7,000 Miles and a Border Crossing

Daily Miles: 31.87 | Total Miles: 7,029.79

Even though my hotel room last night was… let’s say “questionable,” I actually slept really well. I guess exhaustion is stronger than bad décor. My alarm went off at 5am, but I still hadn’t decided how far I wanted to run. Funny enough, in the morning I chose an entirely different route — one I hadn’t considered at all the night before. It meant I’d be running around 30 miles, so I turned off the early alarm, dozed in and out until 7, and let the day begin slowly.

Coffee, a shower, packing the buggy (yes, upright into the tiny elevator again), and I was out before 8am. First stop: grocery store. I figured I wouldn’t have food options where I’d land tonight, so I stocked up — rice, beans, fruit, yoghurt, protein bars, and raisin buns.

Back onto the highway.

Just over two miles into the run, a big moment: I hit 7,000 miles. That number felt heavy in the best way. My mind drifted back to all the milestones before — each one earned, each one a memory. Lost in thought but staying safe in my lane, I crossed a bridge and suddenly saw a sign: “Welcome to Victoria.” I had forgotten that I’d be crossing into a new state today, so the sign caught me beautifully off guard.

But the moment didn’t stay peaceful for long.

Right then, a police car pulled up ahead of me. Two officers approached. I could tell this wasn’t just a friendly chat. They asked questions, took down my info, and one of them was really eager to get me off the highway — buggy in the back of their car kind of eager. I explained that I couldn’t do that. We talked (a lot), and eventually they told me they were from the New South Wales side — and technically not responsible for me anymore. A bit of luck! They said they'd notify the Victorian police, but no one else ever stopped me that day. I just kept going like I always do — running in the bike lane, somewhere between a pedestrian and a cyclist.

Later on, I started to feel a small pain from a movement that wasn’t quite right — probably because I rushed after the police encounter. But as always, I focused on protecting the spot, loosening up the rest, and moving smart. I call it “navigating pain.”

At mile 22: pshhhh. A flat tire.

I moved off the road, removed the wheel, and realized I might get away with just reinflating it. I pumped it up and kept checking it every two miles. It slowly deflated but held enough to get me to Springhurst.

Once I arrived around 3pm, I wondered if I’d find anything to drink. I spotted the post office and thought maybe, just maybe, it might double as a store. It did. Sheree, who runs it, had all kinds of goodies. I was parched and reached straight for a cold Fanta. Drank it almost in one go. Sheree smiled and told me it was on the house — and offered me another one. Kindness like that hits deep after a long run.

Then I made my way to the old butter factory, where I’d booked a room. Karen welcomed me warmly. We found a room with good wifi, a heater, and access to a kitchen. Perfect. The place itself is stunning — every corner thoughtfully arranged, cozy, and full of art. Karen painted some of the pieces herself, and I found them incredibly dreamy — hard to describe, but they invite you to pause and wander in thought.

Once I settled in, I fixed the inner tube, then ate — and realized I was probably a bit hypoglycemic. A raisin bun, beans, rice, porridge, a kiwi, dark chocolate, a protein bar, and an apple later… I felt much better. I’ve saved the yoghurt and some nuts for a night snack so I don’t wake up hungry.

It’s getting late now, and I’m grateful — for the run, the people, the miles, the art, the kindness, and a soft bed. 7,000 miles today. What a journey.

Thanks for being here with me.