Dust, Kindness, and the Rollercoaster Within

Daily miles: 30.02 | Total miles 10,740.92

I left the hotel around 7 a.m., enjoying the cool morning air. Only a few steps in, a motorbike pulled up beside me—the rider curious about where I’m from, where I’m going, and why on earth I’m running across India. Moments like that set the tone: inquisitive, warm, open.

The road out of town was lined with scattered garbage, a reminder—just as in many places globally—that efficient waste systems are often the exception, not the rule. I’m sure people here would love cleaner streets and functioning bins, but it simply isn’t the reality. Alongside it all, the countless stray dogs and lack of reproduction control tell the same story.

Just before turning onto the highway, I stopped for a coffee. The men were delighted to hear about my run, and the shop owner insisted the coffee was free. They were all so respectful and encouraging. I bought some bananas from the stand next door and carried on.

Shortly afterward, a couple climbed out of their car for breakfast at a restaurant. We chatted—and by the end I had new friends offering me a place to stay up the coast, plus a yoghurt, a skyr, and two canned coffees. A strong start to the day.

A little further down the road, another couple was waiting after a flyover, handing me two flavored water drinks. Then a truck driver met me on a hill with dates and almonds. Later, a group of schoolchildren ran with me—shy at first, but happy to take a picture when I asked.

At one point, four pilgrims walked past in the opposite direction. And on the bypass near Hassan, I stopped for a chai. The owner had recently opened the shop. I chatted with a few people, then sat alone at a little table—and for the first time, I didn’t feel like a foreigner. I felt like I belonged there, a part of the dusty life buzzing softly around me. It was unexpectedly comforting.

I kept running, bypassing the city of Hassan in the brutal heat, needing total focus on the traffic. Some college students eagerly approached, excited about my world run. A bit later, some women waved me over to ask what I was doing, and then sent me to a nearby stand where a mother and daughter wanted a picture.

About a mile before the hotel I was aiming for, I stopped to buy water. A family in a van handed me a bottle and a pomegranate. At the stand, everyone was so chatty and warm that I stayed for another chai. The woman showed me the two monkeys they keep in a cage. Then the whole little group insisted I should not go to the hotel I had planned. But with no other options nearby, I went anyway.

At the bar-hotel, they said no rooms—the building is under construction. They directed me to another place around the corner, but they also said no rooms. So I went back. And begged. Not for comfort—just for a bed. After what felt like a hundred polite pleas, the man finally agreed to show me a room.

Upstairs: dust, tools everywhere, the whole place a construction site. The room hadn’t been cleaned in ages. But you know what? It had a bed. And I could fill the bucket with warm water and wash. Perfect.

Sometimes these moments remind me what our “standards” truly are—and how little we actually need.

My friends, good night. Another excellent day filled with joy, with tears, with confusion, with clarity. I love this emotional turbulence. India, thank you.

And thank you for checking in.

See you tomorrow. Andrea