27th Gapper Yoon Seung-chul
3½ years of gap year preparation + 1½ years of gap year
Experiences during the gap year: five desert marathons
Hello, I am Yoon Seung-chul, the youngest desert marathon Grand Slammer.
After three and a half years of preparation, I took a one-and-a-half-year gap year. It started when I was twenty, a college freshman, when I accidentally learned about the desert marathon while looking for material for a novel and wanted to try it.
When I was in the second year of middle school, I severely injured my leg after stepping on glass and falling at school while playing. My ankle twisted and my shin bone was broken; I was hospitalized for about four months, and even after discharge I had casts from my toes to my thigh and had to use crutches.
Long hospitalization caused me to gain weight, and I also learned I had flat feet and varicose veins in my legs. Moreover, the injury damaged the growth plate in my left knee, and I had to receive an injection to stop growth in my right knee as well. So much happened at once during my second year of middle school that I even had thoughts I shouldn't have had.
퇴원을 하고 대학생이 될 때까지 5km이상 걸어보지도 못했던 제가 대학생이 되자마자 사막마라톤을 가겠다고 생각한 것은 교수님의 과제 때문이었습니다. 대학생이 되고 처음 받은 과제가 '소설 쓰기'였거든요.
제가 잘 못 뛰고 오래 걷지 못하니 ‘소설 주인공 만큼은 잘 뛰고 잘 달리는 친구로 써보자'라고 생각하여 소재를 찾다가 우연히 누군가 사막을 달리는 것을 본 겁니다. 그 작은 계기로 ‘나도 내 일생에 언젠간 사막을 달려보자'란 마음이 점점 커지게 되어 재활 치료를 시작했고, 군대에 가서도 꾸준히 연습을 해서 3년 반 동안 갭이어를 준비했습니다.
The process of preparing for the desert marathon was a process of overcoming fear.
사막마라톤은 6박7일 동안 250km를 달리는 경기입니다. 오래 걸어본 적도 없는 제가 이렇게 긴 거리를 걷고 뛴다는 게 너무 두려워 1년 반의 갭이어를 가지면서 가장 많이 했던 것은 이에 대한 두려움을 없애기 위한 노력이었습니다.
재활치료를 받고, 2km를 뛰고 5km를 걷고 뛰길 반복했습니다. 다행히도 이런 노력 끝에 앞으로 활동을 하는데 큰 문제가 없다는 것을 알고 나서는 매일 10km씩을 걷고 달렸습니다. 그리고 사막에 갈 수 있겠다는 자신감이 들었을 때는 사막마라톤 참가신청을 위해 학교에 휴학 신청을 했습니다.
그런데 생각지도 못했던 난관(?)이 있었습니다. 바로 사막마라톤 대회 참가비였습니다. 사막마라톤에 참가하는데 참가비가 있을 거라고는 상상도 못했던거죠. ‘내가 잘 달릴 수 있을까'란 생각만 하고 체력적인 걱정만 했는데 막상 휴학을 하고 나서야 700만원에 달하는 비용이 필요하다는 것을 알게됐습니다. 380만원의 참가비와 왕복 비행기값, 그리고 장비를 사야하기 때문이었습니다.
다시 학교에 돌아가려고 문의를 했으나 이미 복학 신청 기간은 만료. 다음 학기와 방학까지 장장 8개월을 쉬어야 하는 상황에 당면했습니다. 생각지도 못한 갭이어의 시작이었습니다.
급한대로 보증금 1천만원에 월세 40이었던 자취방을 부모님 몰래 내놓기로 했습니다. 부모님께서 서울권 대학으로 유학을 갔다며 대출을 받아 마련해주셨던 방인데 말이죠. 그 돈으로 참가비를 내고 비행기표를 마련하고 하월곡동 가건물 옥탑방에 보증금이 없는 18만원짜리인 방으로 이사를 갔습니다. 대회가 6박 7일이니 대회를 다녀와서 복학 전까지 계속 알바를 하여 다시 보증금을 모으자는 계획을 세웠습니다.
어느날 옥탑방에서 우연히 한 신문 기사를 보게 되었습니다. 바람이 세차게 불 때면 방 안까지 바람이 들어와서, 신문지로 문풍지를 붙이다 본 기사였는데 ‘우리 기업이 원하는 인재상'이라는 내용이었습니다. 각 회사의 인사담당자들이 ‘우리 회사는 이런 인재를 원한다'는 내용이었습니다.
