Finding Gobi. Dion Leonard

the people back at the previous camp or to one of the race organizers.

      “You know what you’ve got to do now, don’t you?” said Richard.

      “What?”

      “You’ve got to give her a name.”

6

      I stopped running less than a mile in and cursed my stupidity.

      The last twenty-four hours had brought all kinds of weather our way, from the snow and rain of the mountains to the dry heat that greeted us as we came down to camp. All night high winds had been tearing at the sides of the tent, and when I got up, the temperature was the coldest for any start yet.

      The cold bothered me. I’d been looking forward to the day, knowing it was going to be flatter and hotter, but, instead, I’d found myself shivering on the start line. While the other runners went through their pre-race routines, I’d thrown off my backpack, rummaged around inside, and pulled out my light jacket, completely upsetting my usual precise and carefully prepared race start.

      And now I was taking it off again. After a few minutes the sun had come out, and the temperature had started to rise. I should have been happy about it, but I could feel myself start to overheat in my wet weather gear. With five hours of hard running ahead of me, I had no choice but to stop.

      As I pulled at zippers and plastic clips and shoved the jacket away, I noticed Tommy, Julian, and two others run past and reclaim the lead.

      Then one more runner approached, and I smiled.

      “Hey, Gobi,” I said, using the name I’d given her the night before. “You changed your mind, did you?”