The Long Sunday: Miles, Pain, and the Warmth of Friends

Today was one of those long Sunday runs that started out smooth and ended with a few unexpected turns. I was up early, downstairs in time for breakfast at 6 a.m., and then I rolled out and back onto the road that would carry me all the way to Kersey.

The morning was kind—little wind, a quiet road, and legs that felt ready. For the first 30 miles, I was in a solid rhythm. Not fast, but steady and strong. I enjoyed the stretch, the space, and the freedom that always seems to come with the early part of a run.

But then, somewhere around mile 30—maybe even a bit before—things changed. Intestinal pain hit me out of nowhere, and suddenly the calm rhythm turned into a careful negotiation with my body. I haven’t had that kind of stomach turbulence for a while, and I was reminded of just how much tougher everything becomes when something is off.

Running without pain is a gift. Running with it is a test. The pounding didn’t help, and there were a few times I had to stop and just breathe through it. One step at a time, I kept moving forward. Eventually, I made it to Kersey, and walked the last half mile to the house where I would stay.

Just as I approached, the front door opened and Ben and Fey welcomed me warmly. Their kindness was immediate and grounding. They let me rest and catch up on some emails and phone calls, which I really needed after such a taxing day.

Later, we gathered in the living room and spent a long time talking—me, answering their many thoughtful questions, and probably rambling a bit too much after hours of solitude. Ben’s parents and a friend joined us for supper: rice, beans, avocado, Southern tea, and for dessert—ice cream with homemade chocolate sauce and brownies. Yes, I was spoiled again.

Of course, the same questions came up again, and we all ended up laughing at the repetitions and funny moments that followed. It was easy, good company. We all seemed to enjoy just being there, together.

After Ben’s parents left, the three of us stayed up a little longer talking, and now it’s time for sleep. Another long day of running awaits tomorrow, and I trust my body will bounce back.

Thanks to everyone who supports and encourages me—near and far. It really means the world.

Good night, Andrea