‘도전’, ‘열정', ‘청춘', ‘패기', ‘실패', ‘끈기' 등으로 상징되는 인재를 원한다는 인터뷰였는데 이때 문득 든 생각이 ‘내가 이런 회사에 스폰서를 요청해보면 되지 않을까. 다리를 다치고 방을 뺀 것은 나름의 도전이고 실패이자 끈기며 패기가 아닐까'란 생각을 했기 때문입니다. 그래서 이 날 바로 생전 처음으로 ‘제안서’라는 것을 쓰기 시작했습니다.
The wall of reality, another race
At first I wrote the proposal far too long. I thought more pages meant better content, so I wrote over 20 pages. What company would willingly sponsor a student with nothing who blindly asks for support with such a proposal? I sent proposals to about 30 companies, including those mentioned in the newspaper, but all of them rejected me.
It was my own idea of 'the type of talent companies want.' I wanted to give up. But at that time many people actually encouraged me. Some said they couldn't sponsor me as companies or individuals but would edit my proposal, and one person condensed my more-than-30-page proposal into five pages; close friends also gave me great support.
I renewed my determination and, thinking 'let's just try until the remaining competition period,' requested sponsorship from over 100 places, and finally was able to secure sponsorships covering the entry fee, expenses, airfare, and all equipment.
I ran five times across four deserts (Egypt's Sahara Desert, China's Gobi Desert, Chile's Atacama Desert, and Antarctica), and the total expenses amounted to about 40 million won. While looking for sponsors many people helped me, and the 'crowdfunding' project I ran also had a major impact.
Crowdfunding means that anyone can support a project through an online website, and I, too, started crowdfunding for my project to complete desert marathons and challenge the Grand Slam. I wrote about what I was aiming for, why I was doing it, what would change, and how I would reward supporters; I posted promotional text and photos and even produced a short documentary. I set contribution options at 10,000, 30,000, 50,000, and 100,000 won, and when the funding ended we had raised about 20 million won in total.
Here is one episode. The day after I launched the funding site, I received a call from an unknown number. When I answered, I heard, 'Is this Seung-chul Yoon? Please tell me your account number.' For a moment I thought it was voice phishing and asked, 'Who is this?' He said he was the chairman of a company and that he had seen the funding site and wanted to help, so he asked me to give him my account number.
It was so sudden that I said to the chairman, 'Thank you very much. I'm sorry, but if possible could you make your donation through the crowdfunding site?' The chairman let out a wry laugh and said the following.
"The donation amount is large, so I'd have to click the maximum amount of 100,000 won dozens of times, and then I'd have to authenticate the verification code sent to my phone dozens of times."
Coincidentally, the very next day another unknown number called. It was a CEO who said he'd like to meet me and asked me to come to his company when I had time. I made an appointment and met the CEO. We talked for a long time about why I wanted to go and many other things; I told him I'd contact him first after I returned safely, and at that time he gave me a white envelope, saying he hoped it would help me a little on the trip.
I thanked him and went back down to the first floor, leaving through the revolving door. I was planning to buy some personal gear needed for the race, and I remembered the envelope the CEO had given me and thought I could use it for that. When I opened the envelope I found several checks for a considerable sum.
So surprised, I went back up to the CEO's office and asked him, 'Sir, you don't even know who I am and we've never met before. What if I take this generous gift and then fail to finish the race, use it for a bad purpose, or not even enter the race at all—how could you give such a large amount to a young man you met for the first time? Actually I received help like this yesterday too, so I really wanted to ask you.'
"If he's a young man with such a fresh and brilliant idea, I think he'll be fine."
"If he's a young man with such a fresh and brilliant idea, I think he'll be fine." That was the reply. He said this after seeing the six rewards I had promised to supporters during the crowdfunding. At that time, the six reward strategies were as follows.
1. I will put Sahara Desert sand and Antarctic glacier ice into a small transparent glass bottle and give you a one-of-a-kind souvenir.
2. Send me an item that holds a memory you'd like to forget. While running in the desert I will bury it in the middle of the Sahara so you can completely forget that memory (I will provide the GPS latitude and longitude where it is buried and send a video showing how deep I buried it).
3. I will write a thank-you letter on a postcard made from photos taken while running in the desert and send it to you. I will also send a video message.
While running in the desert and in Antarctica I will record a thank-you message on video as a selfie and send it via a QR code on the back of the postcard near the stamp. You will be able to receive the photos, text, and video together.
4. I will make a name tag with the names of supporters and always attach it to my bag. Whenever things get hard I will think of those who helped me and not give up—I will keep running until the end.
