I decided to sign up to run the 2018 Chicago Marathon on a snowy day in November last year. As soon as I made the commitment, I felt a sense of excitement met with dread because I knew my summer plans would put me in a nomadic position.

Fast forward to now. It’s July. The Italian sun beats down on the earth and I am not in the midst of a productive training schedule. If anything, I am overwhelmingly stressed about the impending race in October, my lack of raising funds for our marathon charity, and the lack of stability as a nomadic traveler.

I moved out of my apartment in Chicago on June 1st and am currently 7 weeks living out of one single backpack: three dresses, two jeans, three shirts, running shorts and shoes, sandals and a nice Italian-made skirt. Half of my clothes are dirty, half are kind-of clean.

From a farm in rural Wisconsin, a friend’s sofa in Chicago, my mom’s on the coast in Maine, a variety of Airbnbs in Milan, Turin, Bra to many trains, BlaBlaCars (one of which got a flat tire during the trip), planes and motorcycles; I have eaten at tables with complete strangers, alone, and with people who feel like family.

I create my own schedule. I have been awake at ungodly hours, have overslept, under-slept, overeaten, under-eaten. I have gone days without having an in-person conversation with anyone; I have also spent hours chatting with people I met only hours previously.

I have ran in Bra, Italy during the hottest part of the day (why do I do this to myself). I have ran along the Po River in Turin, accidentally joining runners in a 10K race. I have ran along Lago Maggiore in Switzerland, hopping in the crisp water to finish things off.

I have eaten more pasta in the past 10 days than I have in my entire life. I have drank more beer around a campfire than ever before. I have eaten wild strawberries, wild blueberries, wild blackberries.

Looking at the rest of my summer, there are so many questions. I don’t know when I will fly home. I don’t know where my next run will be, let alone my next bed.

I think about the Chicago Marathon. I think about stability and instability. There is no floor underneath me at the moment. I am free falling, enjoying the ride, but need to open my parachute sooner rather than later.