A week is a long time in running. Or, to be more precise, a week is long time if you are planning to run pretty much continually throughout it. After a few rash decisions and some naive optimism, I am now in the Gobi desert in China, about to face this exciting, if somewhat daunting, prospect.

The Ultra Trail of the Gobi (UTG) describes itself as a 400km (250-mile) single-stage, self-navigated, self-supported race. Loosely based on the journey of a seventh-century Buddhist monk Xuanzang (he took several years), the route passes some truly inhospitable terrain in Gansu Province. In his records, Xuanzang describes it as a place that contains “nothing but barren sand and dry river beds”, where “when it is hot, the heat sears you like a flame; when it is cold, the wind cuts your flesh like a knife”. Based on information from someone who has checked out the course, it doesn’t sound as if much has changed in the past 1,400 years. During this race, the 49 other competitors and I will have to battle with temperatures ranging from -20C to 30C, avoid underfed wild dogs and wolves and face a 3000-metre mountain thrown in for good measure. The cut-off time is 150 hours – and the clock runs continuously.

The UTG is part of a growing trend among runners to experiment with just how far they can physically go. Twenty years ago, people might have been impressed with a marathon, but since then, distance inflation has been rampant. Much as most long-distance runners hate to admit it, impressing others can’t be ignored as a motivation and, when a slightly overweight, middle-aged standup comedian ran 27 marathons in 27 days, they ceased to produce the requisite awe.



It’s perhaps unsurprising therefore that ultramarathons (technically anything more than 26.2 miles) have been rising in popularity over the past decade. In the US, the number of runners completing races of more than 50km (31 miles) rose from roughly 11,000 in 2000, to more than 72,000 last year.

In the UK, there has also been an explosion in the number of “ultras”, with many selling out at the speed of Glastonbury tickets. With a growing middle class, China has also seen the races’ popularity rising fast in recent years; it seems life has to be quite comfortable before one voluntarily choses to make it uncomfortable.

The UTG is in its own league of “super ultra” races. To put the distance into perspective, the world’s most famous desert race, the Marathon des Sables, which I trudged my way through in 2014, is 250km and is broken into six stages over six days. Add in the navigation, the extremes of temperature and the need to develop a “sleep strategy” and the Gobi ultra becomes a logistically complex form of self-flagellation.

Signing up for the UTG in June didn’t leave a great deal of time for training. The advice I received from others who had done similar events was simply to run as much as possible. With an 11km plod to and from work and a couple of long runs on the weekend, I was able to build up to 120-150km a week quite quickly but, between work and travelling, I struggled to go much beyond that.

Food, both the eating of it and the planning of it, was the other priority. While training, I discovered a new appreciation of all-you-can-eat restaurants. For the actual race, the rules require competitors to bring 25,000 calories, most of which can be placed in drop bags along the course. In the past I’ve found most energy bars too sweet and synthetic, but recently I’ve been fortunate to discover some people in London making sports food out of beetroot, goji berries and just about every other “superfood” you can imagine.

My medical certification for the UTG wasn’t without complications. In February, I visited a doctor in Kathmandu for a routine checkup. Much to my, and I think his, surprise, he found a large hole in my heart. One open-heart surgery, a week in hospital and three months of impatient recovery later, and I was back to running again, a little out of shape, but now with the advantage of a fully functional heart.

Joining me in the Gobi will be an impressive bunch of experienced masochists. The international field includes Pavel Paloncy, multiple winner of the brutal Spine race; Harvey Lewis and Marshall Ulrich, both multiple winners of the famously gruelling 135-mile Badwater race in Death Valley; and Jenny Davis, professional ultra-runner and campaigner for women’s participation in sport. The Chinese competitors, including some who have already run the course, are known to be formidable. If I’m able to keep up for more than a few hundred yards, I might even be able to find out more about them.

Signal and sanity permitting, I will be updating the Guardian running blog with my progress across the Gobi from 28 September. You can also follow my deterioration on Instagram @jogonalfie

