On the third day, we reached a river, at least 150ft wide. Gobi was there at the start line with me next morning and for the rest of the week. A quick check told us that this dog was a female. ‘You’ve got to give it a name,’ said one. Some of the other guys came over to tell me how cute my new friend looked asleep. Within seconds it was cuddled up beside me, snoring. The dog chewed, swallowed, spun round a few times and lay down. ‘Here you go,’ I said, tossing half the meat down. Even now, though it must be famished, it wasn’t trying to steal food. With a piece of biltong meat half-way to my mouth, it struck me that I hadn’t seen the dog eat a thing all day. I sat down next to a tent and pulled out some dried meat. A volunteer brought it a bucket of water, which it lapped greedily. When we crossed the line at the end of the day, I sensed people were cheering more loudly for the dog than they were for me. But then, after hours of hard going through steep forest, there it was again, trotting alongside me - as if running nearly two miles up towards the sky were second nature. I told myself I was glad to see it go, because I had been worried I’d trip over it. It kept this up for a quarter of a mile and then disappeared. ‘You’ll be trampled.’ I waved my foot at the dog, and it took a playful bite at the gaiter.Īnd then we were off, and the moving gaiters made the game even more fun for the dog, who was dancing around my feet. I heard the marshal counting down to the start of the race. It looked up, right into my eyes, and I couldn’t look away. It was standing by my feet, apparently transfixed by the bright yellow gaiters on my shoes (gaiters are pieces of fabric that trail runners wear around their ankles to keep debris from getting into their trainers). Clever dog, I thought, but I won’t be feeding you.Īt the start line next morning I looked down and saw the dog again.

Getting ultra-marathon runners to part with any of their food is no mean feat - they need every calorie they can get. It was walking between the chairs, getting up on its hind legs and charming people into giving it bits of food. And then I saw a small dog, sandy-coloured with great dark eyes and a funny-looking moustache and beard. I joined them to boil some water for a packet meal - dehydrated chilli con carne. And I was going to run across it.Īfter dark, the other runners were sitting round a fire, chatting about how tough the first stretch had been.

It was the end of the first day of an ultra-marathon a seven-day, 155-mile run in some of the most forbidding territory anywhere on Earth - freezing peaks, incessant wind and that desolate, lifeless scrubland known as the Gobi desert. When I fell in love with a stray dog in China, during one of the most gruelling endurance events in the world (Dion Leonard is pictured with his dog Gobi)

Dion leonard gobi