Waiting Out the Storm

When my alarm rang at 5:00 a.m., the world outside was still rumbling. Thunder rolled across the Kansas plains, lightning flashed behind thick clouds, and the rain was coming down in sheets. The wind howled around my place in Ness City like it was warning me to stay put. I was tired—sleep hadn’t come easy with that wild storm raging all night—and my first thought was: How am I going to run 31 miles in this?

I had already booked the only hotel in Dighton, so I felt the pressure to move forward. But the forecast showed severe weather warnings for both where I was and where I was headed. I reset my alarm for 6:00 a.m., hoping things might look different in an hour. They didn’t. Still storming. Still dark. Still pouring. My buggy might be water-resistant, but hours of heavy rain? That’s a different story.

So I waited. I set the alarm again.

By 7:00 a.m., I was going through weather forecasts, checking for alternative accommodations in Ness City, and trying to piece together a plan. But I had until 11:00 a.m. to check out, and that window gave me a lesson: sometimes, the best action is no action—just waiting calmly and listening to what the day has to say.

At 8:00 a.m., the rain stopped. The winds settled. The sky didn’t look nearly as threatening as all the times I’d peeked out the window earlier. Could it be? A chance to still make it? The question became a decision. I suited up, packed my gear, and stepped outside—ready for whatever came.

The air was heavy, the humidity intense, but I was running. Out of town, back onto Highway 96. I was afraid, not going to lie. Thunderstorms in the open plains are no joke. There’s nowhere to hide out there. But I also know that fear often paints things darker than they really are. So I ran anyway.

The road was drying quickly in the wind, though puddles still filled the uneven spots and fields beside me were waterlogged. Trucks sprayed me with water as they passed. Shattered rock chips spun up from the road. But I didn’t care. My eyes were fixed ahead—where the sky, once again, held a gap of blue just big enough for hope to pass through.

And then, a familiar pattern: storm clouds to my right, rain falling somewhere in the distance, but the path ahead stayed clear. My pace was strong, my mind focused, and my heart full of adrenaline and determination.

About two hours from Dighton, a giant elongated cloud hovered above me—dark and full of promise, or threat. I couldn’t tell which. I wondered if it would unleash on me before I could make it to safety. But, inshallah, I made it completely dry. Well, except for the sweat. Kansas humidity doesn’t hold back.

Once I rolled into Dighton, I was met by Joice, who checked me into the Deluxe Room—a nice gesture for this international guest. Two strong coffees, some yogurt pretzels, and a protein drink later, I was back at work, riding the high of the day.

What started as a seemingly impossible morning turned into a strong, focused, victorious run across 31 empty Kansas miles. Another reminder that sometimes, storms pass. And when they do, if you’re ready—you get to run right through the middle of them.

Thanks for being with me out here.