A Mountainous Challenge and Unwavering Kindness

I woke up after an incredibly good night’s sleep in Geraldine’s part of the house. A huge thank you to her for offering me the space and the bed—it made such a difference. Actually, thank you to the entire family; their warmth and generosity have left a deep impression on me.

I tried to sneak out quietly in the early morning, but Mini, the little dog, had other plans. She started barking, determined to make sure everyone knew I was on the move. Maria calmed her down, and I was finally able to make my morning coffee and pack up my buggy. Just after 7 a.m., I was on my way, ready to tackle another 30-mile day.

After discussing my route with Geraldine the night before, I knew I had to face a climb on a dusty gravel road. But I don’t think I fully grasped just how steep some of these sections would be. At times, they were almost as intense as yesterday’s inclines, which I had walked without my buggy and still found challenging.

The effort required was immense. There were moments when my entire body was shaking, and I had to be hyper-focused, making sure each step was secure, my grip steady, and that I wasn’t about to slip on the loose gravel while pushing the heavy buggy. Just when I thought I had reached the highest point, another climb appeared. And another. And another.

I started to wonder: If the uphill was this extreme, what would the downhills be like? I reassured myself by thinking about all the challenges I had already overcome—if I managed those, I could handle this too.

At one intersection, I followed Google Maps up another steep incline when a car honked at me from a side road. The driver waved me down and let me know that the route I was taking would lead straight to the coast with no further elevation gain and a gentler downhill. That was music to my ears! I quickly adjusted my course and, as I cautiously started descending, I met Gerhard, a cyclist who stopped for a short chat before continuing on.

The downhill stretch was slow—painfully slow. I had never descended so cautiously in my life, but the steepness demanded it. I didn’t want to fall, lose control, or break the buggy. After 10 miles of extreme focus, sweaty palms, and adrenaline-fueled tension, I finally arrived in Lipimavida.

The town had a touristy feel. Geraldine had mentioned that a tsunami devastated the area in 2010, and now it was in the process of being rebuilt for tourism. I welcomed the change of scenery, and, more importantly, I was grateful for the flat terrain. After the relentless climbs and nerve-wracking descents, running on even ground felt like a luxury.

I snacked on small bites here and there but didn’t linger. I wanted to reach La Trinchera before nightfall. The run along the ocean was beautiful, and as the miles passed, I found a steady rhythm, something I had struggled with earlier in the day.

When I finally arrived at the municipal camping site I had in mind, it initially seemed like I wouldn’t get a spot. But then, in typical fashion, kindness found me once again. A family asked someone, that someone asked someone else, and before I knew it, I had a place to stay. Not only that—I was given food, a tablecloth, an extension cord, and so much more. The generosity of strangers never ceases to amaze me.

After setting up my tent, I took a short walk to the beach, had a meal, and now, as I get ready for bed, people are expressing concern that it might be too cold for me tonight. We’ll see how it goes.

Today was tough—there’s no doubt about that. The mountains tested me, but they didn’t break me. And, as always, the kindness of people carried me through.

Thank you, La Trinchera. Thank you, to the wonderful souls who continue to open their hearts and homes to a runner on the road.

Now, time to rest. Tomorrow, another adventure awaits.