Finding Meaning in the Miles

Today marked another step northward on my journey, covering about 31 miles from Ozark to Troy, Alabama. I started early, packing my things and having breakfast before setting out along Highway 231 to continue from where I left off yesterday.

The sky was grey, hinting at rain. I wore my jacket at first, but soon realized it was quite warm and very humid, so off it went. The run itself wasn’t particularly scenic — hilly and a bit monotonous. I kept to the far right of the shoulder, staying alert as cars passed by.

People often ask if I listen to music or podcasts during these long runs, but I don’t. I prefer to stay aware of my surroundings, which also means my thoughts have plenty of room to wander. Today, my mind felt a bit heavy, and my body seemed to match that feeling — sluggish and slower than usual. Some days the movement feels light and smooth; today wasn’t one of those days. But this is part of the journey, and I accept it.

While running, I realized that I’ve now covered as many miles in 83 days as I did during my 136-day hike of the Pacific Crest Trail in 2023 — though with far less elevation gain this time around. The routines feel similar: packing, eating, running (or hiking), sleeping, and repeating. Having spent so much time traveling in the U.S. also helps me feel somewhat familiar with my surroundings, even if these particular states are new to me.

At times, though, the scenery can be tough to take in. When I pass rundown properties, cluttered yards, and places that seem neglected, I feel sad. It makes me think about how easily people can become overwhelmed — as though they don't know where to start cleaning up, organizing, or letting go. I try to remind myself not to judge. What might seem chaotic or broken to me may feel normal or comforting to someone else. Learning to see things without judgment is something I continue to practice every day. It's a lifelong process.

About eight miles before Troy, the sky finally let loose, and I was caught in a downpour. It was refreshing at first, filling the air with the earthy scent of rain, but before long I was fully soaked. The rain eased now and then, but it kept returning in bursts. Three miles before reaching Troy, a police car pulled up behind me. The officer wanted to check on me. I appreciated his concern — and his friendly manner. I imagine his job often puts him in difficult situations, so this encounter seemed to be a positive moment for him too.

Only one road, but so many thoughts. I'm grateful for the support along the way. Every kind word, every smile, and every small gesture means more than I can say.

Thank you for being part of this journey.