Rebecca Byerly adapting to the desert conditions [REBECCA BYERLY]

JB Benna, of Journey Film, and Rebecca Byerly, an adventure journalist, documented February's race for Al Jazeera.

Here Rebecca describes the challenges of adventure racing and the opportunity to share unique cross-cultural experiences.

Alone, in the Sahara desert in southwest Libya, I walked through the night. 

A magnificent chandelier of stars hung above me, and the Akakus Mountains rose ahead. 

Silence, there were no cars or people for miles. 

Only the sound of my footsteps on the rocky terrain.

"I am a 25-year-old American woman, and I'm alone in the Libyan desert," I thought. 

"This is crazy! I've just learned to use my GPS [global positioning system] and now my life depends on it." 

But, to my surprise, I was not afraid. I was totally at peace and had never felt more alive. This was one of the many surprises the desert would bring.

As a journalist and adventure athlete, I believe sports are one of the best ways to connect with people across cultures. 

My colleague, filmmaker JB Benna, and I had come to document Libyan culture and compete in one of the most difficult endurance races in the world.

Participants use a GPS for navigation and carry all the equipment they need to survive; including 7,000 calories of food, a flare, and a venom extractor.

In recent years, relations between the US and Libya have improved, and for the first time Americans could participate in the event. 

For the US team the trip was not about politics but the opportunity to experience Libya through the perspective of a runner.

Coming into this race, I really did not know what to expect. 

The US team was venturing into a part of Libya that had not seen American tourists for nearly 30 years.

There were hundreds of kilometres to cover, but for me, success in this race was not measured by distance. It was measured by the human interactions I had, the culture I absorbed and shared, and each person I met.

I remember a few incidents vividly.

Rebecca with Najim - head of the Libyan Tourist Police [JB BENNA JOURNEY FILM]

"What should we do?" we thought. 

How suspicious we must have looked - two Americans with video cameras, walking through the desert in running clothes. 

As the vehicle got closer, I understood what they were saying. "Yalla, Yalla, Yalla," which translates loosely to "go faster!" 

To our relief, we realised they'd come to support us.

"You are the first Americans I've met," said Najim, a Libyan man in his late 30s. 

He was in charge of the police assigned to watch over the race. 

We became friends, and periodically over the next few days, the tourist police, led by Najim, would zoom by blaring words of encouragement. 

"You are like a brother and sister to me," Najim told us. 

"You are the best impression of America."

Tuareg Friends [JB BENNA JOURNEY FILM]

During the event, we trekked through prehistoric forests, canyons, endless skylines of sand dunes and across black, crumbling volcanic rock. 

In some ways, the experience was evocative of man's first walk on the moon; we ventured deeper into the Sahara and into the unexplored places within ourselves.

One of the highlights of the race were the rock paintings we encountered six hours in. 

The paintings are thousands of years old and some depict Libya when it was a jungle. Now Libya is one of the driest places on earth. 

What I remember most about these paintings was not the artwork but the conversations we had with the Tuareg tour guides. 

"I have many European tourists," the young guide said, "but never Americans." 

Then, just before he drove away in a Land Rover packed with British tourists, he stopped, stuck his head out the window, and said in excellent English, "It's good you're here." 

In the desert, the mere struggle for survival brings people closer and cultural differences tend to dissolve.

Mohammed, a Tuareg runner hardening his feet by the fire [JMT C&O/Arc en ciel ]

While most participants wore special socks, shoes, and foot coverings in the race, Mohammed, one of the Tuareg participants, ran a portion of the race without shoes. 

He prepared by toughening his feet over an open fire – a cringe-worthy sight for onlookers such as myself.

While we didn't adopt all the Tuaregs' methods, we were already practicing some.

Similar to their head-coverings, most of the runners in this race wear what is called a "buff", a type of bandanna they pull over their face to lessen the intensity of the sweltering desert sun.

When you are out in the desert, it doesn't matter what country you are from, which God you worship, or how much money you have. 

We are all out there suffering together with one goal in mind - to cross the finish line. 

Barriers give way in races such as this to wordless conversations. 

For endurance runners, the common language is pain, overcome by determination.

You may walk hours with another runner and know what he or she is thinking every step of the way even though you don't speak the same language. 

From dehydration, to foot problems, and lack of sleep, we all suffered in the desert.

Before the race, I struggled to make conversation with some of the participants but after the race, we were joined by our gruelling 200km trek to the finish.

In video

Adventure racing in Libya

This is a race where finish times differ by days. The winners finished in under 30 hours. 

My teammates and I crossed the finish line in the middle of the pack in 58 hours.

Mohammed, the Tuareg competitor, who ran barefoot, crossed the line in 75 hours.

For me, this race was an opportunity to grow as a person, to explore a country I knew little about, and make lasting friendships. 

I am still in touch with many of the Libyan and Tuareg people I met during the trip. 

But this year's adventure was only the beginning. We are already planning for next year's race.