500 Miles?! Wait… WHAT?!
So there I was, walking along, minding my own business, when it hit me—I have walked 500 miles.
FIVE. HUNDRED. MILES.
Hold on. WHAT?!
I actually stopped in my tracks, looked around, and half-expected some kind of achievement unlocked message to pop up in the sky. Where were the confetti cannons? The applause? The parade of supportive tumbleweeds? Nothing. Just me, the open road, and my feet, which have not only been through it, but are now sending strongly worded complaints to my brain.
Let’s put this into perspective:
• 500 miles is like walking from New York City to North Carolina.
• 500 miles is like doing a treadmill session… for 350 hours straight.
• 500 miles is the point where even my shadow is tired.
And the best part? I have to do this all over again… A couple more times over.
The Proclaimers sang about walking 500 miles and then 500 more, but did they provide any details about the blisters, the snack strategy, or the moment where you stare at your feet like, ‘How are you still attached?!’ No. No, they did not.
The Things I’ve Learned in 500 Miles
1. My Feet Are No Longer Feet
I don’t know what they are now—hooves, maybe? Some kind of fossilized structure? Either way, I don’t trust them. They just keep moving forward, and honestly, I think they’ve developed their own will.
2. I Have Experienced Every Possible Walking Condition
I have walked through:
• Mud so thick it tried to claim my shoes as a sacrifice.
• Sand that filled every crevice of my existence.
• Roads so flat and straight, I started to think I was in a poorly rendered video game.
• Winds that pushed me backwards, sideways, and at one point, emotionally.
3. Desert Signs Are a Different Breed
I have now passed signs warning me about rattlesnakes, scorpions, flash floods, rogue tarantulas, and, for some reason, an angry pig. The Javelina sign still haunts me. Nothing prepares you for learning that a wild, tusked pig might decide today is the day to take you out.
4. Snacks Are Life
I no longer eat food for taste. I eat it for survival. Granola bars are currency. A peanut butter packet is pure fuel. That one time I found an extra protein bar in my bag? I almost cried.
5. Gertrude Is Now an Extension of My Arms
I have been pushing this thing for so long that I’m pretty sure if I ever let her go, I’ll tip over from muscle confusion. She’s my companion, my nemesis, and my mobile pantry.
The Road Ahead
So here I am, 500 + miles deep, with many, many more to go. Am I tired? Yes. Do I sometimes hold full conversations with my shoes? Also yes. But am I stopping? Not a chance.
Because if I can walk 500 miles, then I can absolutely walk 500 more. (On Repeat)
(…But if someone wants to offer me a foot massage, a taco, or a tiny parade of supportive lizards, I’m not saying no.)