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Ian Corless, with 37 years of photography experience, transitioned from commercial to sports photography in 2009. As a photojournalist specializing in running, Ian captures compelling stories through his lens. Now based in Norway, he travels the world for races and brands, driven by his passion for adventure, travel, and photography.
There is a place in Northwest China where the land tells stories older than empires, where silence stretches wider than the sky. There are few places on Earth where you can feel both utterly lost and completely alive. The Ultra Gobi 400 is one of them.
This isn’t just an ultramarathon, it’s not even just a race. It’s an immersion into an ancient landscape that does not care who you are or what you have achieved. With an allocated 141-hours, stripped of comfort and control, runners face the raw elements of the Gobi Desert, where history sleeps beneath the sand and every step forward is a battle between endurance and surrender. It’s an experience carved out of myth, dust, and sheer human will.
Just 55 athletes were selected for 2025, not for glory, but for something deeper. For 400 km they navigated one of the world’s most extreme environments on foot, with a GPS and a backpack. Ahead: windswept mountains, exposed deserts, and forgotten relics of the Silk Road.
Every journey has a beginning, after arriving in Beijing, runners travel west to Dunhuang, the cultural gateway to the Gobi Desert. The journey begins not with the race, but with stillness.
Dunhuang, a small city in Gansu Province, once served as a vital stop on the legendary Silk Road, in the region known as the Hexi Corridor. This has long been a meeting place of empires, religions, and trade. Now, it becomes the threshold between the modern world and a wilder one.
At night, Dunhuang’s market spills into the streets. Strings of red lanterns glow above food stalls; vendors shout over sizzling grills and clattering woks. Smoke rises in ribbons, carrying the scent of spices. Bowls of hand-pulled noodles swim in fire-red broth. Skewers hiss on open flames. Melons are hacked open. It’s loud, messy, alive and all unfolding under a desert sky.
With extra time, runners can explore the desert dunes or visit Crescent Moon Lake, where Buddhist grottoes carve stories into sandstone.
From Dunhuang, it’s a short journey to Gobi Springs, the race’s starting hub, an otherworldly stretch of desert where mountains rise out of nowhere and the air hangs heavy with possibility.
Runners settle into luxury tents, each with a personalized wooden nameplate. The attention to detail is second to none. Equipment checks, briefings, and an opening ceremony follow. There’s reverence in the air. Everyone knows what’s coming. The camaraderie is real, but so is the weight of what lies ahead. The silence thickens. The air cools. No need to hype it up. The desert does not do mercy, and every runner knows it.
The race begins at 21:30 with a light show at “The Orthogonal,” - a symbolic opening ceremony that adds spectacle to the silence. One by one, each runner sets off alone into the dark, 15-seconds apart, their headlamps flickering like tiny lighthouses in a sea of sand.
The first night and day hit hard, with 65 km’s to R2, including a 1,500-meter climb and a descent one runner called chaos: no trail, just raw terrain. ‘Pick your own misery,’ the frontrunners said. Yet through it all, the land stunned with towering cliffs, sun-scorched rock, and a silence that was vast and reverent. Beautiful, brutal, and bigger than anyone could prepare for.
“I wanted to win this race, but I did not intend to take it wire to wire,” wrote Cody Poskin (USA), who went on to break the course record and win the 2025 edition. “From miles of open desert to river crossings to mountain passes, I charged on, feeling relaxed and in control. Night turned to daylight, turned back to night, and the delirium set in.”
Every 10 km, there’s water. Every 40km +/-, a key R Station - a temporary refuge to eat, sleep, refresh, and recharge. Some runners rest for hours, others crash for five minutes and move on. But even here, humanity shows up. Volunteers bring not just food and water, but small gifts: stones with names, lucky charms, handmade tokens of encouragement. They cheer with warmth that cuts through the cold.
There are no flags or painted arrows, just a GPS track and runner instinct. The course changes every year. The Gobi is alive. Mountains shift. Rivers vanish. The wind constantly rewrites the sand.
“The course took me directly under hundreds of wind turbines as I ran under the clear Gobi sky,” Cody reflected. “The day grew hot, and fatigue set in. I wandered in the desert, tracking a straight line for mile after mile.”
Along the way lie two UNESCO World Heritage Sites. Easy to miss them in the moment, but their presence lingers: Xuanquanzhi Posthouse, once a nerve center for Silk Road couriers, and Suoyang City, a vast ghost city buried in sand.
