Yours,
Li Hua
Yours,
Li Hua
Thank you for listening.
Yours,
Li Hua
Yours,
Li Hua
It was a cold, sunny December day when I set out for a run in Moab, with my dog, Taz. As a professional athlete I often went for training runs by myself, and had done this particular route before. So what happened next was just bad luck.
About an hour into my run along a remote canyon trail (峡谷小路), I hit a patch of black ice. I found myself slipping down the rock face, which became steeper (陡峭) and steeper until suddenly I was in free fall. I just remember thinking, I’ve got to land this somehow.”
I fell 60 feet into the canyon, landing on a four-foot square ledge (岩架); if I’d missed it there’s no way I would have survived. I could feel my legs, but I was in sharp pain. Taz had managed to find his way back to me, so I knew there must be a way out of the canyon, but I couldn’t stand or even crawl.
I became focused on getting out of the canyon. I shouted for help, but there was nobody around; it was the middle of December, in the middle of nowhere. I intended to drag myself to the bottom of the ravine (山峡). Every inch was an effort. It took me five hours to go quarter of a mile.
Eventually it got so dark I couldn’t see where I was going, and I decided to stay where I was for the night. All I had on me were my jogging clothes, a water bottle, a couple of energy gel packets, and a shower cap which adventure racers often wear to prevent heat loss.
At night the temperature dropped below freezing. I couldn’t go to sleep or I would die of hypothermia (失温), so I stayed awake doing mini-crunches - lifting my head a few inches, over and over. Taz stayed with me, providing some warmth.
The next morning, I felt myself growing weaker.
Hours later, Taz returned, alone. Then I heard an engine in the distance.