tent who kept bringing us food. One evening after I’d just finished brushing my teeth and flossing, I threw the floss into a communal bin and spotted two unopened dehydrated meals. I rushed back to my tent – “hey guys, would it be acceptable to eat bin food?!” Our tent got an extra 2000 calories that we shared, thanks to an unknown person who was shedding pack weight.

I underestimated how quickly I would get back to camp each day. In fact, for every day apart from the long stage I was done by midday. So my evening meal became lunch, and my dessert was the last thing I’d have for the day.

There was no real shortage of water, but one has to be respectful and not waste any. Showering and drying clothes. Watching the queues for the medic tent. The reality that in camp there were not a lot of clothes on. So many people hobbling around after the marathon day.

Getting up in the middle of the night in my boxers and feeling the desert air blowing – not too cold – then the warmth of my sleeping bag. Which was too warm.

Then there were the rumours and the politics. Learning MDS politics: who took over from whom, why there’s no more coke on the long day. The weird little bits of information that would spread around camp. The rumour that Harry Styles was competing. The fruit presentation on the rest day.

And the toilet paper anxiety. I got toilet paper anxiety halfway through the race when I realised I was running low. I had to scrounge TP from others. Next time: take more, and if it’s not needed, give it away.

Rest Day

We woke and went out to cheer on Trev and Henry who were coming in from the long stage. Absolute legends – 27 hours together.

Then the sandstorms blew all day. The tent collapsed three times. I’m pretty sure Henry slept through it, despite having a berber tent smothering him. A desert mouse was intent on joining our tent. Some people described this as the worst day. I loved it. Isn’t this what we had earned – the right to enjoy a day off, and embrace real desert weather?

As I lay in the tent, covered in sand, I was silently smiling inside. I’d finally become at one with the desert. I know that sounds cheesy, but I was genuinely comfortable in this environment. Standing in the open desert during the sandstorm felt like microdermabrasion. Gets into everything. In fact it’s still on my watch and in my phone case two months later.

I sorted out a small blister or two. I’m not convinced the second one was actually a blister.

In the evening the whole camp came out to cheer the final long stage finisher as she crossed the line. She was so emotional. It was pretty cool.

Stage 5 – Marathon Day

I started the day feeling good in the start holding pen with my tent mates. There was a steady stream of hundreds of headlights trickling to the start line with a few minutes to go – I’m not sure if people were just exhausted or tired of the start line hijinks.

My plan was to split the day as 10 miles, 10 miles, 10km. I held back the first 10 miles. Sand dunes at the start had thinned the pack, and I felt like I was far forward. Then I picked up the pace towards 20 miles. There was a notable mountain topped with a sand dune at the half marathon mark – I’d been running 10 minute miles until this mountain, but on the other side was the most gorgeous sandy descent.

Then lots of rocky terrain, small rocks. I felt it in my right foot – a sharp pain as I landed funny. That sharp pain coming back every time my foot hit a rock. And then that sharp white pain. My running reduced to a walk. Someone with a camera on a gimbal filmed me and asked what had happened and how I was feeling. My honest response: “I think I’ve got a stress fracture. I guess I need to get to the 20 mile mark then it’s just 20 more k.” That matter-of-fact response disappointed them and they went away.

And that’s exactly what I did. I focused on moving through to 20 miles, then counted down every kilometre. Despite the pain when I landed badly, I executed my race plan well and I was pleased. Relentless sand dunes near the end, just rolling up and down, and I had some good competitors eating up the dunes at a similar pace to me. Finished on a high, feeling that I had smashed it. Kebab stew as my reward.

Back in camp, legs felt heavy. Had them up against the tent’s wooden pole to get the fluids returning – I’d been doing this most stages. Improved weather, no sandstorm today. Andy mentioned it was a shame it hadn’t rained during the race…

Stage 6 – The Final Day

The medics the day before had said it was 70% likely I had a stress fracture. Trev made me a coffee – I’d given him my coffee powder earlier in the week when I threw away my stove, and now here he was returning the favour on the final morning.

I was picked up by Trev and Henry to run with them, though as the race started, Trev launched off like a rocket. I found myself plodding carefully, not familiar with the people around me, and Henry was saying he was normally much further up the field and didn’t really recognise people either. I told Henry he’s sticking with me.

Simple game plan for this half marathon stage: get over the sand dunes at the beginning, run what’s runnable in the middle, then push hard over the last few kilometres of sand dunes back to the finish line and civilisation. Kept some pressure throughout, and had some good chat with Henry.

Then the final section of dunes. People had started walking, whilst I led Henry through different lines in the sand dunes, overtaking 10, 20, 50 people at a time. We overtook hundreds.

And then the desert gave us one last surprise – another sandstorm and then rain. It only egged me on further. Finish strong. The storm was blowing down the finish arches. I pretended to be an airplane and ducked under the collapsing arch that was being held up by many Berbers.

A big medal. I claimed my hug from the amazing emcee who had been stellar all week. Then my final video diary entry to the people back home. Then I turned my phone off airplane mode – I had managed a week on a single charge.

I video called my family and was amazed they were watching and waiting for news of my dot crossing the line. The live finish line footage had been interrupted by the storm. A WhatsApp group with friends and family pinged to life – more than a week of messages, people following my dot, even spotting me at checkpoint and finish line cameras. If there was one moment I felt emotional the whole week, it was this. I’d had no idea if people were interested or following, but I was running hard for me, and then to know that people – even my team at work – had been following me. It meant a lot.

And Finally

MDS is legendary, and having done it, I understand why. It’s not so much a race as an experience – one that you’ll talk about for years to come. The desert is so many landscapes. Some looked like Mars. Others were the classic desert you picture before you’ve ever been.

A huge thank you to the organisers and volunteers. There were so many of them, and they worked obscene shifts. They were the smiling face of MDS.

Keep getting it done,
GeekintheHills