For Cody, his race was certainly not seamless. With the finish feeling close, he stumbled into an aid station barely able to speak. After a short nap and a massage, he returned to the trail, chasing the dark horizon. But nothing went to plan. He got lost, bushwhacking through dunes and crossing streams in the dead of night. At the final checkpoint, volunteers revived him with food, encouragement, and belief.
“These races are filled with highs and lows, but the support from my community always remains constant… What I will cherish most is the relationships formed. I shared miles with elite runners and formed the most wholesome bonds with countless volunteers… Until next time.”
He finished in 64 hours, 49 minutes, and 32 seconds.
Behind him, a different story unfolded. Jovica Spajić (Serbia) and Aaron Kubala (USA) joined forces at the 161 km mark and ran 240 km together. They shared food, pain, and navigation - they were inseparable.
“When he was in trouble, I was there for him,” Spajić said. “Now I have a new brother.”
Their race was not about rankings. For Jovica, it was about representing Serbia with heart, culture, and pride. Every step was part of a greater mission. And in the end, it was not rivalry at the finish, it was unity.
With pressure from Sange Sherpa in fourth, and a navigational error in the final stages, the duo pushed their tired bodies to the edge. But they crossed the line together, finally piecing their tigers together - a moment of deep symbolism.
The Tiger Tally
Each runner carries one half of a tiger, based on the ancient Chinese Tiger Tally, a military symbol of authority and a pledge to return. One half is given at the start, the other at the finish. Only when reunited is the journey complete.
Magical Moments in Harsh Lands
Amid the isolation, connections happen: a boy in a remote village staring, wide-eyed, at his first foreigner. A woman picking cotton who pauses for a photo. A dusty restaurant serving food that feels like salvation. In a place where survival is the focus, these moments breathe life back into the race.
Junyue Zheng, from Chengdu, is not just an elite ultra runner, she’s also a wedding dress designer and restaurant owner. She ran with poise and her trademark red-tinted smile. Yes, she applies lipstick before the finish line.
“With lipstick on, I feel stronger, more powerful, and more capable,” she said.
In 2025, she returned to defend her title. After finishing fifth overall and first among women in 92 hours, 24 minutes, she reflected that this year was not about winning.
“I soon realized I wouldn’t’t break my course record. Winning was not even the priority. So, I switched to enjoying myself.”
The opening stages were tough, but she found her rhythm. She stopped more. Smiled more. Gradually, the desert unfolded.
“What makes the Ultra Gobi so special are the people and the landscape… The volunteers were so warm and friendly. Everyone wished me the best.”
On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, while families gathered under the full moon, Junyue was alone in the desert, guided only by moonlight. While others chased finish lines, Junyue Zheng sought moments, and in doing so, she became a queen of the Gobi.
Among the standout finishers: Lucy Schodell, took second place after an intense multi-day push. Her race was a team effort, run alongside her trusted friend John William Carey.
Over five relentless days, they navigated fatigue, breakdown, and the psychological toll of isolation. Together, they moved forward, trading off leadership, motivating each other, and managing the fine line between pace and survival.
Reaching second place was a personal triumph, but also a case study in how shared effort can transform even the harshest challenges.
And then there are the others, the quiet warriors. Of the 55 who started, 50 crossed the line.
Guo Yang and Melissa Venabales took 3rd and 4th place, demonstrating both their endurance and the increasing international talent in ultra-distance events. Melissa, notably, the first ever female finisher from the UK, post-race she summed it up, “What an experience… So many emotions, but most of all pure joy at the beauty this race holds.”
The final runner, Wang Shouhui, made it under the wire in 136 hours, 46 minutes.
“Even though I gave it my all, I still feel I need to push myself harder,” he said. “There is a quiet sense of loss, not because of the result, but because I have to leave this beautiful place.”
That’s six days in motion. Heat by day. Freezing cold by night. Hallucinations. Bone-breaking terrain. Yet he kept going.
Gong Ming Cheng, 58, completed his eighth consecutive Ultra Gobi.
“This year was one of the toughest,” he said. His presence inspired runners half his age. Some dropped out. Some cried. A few got lost. But 50 finished, not because they were faster, but because they refused to quit.
“Life is a journey, and we have to keep going,” said Sange Sherpa, who finished fourth.
Why fly across the world to run 400 km through a desert with no trail? Why suffer? Because sometimes, you need to leave comfort to find clarity. You need to go where wind shapes the world and silence teaches you who you are. You need to get lost to remember what matters. The Ultra Gobi 400 doesn’t promise success. It offers a mirror held up by mountains and stars. What you do with it; that’s the real challenge. That’s why they return. Not to win. But to feel alive. To suffer and be seen. To come back with sand in their shoes and stories in their hearts. In the end, it’s not about time or distance. It’s about transformation. The desert doesn’t remember your splits. But it does remember the spirit of the participants.
