Lessons from the Desert: The Emerging Wisdom of Arriving Together

What an 8-Day Nonstop Race Taught Me About the Future of Human Systems

Carlos came up to me with that look in his eyes — the one that doesn’t need words. But he spoke anyway. “Fernando’s at the edge,” he said. “Barely peeing. What’s coming out looks like blood.”

Dehydration is the desert’s silent assassin — brisk, invisible, and relentless. You can drink liters and still fall behind. Out here, hydration isn’t a choice — it’s a strategy for survival.

I glanced down at my water flask, the last 50 centimeters sloshing against the sun-baked plastic. My mouth was dry, my lips cracked, and the desert was a furnace — 38 degrees Celsius, no shade, no mercy. We were halfway through Racing the Planet, seven marathons (292 Km) across the Atacama Desert. Self-sustained. Teams of three. One rule: the whole team had to arrive. If one dropped, we all dropped.

My team crossing, self sustained, the 80km width of the Atacama desert

That day was the crossing of the Salar de Atacama — an 80-kilometer expanse of bone-white nothingness that turned feet into blisters and minds into mirages. We were at a breaking point. I looked at the…