5. I will plant trees in the desert. I will plant as many trees as there are supporters, attach nameplates to the planted trees, and bring back proof. This will not only support me but also help combat desertification around the world.
6. After completing the desert marathon, I will provide three marathon coaching sessions and invite you as a VIP to the photo exhibition that will be held after I return.
There were many interesting moments while carrying out these promises. For the 'forget a memory' item, people sent me things like photos of ex-boyfriends or ex-girlfriends, letters, rings, and couple bankbooks; middle and high school friends sent report cards they wanted to forget.
The most memorable was a friend who sent me a sticker photo he had taken with the girl he is currently dating. Since he said it was someone he is currently seeing and sent it to me, I asked out of curiosity, 'Did you send a photo taken with the person you're about to break up with to help yourself move on, or are you preparing your mind first?' His answer was surprising and amazing: 'We're planning to go to the Sahara Desert on our honeymoon and use the latitude and longitude to find it.'
The third promises—writing letters and planting trees—were not easy. I had nearly 150 supporters, so while I could take the time to write the letters, planting the trees was the problem. I thought 20 supporters would be a lot, but with over 150 people helping, even if I became a woodcutter or a porter carrying saplings, I'd probably collapse within a day, let alone be able to run the marathon. I was grateful but worried. Because I had made the promise, I wondered what to do and discovered a smartphone application called 'Tree Planet.'
It's a tree-growing smartphone game where, once you fully grow a tree in the app, an actual tree is planted in the desert under the specified account. After a tree is planted you receive an email with photos showing where and how it was planted. 'This is it! Let's grow trees in the names of the supporters and plant them in the desert!' I played the game for a week and only managed to grow four trees, so I went directly to the Tree Planet office. After several visits I was told that if I gave them the list of names they would plant the trees. They said it was an interesting project.
I had completely forgotten the sixth and final strategy after returning from the desert and Antarctica. In March, after returning to school and attending classes following my trip to Antarctica in December, I suddenly received a text from an unknown number. When I checked it, it said, "Yoon, I'm always cheering for you. Now that the weather is getting warmer, I'll use the marathon coach voucher."
To be honest, I wrote it down thinking it might look better to have even one more strategy. Who would think someone would sponsor me to receive marathon coaching? It's not a famous photographer's exhibition or a celebrity—who would come if I held a photo exhibition? But this person really hadn't forgotten and sent that text. In response to my reply, "Tell me a time and place that is convenient for you, teacher, and I'll come see you," they replied again: "Alright, I'm in Changwon, Gyeongnam."
Running in the desert
Running the desert, which was the goal of my gap year, I had many thoughts and experienced many things. Many people ask, "When were you happiest—when you crossed the finish line?" but I was happiest when I stood at the starting line and heard the gunshot signaling the start. Tears welled up all at once. It was the moment the long desert race I had prepared for for three and a half years began.
Experienced runners called me a 'country bumpkin running a marathon.' Overjoyed, I ran wildly without managing my condition or pacing, and I fainted at the finish line on the first day. I had overpaced. I ran with too much energy early on without thinking about the marathon as a long race.
I worried alone about how to go to the bathroom. A female runner was coming up from far behind, and I debated what to do; I thought I'd let the woman pass and then take care of my business. But the woman I had greeted earlier and who had run ahead suddenly pulled down her pants and relieved herself.
Unsure where to look or what to do, I just relieved myself too. It was the first day of the week-long race, but after about three days it was no longer surprising—no matter who did their business or where. It felt like returning to a more primal animal state.
The desert was very different from what I had imagined. Before going to the desert, I thought I would sort out how I had lived so far and how I would live in the future. But once I started running in the desert, I didn't have any of those thoughts. It might shatter romantic notions about the desert, but in truth I just thought, 'I'm so exhausted—why did I come to such a hot place? I really want a cold drink and fried chicken, hamburgers, pork belly, sushi.'
Life-or-death moments
I also faced dangerous moments in the desert. I could see the finish point for the day in the distance and drank all the water I had saved. In the desert, you don't open the cap and gulp water from the bottle; you sip through a hose with a tube attached. That's an effective way to quench your thirst with a small amount, but thinking I had arrived, I opened the cap and drank it all.
But it turned out the finish was easily 4 km away. In the desert, with no sense of depth, you can't gauge distances; between me and the finish there were countless sand dunes that I hadn't realized. In the heat approaching 50 degrees, I first thought, 'I could die of thirst.' I had no choice but to drink from passing friends' water hoses to get through.
