One Step, One Kind Soul at a Time

This morning I woke up knowing I’d be running somewhere between 30 and 35 miles, depending on how things went once I arrived in Rush Center. So I didn’t rush—I took my time getting ready, making sure the buggy was packed and balanced before hitting Highway 96 once again.

Thankfully, I had slept in a hotel right in the "bend" of Great Bend, which made for easy navigation out of town. The temperature was already comfortably warm as I set off, and I eased into a steady pace, always mindful of making space for passing cars and trucks. The highway doubles as a bicycle route, but I’m not sure many drivers are used to sharing the road—not with cyclists, and definitely not with a worldrunner pushing a buggy. Some just don’t seem to have the time or decency to slow down.

It reminds me how often we rush through life without realizing we have the power to choose kindness in every single moment. I’m writing this because at one point today, a truck driver honked just as he passed me—startling me and actually hurting my ear. It made me wonder: was it just careless, or something more? Do people sometimes honk out of envy or a need to intimidate? Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll never know. But what I do know is that I’ll keep choosing presence and kindness regardless.

The road today was a mix—first a gentle descent, then a few rolling hills, then back to flat Kansas terrain again. Brown and yellow grasses stretched out for miles, and with so few trees and buildings, it felt like I could see all the way to the edge of the earth. The openness here is truly breathtaking. It’s quiet. Stark. Humbling.

As the sun climbed higher, it got hot, but surprisingly, my legs started to move more freely again—faster than the past few days. That little shift gave me hope that I’m easing back into a better rhythm.

When I reached Rush Center, I quite literally ran into Susane, who had seen me running the day before. I asked if she knew anyone who could give me a short ride—just 5 miles—to La Crosse, where I had already booked the only motel in town. She asked at the gas station, but the woman’s car was too small for my buggy. So we tried across the street, where I met Trenton, working at a tire shop. Trenton generously offered me a lift, and after checking with the Sheriff’s department to arrange a ride back tomorrow, I hopped in the truck and off we went.

At the motel, the lady reminded me I was a bit early for check-in, so I sat in the shade, snacked on apples, and called home. Later, I picked up food at the Dollar General next door, and while the Sheriff could only drive me back at 7:30am, I found a wonderful woman working at the gas station across the street who offered to take me at 5am—just what I needed. Tomorrow’s forecast shows thunderstorms around noon, so I want to be safe in town by then. And it looks like everything’s falling into place.

I’m now sitting in the shade outside my room, sipping milk coffee, munching a cereal bar, hydrating, and catching up on work. This tiny corner of Kansas is turning out to be full of stories. I just had a long, wonderful conversation with my neighbor Rod—he’s still talking as I type this, and I honestly think we could’ve gone on for hours. Thank you, Rod, for your kindness.

One day, one road, one conversation at a time—this journey is filled with little miracles and unexpected connections. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Thanks for being with me. See you tomorrow.