Mauro Prosperi Survival Story – Mauro Prosperi survived the Sahara desert for nine days. Many sportsmen, hikers, and mountaineers become disoriented and even die while on their journey for numerous causes.
Mauro Prosperi is a pentathlete and former Italian police officer. He rose to prominence after being missing for nine days in the Sahara desert while racing in a marathon in Morocco.
On the ninth day of his abduction, he followed a path of fresh goat tracks with human footprints after ascending the Jebel Bani mountain range and refreshing himself at a pond.
What Mauro Prosperi Had Gone Through?
Mauro Prosperi got information about the Marathon Des Sables through her long-term friend, Giovanni Manzo. He proposed to him that they could compete in a 551km race together.
“304 – Show-Off Time”
This week, Georgia covers the life and tragic death of Aaliyah and Karen tells the survival story of ultramarathon runner Mauro Prosperi. https://t.co/1Y0IBGkEnN pic.twitter.com/tk3HC13o27
— My Favorite Murder (@MyFavMurder) December 9, 2021
Prosperi was intrigued and began training by running 40 kilometers each day as a practice. He reduced his water consumption to acclimate his body to feeling dehydrated.
He started out for his first desert event, covering 96 kilometers in three days through salt beds, rock surfaces, and dunes with Manzo. The race began with all participants together.
Because there were fewer participants, they became separated after a while and began running alone. On his way, Prosperi navigated the desert with his food and materials.
He raced for 8 hours through a sandstorm, losing sight of other runners as a result of the sand. Despite the fact that he was alone, he continued to run, hoping to reach the trail as a dedicated runner.
When it turned darker he realized that he was lost. He then had to go through head, isolation, and dehydration. He had to drink his urine and bat blood to kill his thirst.
At some point, he wanted to kill himself and hoped somebody might find his body because he wished that his wife get his life insurance.
Mauro Prosperi’s Survival Story & My Favorite Murder Podcast
During his nine-day disorientation, Prosperi’s resorts to survival included drinking his own urine, killing and eating small desert animals such as lizards and bats for nourishment, and submerging himself in the desert sand during evenings to shield himself from frigid temperatures.
My Favourite Murder Podcast is a bi-weekly true-crime podcast hosted by Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. The first episode was released in January 2016.
The upcoming episode of ‘My Favourite Murder’ will feature Mauro Prosperi’s survival story. It will share the ultramarathon runner’s shrine in the Sahara Desert where he took refuge.
The story is indeed interesting, while just an imagination of being alone in a desert could be overwhelming. Prosperi saw many aircraft over his head flying but was helpless.
More On The Athlete, Mauro Prosperi
Mauro Prosperi was born on 13 July 1955 in the Italian capital city of Rome. Before getting his graduation, he worked in Polizia di Stato as a crowd-control police officer.
He met his wife Cinzia Pagliara, at a pre-Olympic pentathlon event. Pagliara was working as an English-and Russian language interpreter. She was attracted to Prosperi.
The reason she admired him, was his positivity and enthusiasm towards overcoming challenges and obstacles at the event. Her definition of Prosperi’s attitude is right.
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How did Mauro Prosperi get lost?
Mauro Prosperi was 39 years old when he took part in the 1994 Marathon des Sables – a six-day, 250km (155-mile) race through the Sahara described as the toughest race of its kind. Following a sandstorm, the former Olympic pentathlete was lost in the desert for 10 days. Here he tells his story.
What I like most about running extreme marathons is the fact that you come into close contact with nature – the races take place in beautiful settings such as mountains, deserts, glaciers. As a professional athlete I hadn’t been able to enjoy these surroundings because I was so focused on winning medals.
I found out about the Marathon des Sables by chance. I had already retired from the pentathlon when a good friend said to me: “There’s this amazing marathon in the desert – but it’s very tough.” I love a challenge so I started training immediately, running 40km (25 miles) a day, reducing the amount of water I was drinking to get used to dehydration. I was never home.
My wife, Cinzia, thought I was insane – the race is so risky that you have to sign a form to say where you want your body to be sent in case you die. We had three children under the age of eight, so she was worried. I tried to reassure her. “The worst that can happen is that I get a bit sunburned,” I said.
When I arrived in Morocco, I discovered a marvellous thing – the desert. I was bewitched.
These days the Marathon des Sables is a very different experience, with up to 1,300 participants it’s like a giant snake – you couldn’t get lost if you tried. But back in 1994 there were only 80 of us, and very few who were actually running, so most of the time I was on my own.
I was always the first Italian to reach the next stage and I’d put up a flag on my tent so that we could all get together in the evenings. It was fun.
Things went wrong on the fourth day, during the longest and most difficult stage of the race.
When we set out that morning there was already quite a bit of wind. I had passed through four checkpoints when I entered an area of sand dunes. I was alone – the pacemakers had gone ahead.
Suddenly a very violent sandstorm began. The wind kicked in with a terrifying fury. I was swallowed by a yellow wall of sand. I was blinded, I couldn’t breathe. The sand whipped my face – it was like a storm of needles. I understood for the first time how powerful a sandstorm could be. I turned my back on the wind and wrapped a scarf around my face to stop the sand from wounding me. I wasn’t disoriented, but I had to keep moving to keep from getting buried. Eventually I crouched down in a sheltered spot, waiting for the storm to end.
It lasted eight hours. When the wind died down it was dark, so I slept out on the dunes. I was upset about the race because, until then, I had been in fourth place. I thought: “Oh well, I can’t win now but I can still make good time. Tomorrow morning I’ll get up really early and try to reach the finish.” You have 36 hours to run that stage of the race – any longer and you are disqualified – so there was still a chance. What I couldn’t have imagined was how dramatically that storm would change everything around me.
