Surviving Saharaman: Triathlon’s best kept secret?

It’s so strange to think that the lake I’m now swimming in wasn’t here a few weeks ago, yet this is a place where you can’t help but embrace the contrasts with home.

As I make my way through the recently formed cool waters, I miss the heat from the nomad’s fire that warmed my hands pre-race. I wonder what he thinks of all of this.

That heat is now rapidly draining from my hands, and I’m more aware than ever that I’m immersed in what must be one of Earth’s greatest swim, bike, and run adventures.

It’s all very different from back in the UK, but some things never change, and I berate myself for my usual mishaps. Wearing a brand-new pair of goggles for the first time, they duly fill with water, and I spend far too much time stationary, trying to adjust them.

Yet this is a place where optimal forward movement isn’t at the top of the priority list. Savouring the whole experience is.

The lake is shallow, and I’m grateful that I can stand and adjust. I eventually resort to plan B, and as I can just about make out the large white marker buoys, I decide to push on with one eye shut. Now with a permanent wink, the new experiences continue.

I’m in the magnificent Algerian Sahara on the swim leg of Saharaman, a race that is so much more than just another triathlon. Alongside me in the water is a wide range of international competitors who combine with plenty of local athletes to take part in what might be multisport’s best-kept secret.

The race is now in its sixth year, and in each of those previous years, the swim took place in a nearby oasis. However, a recent flood drained that oasis and formed this lake, so here we are.

At 13 degrees, the water’s cold, and it gently reminds me that it’s February. For us Brits, that’s usually peak off-season race-wise, and I’m no different.

It was only last month that I took my TT bike off its hook in the garage – the mould on the handlebar tape said it all. I suspect it was also a pretty accurate reflection of my physical form – I was forcibly reminded of Basil Fawlty trying to start his car by hitting it with tree branches!

I recently took part in a multi-day charity bike ride, so I’ve got something in the legs today – I’m just not sure how much. But I’m genuinely intrigued and even excited to find out where my fitness is. In fact, intrigue and excitement are everywhere here.

Race day awaits

I travelled from Edinburgh with fellow Scot Dave Caldwell, who heads up a Facebook page on extreme triathlons. In the preceding months, he’d been engaged in a good deal of discussion as to whether or not this race fell into the “extreme” category.

On paper, it would seem perhaps not, with little elevation and several laps in each discipline. But statistics don’t always give the full picture, and that’s very much the case here.

There are big fluctuations each day in the temperatures in the Sahara, and that’s a major factor when considering how to approach things.

Then there are limitations course-wise. Both tourism and triathlon are in their infancy in Algeria. Add to that the prospect of some surprisingly stormy weather, and the race organisers are restricted to operating in a relatively small area. So loops are very much required.

Plans had been put in place to include a hill section on the run, but the army at late notice decided that wasn’t possible. Then there’s the sand….

Boarding the bus from the hotel to the start, I’m wrapped up in plenty of layers with the temperature not much above zero. Setting up transition in darkness, I can see the sun gradually rising but can’t feel any of its warmth.

There are two distances today, one half-Ironman and one full. The swim, in the flat, shallow water, is fine. Keeping the buoys on our left shoulder, I complete the two laps and am ever so thankful I don’t have any more to do.

Sean Sandiford from South Africa is here. He’s doing the full, and I certainly don’t envy him as I head into T1 and try to warm up. Shivering, it seems to take forever to put on my bike kit, which feels all too scant considering how cold I am. I’m on my trusty old TT bike, which I love, but as my neck begins to ache early on, I’m all too aware that I’ve hardly ridden it recently.

I see Dave ahead, his pale skin lighting up the horizon. I try to shout hello, but it’s far more of a mumbled grunt from my frozen mouth.

I’m on the so-called southern loop of the bike course, a gorgeous section punching deep into the Saharan wilderness. The road surfaces are superb, though caution is needed on the occasional speed bump.

I’m riding well and am just about warmed up when local athlete Kaioua Chakib comes thundering past. I think of keeping the gap to him steady and upping my pace, but he pulls away quickly.

I see Sean pass on the opposite side and give him a shout, glad to see he’s survived the swim. With my two and three-quarter laps done, I head north through the main town of Taghit and onto the aptly named northern loop. Pan flat and into a headwind, I focus on making the turn.

