Running Through the Storm

Today’s journey led me 32 miles from Rush Center to Ness City, Kansas — a stretch that began before sunrise and carried the full spectrum of beauty, uncertainty, and resilience.

I got up at 4 a.m., had a quick coffee and protein bar, then walked over to the gas station where Miranda, the manager, was waiting. She had kindly offered me a ride the day before — at 5 a.m. no less — to help me get back to Rush Center. We loaded the buggy onto her pickup truck and had a nice early morning chat during the five-mile drive. What an incredible gesture of generosity. Thank you, Miranda.

Around 5:20 a.m., I started running in complete darkness, headlamp on reverse to make myself visible to the few vehicles passing by. There’s something eerie and powerful about running into the void of Kansas plains under the stars — it invites deep thoughts and an awareness of the present moment. As the sky slowly brightened, I found myself chasing a small tunnel of clear sky while thunderstorms brewed both to my right and left. Lightning lit up the dark, thick clouds, and thunder rumbled through the fields. But the road seemed to point straight through the only open sliver in the sky.

Just when the rain finally started, I reached Alexander — about 13 miles in. I ducked under a roof to put on my rain jacket, have a snack, drink water, and prepare for what was still ahead. The tension in the air was almost cinematic. Had I timed it just right to slip between two storms? Maybe.

The next stretch brought light rain, misty air, and moments of stillness. I stayed loose and focused. Just before Bazine, I had to put my jacket back on, but the rain never became overwhelming. With only 13 miles left, I felt strong, relaxed, and energized by the vastness surrounding me. These wide-open Kansas landscapes spark my imagination — they feel like the perfect stage for dreaming big.

Around noon, I reached Ness City. After a quick stop at Dollar General, I headed to the place I’d booked. The host told me the room was ready, and by 1 p.m., I was tucked inside a cozy house, watching the wind whip through the clouds outside. There’s a severe thunderstorm warning tonight with large hail expected — but I’m safe, warm, showered, fed, and ready for another day.

Running around the world means facing discomfort and uncertainty, but also learning to meet them with calm and courage. I’m grateful for this incredible journey, and for your presence along the way. Every message, like, or little show of support makes me feel that this isn’t just my story — it’s ours.

Thanks for being here. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.