I had just finished the first stage of a seven-day ultra-marathon in China when I saw Gobi for the first time. It was nearly a year ago.
It was a cold night and I’d walked out of the yurt to get some hot water when I noticed her next to the campfire, a scruffy little dog getting food from people. These races are about self-sufficiency — you carry your food for the week and the situation would have to be really desperate for someone to give any away. I thought: “There’s no way I’m feeding it.”
This race was important to me. I’m 42, and after three years of competitive running I wanted to win. Normally my wife runs alongside me and we’re quite sociable,