It Only Rained Once

Daily miles: 30.29 | Total miles: 12,594.46

I got up after a night of very little sleep — for several reasons. The room had warmed up slightly; it was cool but no longer cold. I made a hot coffee. My eyes were red, irritated, and heavy with exhaustion.

While packing, I heard the rain pouring outside.

“Well, Andrea,” I thought, “just a couple of hours in the wet and cold… and hopefully tonight you’ll end the day somewhere warm — maybe even with hot water for a proper shower.”

I hesitated. Moved slowly. Dragged it out. But eventually, I knew — I might as well go and get it done.

I slipped into my still-damp socks and shoes (everything else was slightly damp too). Today was the perfect test for my new rain jacket. My old one — my first real running jacket — has carried me thousands of miles, but it’s no longer waterproof. The new one is light, and the water pearls off it like a tent fly. I’m genuinely grateful for it. Thanks to the donations I’ve received, I could buy gear like this — practical, purposeful gifts that I wear with appreciation every single mile. Thank you.

When I stepped outside, it was dry from above for about ten minutes.

But never from below.

The roads were flooded in places. Puddles everywhere. Water running toward lower ground in endless little streams. Within minutes, my shoes were soaked again. The ocean beside me sounded wild — and looked wild.

Soon the road turned uphill. That’s when the rain began properly — and it never really stopped.

As they say, it only rained once today.

The intensity changed, yes. Sometimes steady. Sometimes heavy beyond description. But it always rained.

There were tunnels. Steep coastal roads climbing and descending. On my side of the road, rainwater gathered and rushed downward in constant currents. Often, I stood ankle-deep in water — clear, murky, gravelly — every possible version of it. When cars, trucks, or buses passed, the splash could rise unbelievably high. Once you’re that wet, there’s no difference between “a little more” and “completely soaked.”

The final miles were under construction — mud puddles, loose gravel, pushing the buggy forward step by step. By then, I was simply focused on reaching the place I had booked.

Just before the house, I bought some (rather expensive) water at a street food stand. George, the owner of the accommodation, showed me the room. I parked the buggy safely in the garage, carried all my wet belongings upstairs, and turned the heaters on full.

Then — a hot shower. Washing my hair. Warm water running over cold skin.

For dinner: börek and beans. Simple. Perfect.

I am very tired tonight. But I made it.

Thanks for checking in. Andrea