My aim is to take the bike relatively easy and try to run strongly. I pass the bearded Aussie Gavin Dengate, assuring him the turn is close. He nods from his TT bars, not daring to change his aerodynamics. I make the turn and pick up the pace.

T2 is at the lovely Hotel Bledi. It’s so enticing that I briefly consider ceasing proceedings and staying here before shaking my head. Come on, Sean, focus—it’s find-my-legs time.

The run course for us is three laps with an initial 1k section to reach the main circuit. Each lap has a tarmac loop and then an out-and-back section on the dreaded sand.

Heading out, I can see other runners in the distance, and that helps as I run along the palm tree-lined road. Local policemen guide us at junctions and are full of enthusiasm and “bon courage” shouts.

The camels by the roadside seem as relaxed as ever, glancing at me as they always do out of the corner of their eyes in what I hope is a look of approval.

I see the ever-smiling Tema Chib. She’s a great advert for all things Algerian. A ball of constant energy, you have to question her extensively before she’ll admit she’s a top-class swimmer.

She’s come together with another local on the bike leg to take part as a team. She gives me a welcome pick-up as I hit the sand for the first time.

The planned hill section of the run may have been binned, but to make up for it, they’ve added a sizeable sand dune! The sand is properly tough to run on, but on reflection, the slight change in muscle stimulus required to take on the dune is welcome. Spectacular to look at and like a scene from a sci-fi film, there’s no disgrace in walking up it.

The laps go by, and each time my progress on the sandy section slows, with my feet sinking more and more. There’s lots of camaraderie, with plenty of mutual encouragement and sweat-laced smiles as we pass each other on this out-and-back section.

With the sun now on full show and beaming down, things are hotting up. I should definitely take on more water, but my focus is on the end. The finish line is halfway up another dune—I’d expect no less—and with no one behind me, I plod up, towards, and over it.

The finishline beckons

I managed to finish in fourth place in a time of six hours and eighteen minutes. In terms of my race performance, I was very happy. My tactic of holding back on the bike to try and run strongly had worked well.

While I was thrilled with my placing, you can’t help but feel that here, your result is rightly eclipsed by the wider experience. In an age where moaning about life seems all too commonplace, it’s easy to forget how lucky many of us are. I felt hugely privileged to be able to come back here, race, and savour once again so much of what this part of the world has to offer.

As I walked back to the hotel, I passed Dave. He confirmed he’s happy but exhausted. He was in no doubt about the extreme element of the race. We head back to the finish line in the evening to see Sean come over.

Sometimes these races can have somewhat underwhelming finish lines—not here. As Sean arrives, hands in the air, dancing and singing, I joke that he’s left far too much in the tank. Last year, I thought Saharaman was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Now I realise, why do it just once?

Your guide to racing The Saharaman

Race website

Saharaman (trinorthafrica.com)

How to get there

We flew with Air France to Algiers from Edinburgh via Paris, but you can fly direct from London. From Algiers, the organisers charter a private plane that you pay for at registration, which takes you to Bechar, where bus transport is provided to Taghit.

Where to stay

The race hotel is Hotel Saoura in Taghit, which is perfectly adequate, very convenient, and has a pool. For a more authentic experience, there are local guesthouses such as Guest House Loubana Taghit Residence. The organisers can provide details of other accommodation options.

How to make a week of it

We had a stopover in Algiers both ways and would highly recommend a tour of the city, which the organisers can arrange for you. In Taghit, the dunes dominate the landscape, and a sunset or sunrise view from the top is hard to beat. There are camel rides and quad bike hire, as well as a wonderful market with local produce.

Visas

You’ll need a visa but can get this on arrival if you fill in forms in advance. The organisers will guide you through the process, and most athletes did this. In several countries, you can also get a visa before you arrive via the Algerian Embassy.

Safety

We all felt very safe throughout our stay. It’s important to bear in mind that things are very different from the UK, especially when travelling. For example, they take your passport for a time at the airport to process your visa, we had a police escort during our bus transfer, and many of the race marshals were armed police – but it’s nothing to worry about.

Vaccinations

Check with your health board well in advance – at least eight weeks before your trip. You may not need any, but it will depend on what you have had to date and your assessment of the risks involved, which are minimal.