Sunshine, Conversations, and Perspective

Daily Miles: 30.8 | Total Miles: 12,899.93

I woke up early, already knowing it would be a beautiful, sunny day. Coffee, carrying all my things downstairs, organizing the buggy—and by 7 a.m. I was out on the road.

Running along the harbor of Biograd na Moru (na Moru meaning “on the sea”) was a wonderful way to begin. The rising sun, boats mirrored in the still water, and seagulls circling above created a sense of freedom and quiet beauty that instantly lifted my spirit.

Soon I had to find my way back onto the main road, and like so often, it was narrow with steady traffic. Many drivers don’t seem to have much capacity to encounter a world runner on the roadside. It’s always a little amusing how some people become visibly annoyed when they have to slow down for a few seconds—maybe losing thirty seconds of their day, yet reacting as if it were a life-or-death situation.

But then I think back to when I was twenty and working as a mechanic. I remember how easily I became irritated by small things too. That perspective makes me appreciate getting older. Experience softens reactions. Life teaches us what truly matters, and with that understanding comes more peace.

The first 17 miles toward Zadar followed the coastline. Whenever traffic allowed and the view opened, I caught glimpses of dark blue water and scattered islands resting quietly in the sea.

Around mile 10, the sun was already warm, and I passed a small beach café with people coming and going. Even though I thought I shouldn’t stop, I did. Moments like these never return in exactly the same way. I parked the buggy, noticed a comfortable lounge chair, ordered a cappuccino, and simply sat there for a few minutes—feeling deeply grateful to be living this dream.

Back on the road, the traffic remained tight and impatient at times, but I just kept smiling and waving at drivers—even those who threw their hands in the air while passing.

Not long after, the police arrived. This happens occasionally when concerned—or annoyed—drivers call them. I introduced myself and explained the run. They were friendly but cautious about safety, and I handed them my identity card so they could run a quick check through Interpol. Five minutes later everything was cleared, and we said goodbye with smiles.

While they were there, I had stepped into a nearby store to recharge my phone. One of the employees asked if I needed anything. Only after she asked a second time did I realize she genuinely meant help. We started talking, and instantly connected. Kristina, almost twenty years younger than me, dreams of traveling to Istanbul with her husband and two children. Goga, her colleague, dreams of having her own house. Their openness stayed with me for many miles afterward.

Just outside the store, I met a man named Louis—at least that’s what I understood. He is completely deaf, and we communicated through lip reading and hand gestures. My signs were probably quite random, but we shared a joyful few minutes of human connection.

When I feel this deep contentment inside and nature adds its beauty—snowcapped mountains ahead, blue skies above, warm sunshine on my skin—I sometimes think life cannot get any better.

The sun grew stronger, so I put on the baseball cap I had received from Ivo a few days earlier. I ate a banana to fuel the final miles and felt a deep wave of gratitude. This run is my journey for the living and the dying, and moments like today remind me how rich life already is—giving me a deep sense of peace, knowing I could leave this world at any moment contentedly.

When I arrived in Posedarje, I went grocery shopping and then checked into the room I had booked earlier. It’s actually a bit nicer than I expected, but during the off-season it can be difficult to find places, so I’m grateful it worked out.

Now it’s time for a shower, food, and sleep.

Thanks for checking in, Andrea