Читать книгу Finding Gobi - Dion Leonard, Dion Leonard - Страница 6

PROLOGUE

The camera crew finished up last night. Someone from the publisher arrives tomorrow. I can still feel the jet lag and other side effects of forty-one hours of travel in my body. So Lucja and I have already decided to make this, our first run of the year, an easy one. Besides, it’s not just the two of us we need to think about. There’s Gobi to consider.

We take it easy as we pass the pub, drop down beside Holyrood Palace, and see the clear blue sky give way to the grassy mountain that dominates Edinburgh’s skyline. Arthur’s Seat. I’ve run up there more times than I can remember, and I know it can be brutal. The wind can be so strong in your face that it pushes you back. The hail can bite into your skin like knives. On days like those, I crave the 120-degree heat of the desert.

But today there’s no wind or hail. There’s nothing brutal about the air as we climb, as if the mountain wants to show itself off in all its cloudless glory.

As soon as we hit the grass, Gobi is transformed. This dog that’s small enough for me to carry under one arm is turned into a raging lion as she pulls forward up the slope.

“Wow!” says Lucja. “Look at her energy!”

Before I can say anything, Gobi turns around, tongue lolling out, eyes bright, ears forward, chest puffed. It’s as if she understands exactly what Lucja’s said.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I say, pushing the pace up a bit in an attempt to loosen the strain on the leash. “She was just like this back in the mountains.”

We push farther up, closer to the summit. I’m thinking how, even though I named her after a desert, I first saw Gobi on the cold, rugged slopes of the Tian Shan. She’s a true climber, and with every step we take, she comes more and more alive. Soon her tail is wagging so fast it blurs, her whole body bouncing and pulsing with pure joy. When she looks back again, I swear she’s grinning. Come on! she says. Let’s go!

At the top, I soak in all the familiar sights. The whole of Edinburgh is spread out beneath us, and beyond it is the Forth Bridge, the hills of Lomond, and the West Highland Way, every one of whose ninety-six miles I have run. I can see North Berwick, too, a full marathon distance away. I love the run along the beach, even on the tough days when the wind is trying to batter me down and every mile feels like a battle all its own.

It’s been more than four months since I’ve been here. While it’s all familiar, there’s something different about it as well.

Gobi.

She decides it’s time to descend and drags me down the hill. Not down the path, but straight down. I leap over tufts of grass and rocks the size of suitcases, Lucja keeping pace beside me. Gobi navigates them all with skill. Lucja and I look at each other and laugh, enjoying the moment we have longed for, to be a family and finally able to run together.

Running isn’t usually this fun. In fact, for me, running is never fun. Rewarding and satisfying, maybe, but not laugh-out-loud fun. Not like it is now.

Gobi wants to keep running, so we let her lead. She takes us wherever she wants to go, sometimes back up the mountain, sometimes down. There’s no training plan and no pre-mapped route. There are no worries either. No concerns. It’s a carefree moment, and for that and so much more, I’m grateful.

After the last six months, I feel like I need it.

I’ve faced things I never thought I’d face, all because of this little blur of brown fur that’s pulling my arm out of its socket. I’ve faced fear like I’ve never known before. I’ve felt despair as well, the sort that turns the air around you stale and lifeless. I’ve faced death.

But that’s not the whole story. There’s so much more.

The truth is that this little dog has changed me in ways I think I’m only just beginning to understand. Maybe I’ll never fully understand it all.

Yet I do know this: finding Gobi was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life.

But being found by her—that was one of the best things.