Waiting for the Rain, Trusting the Day

Daily miles: 30.87 | Total miles: 12,351.81

I got up shortly after 6 am, planning to be on the road by 7. But the weather had other plans. Just before I was about to leave, the rain started to pour—really heavily. I had already woken during the night to the sound of rain hammering down, and now it was clear the forecast hadn’t been exaggerating. It was meant to be very wet all morning.

I stood at the window, watching sheets of rain fall, and simply couldn’t leave. I knew I had a long day ahead, with steep mountain climbing. I knew I would get wet at some point—but being completely soaked within the first minutes? No. Not today. So I waited. And waited. I reminded myself: patience, calm, flexibility. Part of the practice.

I contacted the place I had booked for the night, just to stay connected and make check-in easier later on. And then—almost as if on cue—just before 8 am, the rain eased. I gathered myself, put on my old rain jacket, and told myself I was ready for a cold, wet day in mountainous Albania.

The first mile stayed dry. The clouds still looked heavy, full of promise and threat, and I knew the big climb was waiting within the first eight miles. After some light drizzle, something unexpected happened: it warmed up. And it stayed dry. I quietly hoped it would hold until I reached the top. And once again, I got lucky.

Up high, it was cold, but with the effort of the climb, my body couldn’t quite decide what it felt. Cold and warm at the same time. Ambiguous. Once I reached the top, the road dropped steeply on the other side. That’s when I saw a restaurant, lights still on, perched high above the valley. Since the people from my accommodation hadn’t replied yet, I stopped to ask if someone could help me make a call. At the moment, I can only use data—no phone calls—so I rely on kindness.

Two women working in the kitchen helped me first, and then their bosses arrived. Toni, a young and very kind man, told me he knew the person renting the place to me. He made the call, and soon I was connected via WhatsApp. We agreed on my estimated time of arrival, and I promised to message again when I was about two hours away.

The rest of the day on the road was spectacular. Vast views, dramatic mountains, and friendly faces along the way. I stopped at a small café where a few men were sitting. One of them asked, “Coffee?” I said yes, please. Jimmy, the owner, invited me to a strong, short espresso, prepared by a little boy. I thanked them for the coffee and shared a bit about my run. It was a simple, human moment—beautiful!

When I was about three hours away from my destination, the daughter of the family I was staying with called me. She spoke English, and suddenly everything felt lighter. When we spoke again an hour later, I asked where exactly the house was—the location on Booking.com looked strange. When Reina sent me the correct location, my heart skipped for a moment. It was a completely different place.

After some back and forth, Reina said they could pick me up. By now it was dark. The road to the village was another four miles—gravel, steep, and wet from the rain. I felt briefly derailed. Then Bardhi and Reina arrived. We laid the buggy sideways in the car, and it worked.

Reina and her dad were wonderful. They told me about the house, the garden, how everything was prepared for me. I smiled and told them honestly: all I really needed was a bed and a roof over my head.

When we arrived, Suela, the wife, was there too. Reina and Bardhi showed me everything with such care. The reality was simple—no really warm rooms, no kettle, and a heater that can only be on for a short while. The shower might have warm water, but I couldn’t bring myself to undress—I was already so cold. I found a gas stove and heated water for tea. That felt like enough.

Dinner was a can of chickpeas, almonds, and a cup of tea. Tonight, I’ll sleep in several jackets. No WiFi, but mobile data works—slowly, through thick stone walls. And that’s okay.

I’m tired. But I made it.

Sleep well. Andrea