Just a Little Run Around the World: 5 Years, 3 Packs of Wolves and 53 Pairs of Shoes
After her husband died of cancer, 57-year-old Rosie set off to run around the world, raising money in memory of the man she loved. Followed by wolves, knocked down by a bus, confronted by bears, chased by a naked man with a gun and stranded with severe frostbite, Rosie's breathtaking 20,000-mile solo journey is as gripping as it is inspiring.Rosie's solo run around the world started out of sorrow and heartache and a wish to turn something around.Heartbroken when she lost her husband to cancer, Rosie set off from Wales with nothing but a small backpack of food and equipment, and funded by the rent from her little cottage. So began her epic 5-year journey that would take her 20,000 miles around the world, crossing Europe, Russia, Asia, Alaska, North America, Greenland, Iceland, and back into the UK.On a good day she'd run 30 miles, on a bad day she'd only manage 500 yards, digging herself out of the snow at -62 degrees C, moving her cart inches at a time. Every inch, every mile, was a triumph, a celebration of life, and 53 pairs of shoes later Rosie arrived home to jubilant crowds in Tenby, Wales.Rosie's incredible story is a mesmerizing page-turner of the run of her life. It will wake up the sleeping adventurer in you; it will inspire hope, courage and determination in you; but most of all it will convince you to live your life to the full and make every day count.
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ROSIE SWALE POPE
Just a Little
Run Around the World
5 years,
3 packs of wolves and 53 pairs of shoes
‘Things last for ever,
not in years, but in the moments in which they happen.’ —Rosie Swale Pope
For Clive, Eve and James, Pete, Jayne and Nigel and the rest of my family far and wide.
Contents
Chapter 5 - Eric the Wild Boar
Chapter 6 - Need Makes the Naked Lady Spin
Chapter 7 - Rip Van Winkle in a Snow-hole
Chapter 8 - Touching the Stars
Chapter 9 - A Stranger is Family
Chapter 10 - The World of Special So-called Ordinary People
Chapter 11 - Shaken not Stirred
Chapter 12 - The Rising of the Phoenix
Chapter 13 - To Russia with Love
Chapter 14 - Unstoppable Friend
Chapter 15 - Paw-prints in the Snow
Chapter 16 - Kitezh: Bad Times Can End
Chapter 17 - The Axeman Cometh
Chapter 18 - Running into Asia
Chapter 19 - Omsk: The First Race
Chapter 20 - Bandit on a Bicycle
Chapter 21 - In a Siberian Hospital
Chapter 22 - Winter in Siberia
Chapter 23 - A Siberian Bridge Has No Middle
Chapter 24 - Falling in Love with Alaska
Chapter 25 - There’s No Place Like Nome
Chapter 26 - Surviving in Alaska
Chapter 33 - Ballad of the Red Toenails
Chapter 34 - Life Is a Marathon
Chapter 35 - I Am the Wildlife
Chapter 36 - Running Against the Current
Chapter 37 - New York, New York
Chapter 38 - Goodbye Charlie, Hello Icebird
Chapter 39 - The Most Beautiful Sound in the World
Chapter 40 - The World’s Largest Island
Chapter 41 - Vikings with Golden Hearts
Chapter 42 - Thor’s Hammer and Thorgeir’s Teabags
Chapter 43 - Just a Little Run Down Britain
Siberia, January 2005
There are a hundred different types of silence in Siberia. The atmosphere becomes part of you. You can sometimes see bare white silver birches in the depth of winter hung with stars on a clear night. In the mesmerising vast forests, dusk in January begins at 2 pm. By then everything is in its hole or nest—or nearly everything.
On a cold, still night, I pull my cart that doubles as a sled, deep into the forest and find some smooth snow among the trees. I put up the tent, collect a bowl of fresh snow to take inside with me to melt on the tiny primus stove for drinks and cooking; it’s the nearest thing I have to a kitchen. I have even gathered some icy tree bark from the fallen branches to make tea. The Siberian people have taught me this. It’s not quite PG Tips but it’s nourishing and tastes fine. Need is a great teacher. I also boil up a few handfuls of buckwheat grain to make a kind of porridge. It’s a measure of the power of the silence that even a light footstep outside can make your heart stop. Something is out there.
The night birds—maybe they are jays—suddenly start screeching and chattering. Alert. Out from their hiding places. Gone is their silent vigil. They are harsh calls of warning. Then I hear the howling.
Moments later the wolf has stuck his head right into the tent. My first impression isn’t one of danger or fear but of his absolute beauty. He is a great big timber wolf. His tawny head and long front legs with giant-looking furry paws are covered with drops of half-frozen snow that gleam like diamonds on his thick fur. He has a good look around, as though I should have been expecting his visit. Maybe I am. After all, this is his world.
My heart is thundering. Yet my strongest instinct is that he’s not going to attack me. I have learned to trust my instinct. It’s all I have. I stay quiet, but the wolf knows I’m shaken. You can’t pretend to animals. They always know how you feel. Then he backs away and he’s gone.
I have to go out to repair the ripped tent flap with duct tape. The moon has risen, revealing a pack of wolves waiting like grey shadows among the trees.
The next morning they have left but they come back again at the end of the day when I set up camp. I am on a desolate road that stretches for miles through the forest. I’ve only observed one or two vehicles over the last few days travelling to the mines in the far east of Russia. There are no houses for hundreds of miles and I wonder if these wolves have seen a human before. Perhaps I’m just part of the wildlife.
Over the next few days they disappear at daylight and reappear when I stop for the night. They never come close to the tent again or harm me. It is as if they are running with me. They always gather for the night quite a distance away. I’m uneasy—yet at the same time their presence comforts me in a way I don’t quite understand. After about a week they vanish. I believe it’s because I’ve left their terrain; I have crossed an invisible border.
These beautiful wolves with their ancient, strange ways gave me courage to think of the painful memories of why my run had begun.
