Wind, Stillness, and the Weight of the Sky

I woke up just after 4am today, in the quiet stillness before anything stirred. The usual routine: a cold coffee, a bagel with peanut butter, bundling up in layers for what I already knew would be another icy start. I carefully tried not to wake the crew — they were wrapped deep in their blankets, shielding themselves from the bitter cold that had settled into the RV.

Outside, frost blanketed the ground, and the air hit my face like a wave of silence. The pastel colors of the early sky met the pale earth of the high desert in a kind of quiet magic. I stood there for a moment, breathing it in. The road stretched endlessly ahead of me — empty, peaceful, and full of promise. Wyoming was still sleeping.

The sunrise was gentle, and for the first half of the day, so was I. I moved forward steadily, taking in the solitude and beauty, enjoying the sense of space around me. By mile 21, my crew caught up. I was hungry, so I refueled, stripped off my thermopants and sweater, and headed back out. The temperature had risen slightly, but with it came the wind.

Eight miles later, at mile 29, I turned off Highway 28 onto Route 372. And that’s where the day changed.

The wind blew hard — directly against me — and I just didn’t have the strength left to fight it. I tried to run a few times but couldn’t sustain it. So I leaned into a strong, steady walk. It sounds simple, but walking against relentless wind for hours is no joke. It’s not just the physical pushback — it’s the roar in your ears, the sting on your face, the feeling that you’re hardly moving even when you are. It wears on your body, but even more so on your mind.

Somewhere in the afternoon, I felt a deep sadness settle in. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe the weight of the wind, or the loneliness of this vast land. Either way, I didn’t fight it. Sometimes, those feelings just need a little space too.

At mile 41, I met up with my crew. They were, as always, supportive and kind, but I couldn’t shake the heaviness. We drove about a mile to a nearby campground and parked right by the riverfront. The sky stayed mostly cloudy, but now and then the sun broke through, lighting up the rugged terrain around us in a golden glow. Beautiful, in its own quiet way.

Dinner is almost ready now, and I’m completely spent. The elements — wind, cold, sun, silence — they take a toll. A cold front is on its way, so I’ll take it easy and rest up tonight.

Thanks for being out here with me — through the milestones and the meltdowns, the sunrises and the headwinds.

See you tomorrow.