399 Days of Showing Up

Daily miles: 29.9 | Total miles: 11,933.14

I got up, had a cold coffee, and at 7 a.m. I stepped out of the van. The morning was beautiful—soft light, the sun rising slowly, fog hanging low over fields of olive trees. I felt great. What a fortune it is to be outdoors every day, witnessing the quiet play of birds in the early light, watching the world wake up without rushing it.

The olive trees here are unbelievably beautiful, ancient and countless. Their presence feels grounding, almost reassuring. After a while, the landscape shifted into vast fields of orange trees—trees of all sizes, each one heavy with bright, glowing fruit. It struck me how abundant this land is. The cool morning air, the lingering mist, the layered mountains in the distance—it all felt mystical. Cold, yes, but in a way that makes you feel unmistakably alive.

At mile seven, I couldn’t resist picking an orange. My fingers were cold, the orange wet and chilled, but something about it called to me. I never imagined oranges growing in such cool conditions. The peel was thick, the fruit inside perfectly juicy and vibrant. Simple nourishment, offered freely.

The landscape invited me to daydream today. I noticed a subtle shift within me—a softness, an ease. Having my sister with me brings a sense of security I haven’t had in a while. I don’t have to think about food. I know she could always come and pick me up at night if needed. That changes something deep inside. I allow myself to lean into this support right now, without guilt. It feels like creating space—space to gather strength for future stretches of solitude and adventure.

At one point, I passed a group of sheep. They all came running toward me, clearly convinced I had food. Their enthusiasm and confidence made me laugh. Communication, after all, doesn’t always need words.

After about thirteen miles, I reached the ocean. It always works its quiet magic on me. There was a small pavilion, and I sat down for a while, simply watching the movement of the water. The ocean doesn’t explain itself. It just is—vast, rhythmic, alive. Shortly after, my sister showed up. We greeted each other and agreed to meet again in the next town.

Today, all my senses were involved. I felt deeply alive—though not fast. Slow, attentive, present. I met my sister in a café for a short cappuccino, then checked the route ahead. Google Maps showed a road closure, but no one I asked could really clarify. Eventually, I went to the police station, where two women kindly tried to help. The closure itself wasn’t an issue, they said, but a section of road had been affected by the storm. They explained a way around it.

As I left the police office, the rain began. Eleven miles still to go. The rain picked up steadily, and halfway through I was completely soaked. But the temperatures were mild, and for some reason, I simply enjoyed it. Slow, but present. Wet, but alive.

When I finally arrived at the van, I took a shower right away. Clothes hung up everywhere, hoping to dry overnight. We had a good dinner. My sister, once again, made the day easier and warmer with all she does. I’m deeply grateful.

Feeling alive. Feeling warm again. What a journey this is.

Thanks for checking in, Andrea