Ten Parkruns To The Final Border
I moved toward Pottsville with the day's people, support, and small human moments giving the kilometres their shape.
Border days always changed the feel of the crossing.
Pottsville was where we were aiming, but the bigger feeling was that another distant name was becoming real under my feet.
The body was part of the route planning by then. Feet, shoes, soreness, sleep, food and timing all had a say in what was possible.
The shape was familiar by now: move, check in, eat, reset, move again, then hand the finish point over to the next day’s plan.
By the time I stopped, 37.6 kilometres had been added to the crossing, and the accumulated total sat at 5436.6 kilometres.
It was one of those days where the map changed, but the work stayed wonderfully plain: keep walking, keep eating, keep listening, keep going.
Images From The Day
