A Walk, a Shift, and a Fireplace

Yesterday I wasn’t sure I’d be moving at all today. The storm had left behind warnings of flooding, and when my alarm rang this morning, I hit snooze—which is so not me. Normally I leap out of bed, excited to start the day. But with rain still whispering outside and the chill of morning in the room, I hesitated. I knew if I went, I’d be walking again instead of running. And I also knew: that was okay.

Ten minutes later, I got up, peeked out the window, and saw dry ground. Decision made.

Just after 7am, I was out the door—wrapped in jacket and gloves—ready to test my leg and take it slow. The streets were quiet, peaceful. I even felt a flicker of wanting to run, but I stuck to the plan: a few pain-free days before easing back into it. After all, I still have about 450 days ahead. No rush.

A light drizzle found me a few miles in, as I rejoined Highway 64. Rolling hills, no traffic, solitude. And that’s when it hit me: the past few days had felt a bit empty. I missed connection. I missed people.

On this world run, I’ve come to realize how much of my energy and spark comes from the beautiful humans I meet along the way. They light up something in me. And with several days of quiet, stormy isolation, I noticed the emotional dip. It’s a reminder—yes, we can generate joy from within, but human warmth is part of what makes this journey so special.

Thankfully, I knew I’d get just that tonight.

A group of kind-hearted Mennonite friends had arranged a place for me to stay, and I was walking toward real connection. That made every step lighter. The roads, despite the storm, were surprisingly dry and clear. No flooding, no detours. Just a smooth, steady walk to Russellville.

And when I arrived at Paula and Marcus’s home, I felt my inner smile return.

After a warm welcome outside, I stepped into their cozy house and immediately felt the comfort of being told, “Make yourself at home.” We shared tea, coffee, and stories in front of a fireplace. We talked about life, perspectives, and the path ahead. Later, Paula cooked a beautiful meal. And now, I sit here with a full belly, a full heart, and the joy of quiet companionship.

After a week of leg pain, extreme storms, and very little face-to-face interaction, today was the first fully pain-free walk—and that alone is worth celebrating.

The forecast says it’s going to warm up. I’m hopeful for more sun, more miles, and more human magic in the coming weeks. I know how to lift my own spirits, but sometimes it’s okay to name what’s missing and lean into what helps.

Thank you for still being here, walking this journey with me.

I’m so grateful for this life—this run, these people, this learning. One step, one heart, one storm, and one warm living room at a time.