There is a place in Northwest China where the land tells stories older than empires, where silence stretches wider than the sky. There are few places on Earth where you can feel both utterly lost and completely alive. The Ultra Gobi 400 is one of them.
This isn’t just an ultramarathon, it’s not even just a race. It’s an immersion into an ancient landscape that does not care who you are or what you have achieved. With an allocated 141-hours, stripped of comfort and control, runners face the raw elements of the Gobi Desert, where history sleeps beneath the sand and every step forward is a battle between endurance and surrender. It’s an experience carved out of myth, dust, and sheer human will.
Just 55 athletes were selected for 2025, not for glory, but for something deeper. For 400 km they navigated one of the world’s most extreme environments on foot, with a GPS and a backpack. Ahead: windswept mountains, exposed deserts, and forgotten relics of the Silk Road.
Every journey has a beginning, after arriving in Beijing, runners travel west to Dunhuang, the cultural gateway to the Gobi Desert. The journey begins not with the race, but with stillness.
Dunhuang, a small city in Gansu Province, once served as a vital stop on the legendary Silk Road, in the region known as the Hexi Corridor. This has long been a meeting place of empires, religions, and trade. Now, it becomes the threshold between the modern world and a wilder one.
At night, Dunhuang’s market spills into the streets. Strings of red lanterns glow above food stalls; vendors shout over sizzling grills and clattering woks. Smoke rises in ribbons, carrying the scent of spices. Bowls of hand-pulled noodles swim in fire-red broth. Skewers hiss on open flames. Melons are hacked open. It’s loud, messy, alive and all unfolding under a desert sky.
With extra time, runners can explore the desert dunes or visit Crescent Moon Lake, where Buddhist grottoes carve stories into sandstone.
From Dunhuang, it’s a short journey to Gobi Springs, the race’s starting hub, an otherworldly stretch of desert where mountains rise out of nowhere and the air hangs heavy with possibility.
Runners settle into luxury tents, each with a personalized wooden nameplate. The attention to detail is second to none. Equipment checks, briefings, and an opening ceremony follow. There’s reverence in the air. Everyone knows what’s coming. The camaraderie is real, but so is the weight of what lies ahead. The silence thickens. The air cools. No need to hype it up. The desert does not do mercy, and every runner knows it.
The race begins at 21:30 with a light show at “The Orthogonal,” - a symbolic opening ceremony that adds spectacle to the silence. One by one, each runner sets off alone into the dark, 15-seconds apart, their headlamps flickering like tiny lighthouses in a sea of sand.
The first night and day hit hard, with 65 km’s to R2, including a 1,500-meter climb and a descent one runner called chaos: no trail, just raw terrain. ‘Pick your own misery,’ the frontrunners said. Yet through it all, the land stunned with towering cliffs, sun-scorched rock, and a silence that was vast and reverent. Beautiful, brutal, and bigger than anyone could prepare for.
“I wanted to win this race, but I did not intend to take it wire to wire,” wrote Cody Poskin (USA), who went on to break the course record and win the 2025 edition. “From miles of open desert to river crossings to mountain passes, I charged on, feeling relaxed and in control. Night turned to daylight, turned back to night, and the delirium set in.”
Every 10 km, there’s water. Every 40km +/-, a key R Station - a temporary refuge to eat, sleep, refresh, and recharge. Some runners rest for hours, others crash for five minutes and move on. But even here, humanity shows up. Volunteers bring not just food and water, but small gifts: stones with names, lucky charms, handmade tokens of encouragement. They cheer with warmth that cuts through the cold.
There are no flags or painted arrows, just a GPS track and runner instinct. The course changes every year. The Gobi is alive. Mountains shift. Rivers vanish. The wind constantly rewrites the sand.
“The course took me directly under hundreds of wind turbines as I ran under the clear Gobi sky,” Cody reflected. “The day grew hot, and fatigue set in. I wandered in the desert, tracking a straight line for mile after mile.”
Along the way lie two UNESCO World Heritage Sites. Easy to miss them in the moment, but their presence lingers: Xuanquanzhi Posthouse, once a nerve center for Silk Road couriers, and Suoyang City, a vast ghost city buried in sand.
For Cody, his race was certainly not seamless. With the finish feeling close, he stumbled into an aid station barely able to speak. After a short nap and a massage, he returned to the trail, chasing the dark horizon. But nothing went to plan. He got lost, bushwhacking through dunes and crossing streams in the dead of night. At the final checkpoint, volunteers revived him with food, encouragement, and belief.
