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Documenting the race requires a lot of moving around every day. We went on course for awhile and then off to various checkpoints (where competitors receive water and have the option to rest) to shoot and interview before heading back to camp to shoot and interview more and then spend the evenings putting it all together.

If Brendan and William were shooting a checkpoint or going on the course for awhile, I’d often stay at the checkpoint to help the volunteers give out water, but also to interview. As you would expect, there are completely different reactions when you interview in the middle of helping a competitor refill his water bottle or digging around their pack to find some electrolytes.

For the front pack of guys who could win the race, there’s no chance because they’re focused on winning the race and not just completing it. The slower people who are walking at the back will stop and talk to you for as long as you need.

In the middle, it’s a combination. Some are angry with themselves that they aren’t doing better (so stay away!), others are pushing hard, and further still, some are tired and can’t say anything beyond “good” when you ask them how they are. Then again, some have great attitudes and outgoing personalities and will talk no matter what.

But there’s only so much interviewing of competitors you can do at a checkpoint and so I spent as much time possible trying to meet people along the course. Here are some of the people I meet:

Hello, my name is…

Twenty-two kilometers into Stage 2 was Checkpoint 2, located in a village of about a dozen houses and a comparatively tall telecommunications tower.

I met half a dozen children in the village, including a trio of three year olds, two ten year olds and a girl who was seven. Klubic and Hallela were the 10 year olds and eventually, after a lot of hand gesturing, we began speaking in Putonghua and then learning English. Klubic and Hallela could actually read English very well and at one point ran to get their English reader from Klubic’s house. But they couldn’t speak or understand anything, including a simple greeting. So with two hours to kill (the photographer and videographer were out on course) I got to work and made an English-Putonghua dictionary of colors and greetings.

And then we got practicing because I was pretty certain that this many different English speakers wouldn’t be passing by this village any time soon. At this point in the race, the slower competitors were starting to come through, meaning there was a higher chance of conversation. Klubic was the less shy of the two so when Tremaine Kent (one of the competitors) walked by, I asked if he would mind saying hello.

Klubic: “Hello, my name is Klubic.”

Tremaine: “Hello, my name is Tremaine.”

Blank stare. I wrote out the word “Tremaine” and Klubic nodded before looking down at his dictionary to ask: “How are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

“I am fine.”

Tremaine said goodbye and went off on the course and then Klubic wanted to practice the name “Tremaine”, which is great, but I was kind of thinking he should practice more popular names. Like John.

Klubic and Hallea repeated the conversations over and over again and if a competitor was wearing black, white, red, green or yellow, we would also point to the colors and have them say the words.

After two hours, I had to leave and go to the next camp, which was actually a little bit sad because what English teacher wants to leave having only taught her students three phrases and five colors?

Konichiwa, ogenki desu ka

These kinds of races see competitors from all over the world – Estonia, South Africa, New Zealand and the list goes on.

As a quick aside (but also as an intro into this anecdote), from my experience working on races in Namibia and Gobi, the Japanese and South Korean competitors have, as a whole, the best attitudes to the race, always smiling and really happy to enjoy the experience of being there. In the Gobi, the oldest competitor was a woman named Kumi Murakami whose advice to the youngest competitors was: “Stop doing these races if you don’t enjoy them”. And in the words of this Austrian elite racer, who finished second overall: “Every time I do these races, I request to be in their tents. They have the best attitudes and of course, the best food. I always like to see what they are eating.”

To get back to my original story, I was at Peach Village doing an interview with the village head for a magazine piece. A 15-year old boy was beside the village head and whenever there was a problem with my pronunciation, I would write out the characters and he would repeat the words to the village head. The village head went to solve some sort of problem that comes with having 200 people cramming into an 11-house village and so I asked the teen about school. And because my Chinese is limited, I asked him what subjects at school he liked. He said languages and eventually told me that he would like to learn Japanese. So I told him there were Japanese competitors who could teach him and we agreed to meet later.

Later that evening, I found Takeshi-san to help. We made another dictionary, this time Mandarin and Japanese and Takeshi-san spent about 20 minutes teaching half a dozen phrases. Konichiwa may never be used again in Peach Village, but if you’re stopping by, test it out and see.

You run 250 km? Well, I run barefoot

I spent the week asking locals about what they thought about 150 people completing a race through the Gobi Desert, where they run or walk for 250 km in one week. Usually the villagers would nod and sometimes stare at the competitors’ strange, spandex clothing. If I got an answer, it was something generic like: “We like having them here.”

Maybe I’m not dramatic enough? Or maybe I need to show the villagers the competitors’ feet for a reaction? (Competitors feet get really, really gross)

Turns out, it just takes a hyperactive kid for a reaction. At a checkpoint one day, this kid hops off a moving truck and runs barefoot towards our photographer William and begins shouting at him. I come over and ask him if he’s okay.

“What’s going on?” he shouts to me.

“A race.”

“A race?”

“Yes, people are running for one week, for 250 kilometres.”

“One week for 250 kilometres!” he exclaims.

We repeat back and forth and back and forth and there’s something about where everyone is from and then suddenly he realizes that the moving truck has moved to a completely new field. He bolts barefoot towards the long-gone truck, as if newly inspired but most likely just because he missed his ride.

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Read the Entire Gobi March Series:

1. Marching through the Gobi Desert: The Race Begins
2. Marching through the Gobi Desert: Endurance
3. Marching through the Gobi Desert: The Finish

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About the Author:

Melanie Ho was part of the media team that covered the Gobi March. She has worked for the South China Morning Post covering the 2008 Olympics and was also on the media team for last year’s desert race in Namibia. Although originally from Canada, Melanie now makes her home in Hong Kong.