I also once got lost in the middle of the desert with no signposts. I should have taken a curve but went straight alone. Having walked tens of kilometers in a straight line, I assumed it would continue straight and kept going. It wasn't that I was confused about the course; under the hot sun and exhaustion, I had been walking thoughtlessly in a straight line.
I had been trudging for 40 minutes without realizing it, but something felt off, so I looked back and saw a runner far behind, like a dot, following me. Crossing the desert alone, I was glad to see someone and waved; the runner waved back as if glad too. After walking another ten minutes and looking back again, the runner was much closer.
I waved again out of happiness, but inwardly I thought, 'Is he trying to catch up to me? I should run away faster,' and kept running. Ten minutes later, I suddenly felt strange. Coming to my senses, I realized I was on a path with no footprints ahead of me. That runner had seen from afar that I had taken the wrong route and had come to tell me.
In the desert, where people's unvarnished selves are visible, I was able to think about many things. I encountered people's essence and their natural selves, my own limits, challenges, time for adventure and reflection, and other realities. The answers I heard after asking a Kuwaiti friend who was an oil tycoon and a man in his seventies why they ran the desert made me think a lot.
'Having money and time doesn't get you to the finish. This is a place where I have to run through my own steady, wholehearted effort.'
'I wanted to show my daughters that I can still do something in my life now, and I wanted to show it to myself too.'
Those were their answers. Through the gap year I spent running the desert, I was able to think about things I might never have considered in my life.
After the Desert Marathon
Thanks to the help of many people, I ran 1,250 km over five events and became the youngest to complete the Desert and Polar Marathon Grand Slam.
I organized what I felt during the preparation and while running into writing and published a book titled "Poems of Running Youth," which, fortunately, was selected as an outstanding book by the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism in 2013.
During a one-and-a-half-year gap year I ran in the desert and had many unexpected experiences. Outwardly, little changed in my life. Right after I returned I only had a few interviews on TV, in newspapers, and in magazines. However, I gained strength from the experience and the time to reflect. Confidence was a bonus. The hardware hasn’t changed, but you could say the software has been upgraded.
Why a Gap Year Is Necessary
Some people say, ‘Find your dream and what you want to do, and then push forward relentlessly.’ But as someone in my twenties — a late adolescent and a young adult — I know better than anyone how difficult it is even to find what you want to do. If you’re worried about what you like and what you’re good at, being told to keep searching or to just try anything is hard to accept.
I think finding that is truly a happy thing and something only a few people experience. It requires time to try many things, the courage to act, and the leisure to think, and you also have to overcome worries like ‘Am I any good at this? Will it work out?’
In that respect, having a gap year was a great help to me. From graduating high school until I became a twenty-something, I had never fully thought about, decided on, and acted on what I wanted to do. I had taken domestic trips or joined various clubs with friends, but I had never prepared and completed such a large project on my own from start to finish.
Even without a gap year I might have run in the desert someday. But after spending a gap year, the thoughts I gained and the experiences I had that I wouldn’t otherwise have had became an asset I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Life Like a Jungle Gym
I don’t think what we are doing at this time is entirely pointless. It would be good to have a clear dream and a clear idea of what you want to do, but neither I who went to the desert nor many of my peers necessarily have that. Still, I don’t believe any experience is wasted. ‘Experience’ includes not only hands-on activities but also the invisible realm of thinking and preparation.
Someone said, ‘Life is like a jungle gym: what may seem like unrelated fragments to us now will someday become entwined and, at some moment, shape who we are.’
Sitting at a desk worrying and trying to immediately find ‘what I’m good at and what I should do’ won’t reveal it. If you try various things, a path becomes visible, and at some point you may encounter the process of finding a new self as mentioned above. After returning from the desert, I used that experience as a foundation to climb the Himalayas with expedition leader Um Hong-gil, to serve as youth expedition leader for a Silk Road crossing to Turkey, and to go as youth leader on a project crossing to Iran by ship. I am also preparing to write a book about living on an uninhabited island for three weeks, and today I’m going back to such an island once more.
In a way, after going to the desert I may have found a new path. The experience of writing a book about running in the desert was a combination of things I love: the challenge of something new and writing. Because I’m studying creative writing, I can be somewhat quiet, but I also wanted to try to make something happen, and I think I realized that while running the desert.
Of course, as I near graduation I also face the biggest challenge of all.
It’s the question, ‘What are you going to do to make a living?’ — so how about we think about it together?
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