“These races are filled with highs and lows, but the support from my community always remains constant… What I will cherish most is the relationships formed. I shared miles with elite runners and formed the most wholesome bonds with countless volunteers… Until next time.”
He finished in 64 hours, 49 minutes, and 32 seconds.
Behind him, a different story unfolded. Jovica Spajić (Serbia) and Aaron Kubala (USA) joined forces at the 161 km mark and ran 240 km together. They shared food, pain, and navigation - they were inseparable.
“When he was in trouble, I was there for him,” Spajić said. “Now I have a new brother.”
Their race was not about rankings. For Jovica, it was about representing Serbia with heart, culture, and pride. Every step was part of a greater mission. And in the end, it was not rivalry at the finish, it was unity.
With pressure from Sange Sherpa in fourth, and a navigational error in the final stages, the duo pushed their tired bodies to the edge. But they crossed the line together, finally piecing their tigers together - a moment of deep symbolism.
The Tiger Tally
Each runner carries one half of a tiger, based on the ancient Chinese Tiger Tally, a military symbol of authority and a pledge to return. One half is given at the start, the other at the finish. Only when reunited is the journey complete.
Magical Moments in Harsh Lands
Amid the isolation, connections happen: a boy in a remote village staring, wide-eyed, at his first foreigner. A woman picking cotton who pauses for a photo. A dusty restaurant serving food that feels like salvation. In a place where survival is the focus, these moments breathe life back into the race.
Junyue Zheng, from Chengdu, is not just an elite ultra runner, she’s also a wedding dress designer and restaurant owner. She ran with poise and her trademark red-tinted smile. Yes, she applies lipstick before the finish line.
“With lipstick on, I feel stronger, more powerful, and more capable,” she said.
In 2025, she returned to defend her title. After finishing fifth overall and first among women in 92 hours, 24 minutes, she reflected that this year was not about winning.
“I soon realized I wouldn’t’t break my course record. Winning was not even the priority. So, I switched to enjoying myself.”
The opening stages were tough, but she found her rhythm. She stopped more. Smiled more. Gradually, the desert unfolded.
“What makes the Ultra Gobi so special are the people and the landscape… The volunteers were so warm and friendly. Everyone wished me the best.”
On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, while families gathered under the full moon, Junyue was alone in the desert, guided only by moonlight. While others chased finish lines, Junyue Zheng sought moments, and in doing so, she became a queen of the Gobi.
Among the standout finishers: Lucy Schodell, took second place after an intense multi-day push. Her race was a team effort, run alongside her trusted friend John William Carey.
Over five relentless days, they navigated fatigue, breakdown, and the psychological toll of isolation. Together, they moved forward, trading off leadership, motivating each other, and managing the fine line between pace and survival.
Reaching second place was a personal triumph, but also a case study in how shared effort can transform even the harshest challenges.
And then there are the others, the quiet warriors. Of the 55 who started, 50 crossed the line.
Guo Yang and Melissa Venabales took 3rd and 4th place, demonstrating both their endurance and the increasing international talent in ultra-distance events. Melissa, notably, the first ever female finisher from the UK, post-race she summed it up, “What an experience… So many emotions, but most of all pure joy at the beauty this race holds.”
The final runner, Wang Shouhui, made it under the wire in 136 hours, 46 minutes.
“Even though I gave it my all, I still feel I need to push myself harder,” he said. “There is a quiet sense of loss, not because of the result, but because I have to leave this beautiful place.”
That’s six days in motion. Heat by day. Freezing cold by night. Hallucinations. Bone-breaking terrain. Yet he kept going.
Gong Ming Cheng, 58, completed his eighth consecutive Ultra Gobi.
“This year was one of the toughest,” he said. His presence inspired runners half his age. Some dropped out. Some cried. A few got lost. But 50 finished, not because they were faster, but because they refused to quit.
“Life is a journey, and we have to keep going,” said Sange Sherpa, who finished fourth.
Why fly across the world to run 400 km through a desert with no trail? Why suffer? Because sometimes, you need to leave comfort to find clarity. You need to go where wind shapes the world and silence teaches you who you are. You need to get lost to remember what matters. The Ultra Gobi 400 doesn’t promise success. It offers a mirror held up by mountains and stars. What you do with it; that’s the real challenge. That’s why they return. Not to win. But to feel alive. To suffer and be seen. To come back with sand in their shoes and stories in their hearts. In the end, it’s not about time or distance. It’s about transformation. The desert doesn’t remember your splits. But it does remember the spirit of the participants.
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