After several months of training in the Israeli desert, I feel ready. At least I thought I was…
Upon arrival in Morocco, we’re loaded into the back of truck on the outskirts of Ourzerzate Morocco where we drive an hour on dusty trails to the first campsite. As the only Israeli, I’m annexed to Tent 57 containing the competitors from the UK. Most of my tent-mates are soldiers in elite British army units.
Take Glen for example (the guy with no shirt just below me). He lives 50 miles away from his army base and since the train doesn’t stop at the base, he’s perfected the art of jumping out of moving trains. “You need to time it to miss the big rocks,” he says. “and don’t forget to bend your knees.” I picture Glen jumping out of a train with his gear, doing a few summersaults, brushing himself off and walking the last bit to the base. “Only broke my leg twice,” he grins proudly. I feel like I’m trapped in a cage with wild animals.