Listening to the Storm

Daily Miles: 10.34 | Total Miles: 12,087.03

When the alarm rang, I could already hear rain and thunder rolling across the sky. I turned around and slept a little longer. By the time I stepped out of the van around 8 a.m., I was about an hour behind my usual start, and I truly didn’t know what the day would bring. A severe rainfall warning had been issued for our entire region.

For the first two hours, though, it stayed dry. I could even put my jacket into my vest for a while. The sun tried to push through the clouds on my right side, while on my left, the sky looked like something was boiling. A thick, dark wall slowly moved in from the ocean—steady, powerful, inevitable.

At one point, I called my sister and asked how the sky looked where she was. I told her it felt like it would pour down any second. She said she was on her way. When she added, “I can’t drive faster,” I told her to drive carefully. Safety always first.

Almost the moment we hung up, the first heavy drops started to fall. The wind came in from the west, pushing me forward. I spotted a bus station roof just a few meters ahead and hurried toward it. But by the time I reached it, the downpour was already in full force. The rain came down diagonally—so strong that the roof barely offered protection.

I then stood behind the structure, then decided to run to a nearby house entrance where I could see some shelter. By the time I got there, I was completely soaked. I stood there watching the storm—thunder, lightning, water pouring from the sky in sheets. I was cold, but calm. And deeply aware of how different it feels to be out here alone versus knowing someone is on the way.

After a few minutes, my sister arrived and picked me up. We parked on the other side of the road and waited while the storm moved through. For about an hour, I wasn’t sure whether I should continue. Eventually, with rain still coming on and off, I decided to call it a day.

And honestly, that felt right.

This journey keeps teaching me that progress isn’t only measured in miles. Sometimes it’s measured in decisions. In listening. In respecting the environment, the body, and the moment. There is strength in continuing—but there is also strength in pausing.

The afternoon turned into an unexpectedly gentle one. Time to catch up on things, time to simply be. I’m aware that this phase—with support, shared dinners, shared conversations—is temporary. And that makes me appreciate it even more.

In the evening, we had spaghetti and salad. Coffee after. Warmth. Dry clothes. Gratitude.

Another day on this long road of movement, weather, lessons, and quiet understanding.

Thanks for checking in. Andrea