New Tales of the Gobi Desert: Lost
West Island School, Jake Graham, Fiction: Group 3
W
hen you sign up for a race do you take as a death opportunity? Most people don’t
but I certainly do. Anyway, I’ll get to that later.
My name is Kenneth Silvers. Ken for short. And I like running. That’s hardly
surprising considering that I have been running for most of my life. I’ve won
marathons, half-marathons, charity races and I’ve even competed in the Olympics. But I’ve never
done an ultra-marathon or anything along the lines of that before. So, after a bit of thought, I did.
But I never finished. Well I never finished properly.
The race I had signed up for is called the Gobi March. It is a 7 day race across the treacherous
Gobi Dessert. Sounds challenging doesn’t it? Well it’s more than that. In fact I can’t even think
of a word to best describe it. Desolate? Barren? Bone-dry? Not even those get anywhere near the
harsh conditions of the Gobi. And I was supposed to run across it, covering up to 80km each day.
And I had to face all of this for not just 7 days (as planned), but more than a week. All
because I got lost. And to make matters worse I wasn’t only spending days struggling to find
water but I was also trudging forward like a zombie, wondering when my moment would finally
come. So to share my wonderful experience I’ve written this.
I was lining up at the starting line for the fifth leg of the Gobi March, having completed the
previous 4 without trouble. But this leg was different. Rather than being a usual 40km long it
was a whopping 80km long. But what was I to fear? I was ahead, I was completely hydrated and
healthy and I’m a professional runner. But despite all that, what happened, happened. The race
began. I set off. I ran. I hit first place. I gained distance between my opponents. Unfortunately a
little too much. So much in fact that I got lost, and no one was there to help me. Thinking back, I
don’t remember much about what happened next. But I do remember trudging forward and then,
blackness. Maybe I fainted, I’m not sure.
But I recall waking up, my cheek pressed against the rough, hard gravel. The sun beating
down on me and the sweat pouring down my face. My first thought was to shout out. But I
decided not to because that would dehydrate me. And the chances are no one will find me
anyway. So I decided to stay calm and do what Bear Grylls would do. I’d watched his TV show
Man VS Wild. I knew about how to protect my body, find food and most importantly, keep
hydrated. He used tools. But luckily I had tools too. I had a knife, white clothing, and water too.
But that would run out pretty soon. So I decided to find a lake or something to stay near. Now,
one thing you may not know about the Gobi Desert is that there isn’t only sand, but mountains
and gravelly areas too. So I needed to get high up, to work out my next move.
Climbing the mountain was easier said than done, it took me about an hour and I swear I saw
some mountain goats along the way. By then I was thirsty. But I had water. I eventually got to the
top. I scanned the horizon and sure enough, about 6 miles away, were some trees. I climbed down
from the mountain and headed toward the trees, across what seemed a body of sand that stretched
forever. After 4 miles I ran out of water. And sure enough, I was beginning to feel the effects of
the Gobi Desert. But I trudged onward. As I progressed, the trees getting closer, I realised that
there wasn’t any water. What rotten luck. But when you think about it, Gobi actually means
‘waterless place’. And that gets worse when you realise my name actually means ‘clear water’.