I woke up very early to a transformed landscape. I didn’t know I was lost. I had a compass and a map so I thought I could navigate perfectly well, but without points of reference it’s a lot more complicated.
I wasn’t worried because I was sure that sooner or later I’d meet someone. “Who knows how many others are in the same situation?” I thought. “As soon as I see someone we can team up and get to the finish together.” That was my plan, but unfortunately it didn’t work out.
After running for about four hours I climbed up a dune and still couldn’t see anything. That’s when I knew I had a big problem. I started to walk – what was the point of running? Running where?
When I realised I was lost, the first thing I did was to urinate in my spare water bottle, because when you’re still well-hydrated your urine is the clearest and the most drinkable. I remembered my grandfather telling me how, during the war, he and his fellow soldiers had drunk their own urine when their water ran out. I did it as a precaution, but I wasn’t desperate. I was sure the organisers would find me soon.
When running the Marathon des Sables you have to be self-sufficient, and I was well-prepared: I had a knife, a compass, sleeping bag and plenty of dehydrated food in my backpack. The problem was water. We were given fresh water at the checkpoints, but when the storm hit I only had half a bottle of water left. I drank it as slowly as I could.
I’m very resistant to heat and I was very careful. I would only walk when it was cool, early in the morning and then again in the evening. During the day, when I wasn’t walking, I’d try to find shelter and shade. I was wearing two hats – a baseball cap with a red woollen hat on top – to keep the temperature as constant as possible. Luckily my skin is quite dark so I didn’t really suffer from sunburn.
On the second day, at sunset, I heard the sound of a helicopter coming towards me. I assumed it was looking for me so I took out my flare and shot it in the air, but he didn’t see it. It was flying so low that I could see the pilot’s helmet, but he didn’t see me – he flew right past.
The helicopter, on loan from the Moroccan police, was returning to base to refuel. Since 1995, because of my experience, runners have been equipped with the kind of flares they use at sea – which they’re not happy about, because they weigh 500g – but at the time the flares we had were really small, no bigger than a pen.
Nevertheless I remained calm, because I was convinced the organisers would have the resources to find anyone lost in the desert. I still thought I would be rescued sooner or later.
After a couple of days I came across a marabout – a Muslim shrine – where Bedouins stop when they are crossing the desert. I was hoping it was inhabited, but unfortunately there was nobody there – only a holy man in a coffin. But at least I had a roof over my head, it was like being home. I assessed my situation: it wasn’t rosy, but I was feeling all right physically. I ate some of my rations, which I cooked with fresh urine, not the bottled urine that I was saving to drink – I started to drink that on the fourth day.
The marabout had filled up with sand from all the sandstorms, so the ceiling was very low. I went up to the roof to plant my Italian flag, in the hope that anybody looking for me could see it. While I was up there I saw some bats, huddled together in the tower. I decided to drink their blood. I grabbed a handful of bats, cut their heads and mushed up their insides with a knife, then sucked them out. I ate at least 20 of them, raw – I only did what they do to their prey.
I stayed in the marabout for a few days, waiting to be found.
I gave in to despair only twice. Once was when I saw the helicopter and it didn’t see me. The other time was when I saw the aeroplane.
I had been in the marabout for three days when I heard the sound of a motor – an aeroplane. I don’t know if it was looking for me, but I immediately started a fire with whatever I had – my rucksack, everything – in the hope the plane would see the smoke. But just then another sandstorm hit. It lasted for 12 hours. The aeroplane didn’t spot me.
I felt it was my very last chance to be found. I was very depressed. I was convinced I was going to die and that it was going to be a long agonising death, so I wanted to accelerate it. I thought if I died out in the desert no-one would find me, and my wife wouldn’t get the police pension – in Italy, if someone goes missing you have to wait 10 years before they can be declared dead. At least if I died in this Muslim shrine they would find my body, and my wife would have an income.
I wasn’t afraid of dying and my decision to take my own life came out of logical reasoning rather than despair. I wrote a note to my wife with a piece of charcoal and then cut my wrists. I lay down and waited to die, but my blood had thickened and wouldn’t drain.
The following morning I woke up. I hadn’t managed to kill myself. Death didn’t want me yet.
I took it as a sign. I regained confidence and I decided to see it as a new competition against myself. I became determined and focused again. I was thinking of my children. I put myself in order – Mauro the athlete was back. I needed to have a plan. I still had quite a lot of energy left, I wasn’t tired. As a former pentathlete I was used to training 12 hours a day and I had trained well for the Marathon des Sables so I didn’t feel too weak. I still had some energy tablets, too.
I regained my strength and mental lucidity. I decided to get out of the shrine and start walking again, but where to? I followed the advice the Tuareg had given us all before we started the race: “If you’re lost, head for the clouds that you can see on the horizon at dawn, that’s where you will find life. During the day they will disappear but set your compass and carry on in that direction.” So I decided to head for those mythical clouds on the horizon.
I walked in the desert for days, killing snakes and lizards and eating them raw – that way I drank, too. I think there are some instincts, a kind of deja vu, that kick in in an emergency situation: my inner caveman emerged.
I was aware that I was losing an incredible amount of weight – the more I walked, the looser my watch felt on my wrist. I was so dehydrated I couldn’t urinate anymore. Luckily I had some anti-diarrhoea medicine which I kept taking.
Why did Prosperi stop running?
Prosperi soon lost sight of the other competitors but, reluctant to let anyone overtake him, he decided to keep on running. The sand felt like needles piercing his skin, however, and he was forced to reconsider his decision.
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