- Rucking Diary: Rotterdam River Loop – November 12, 2025
Start: Rotterdam Centraal, 09:00
Load: 25 kg
Weather: 8 °C, light drizzle, 92 % humidity, WSW wind 15–22 km/h
I stepped out beneath the station’s glass-and-steel canopy and felt the ruck settle like a promise across my shoulders. The first kilometer along Weena was all wide sidewalks and tram rails—clean concrete, no debris. My legs woke slowly; the weight tugged forward, but I answered by pulling my shoulder blades down and back. The city smelled of wet pavement and hot coffee. I felt small under the towers yet oddly anchored, as if the pack were grounding me to the grid of streets.
At Hofplein the fountain caught the gray light in silver arcs. I turned south, drizzle beading on my lashes. The path narrowed into Het Park—gravel crunched softly, leaves slick but not slippery. Each root bump sent a jolt up my shins; my ankles adjusted without thought, a quiet conversation between body and ground. The wind dropped inside the trees. For the first time my mind unclenched—only breath, footfall, load.
The Erasmusbrug ramp rose ahead like a dare. Concrete, steady 4–6 % grade. Ten strides in, the wind hit—cold, sharp, carrying the metallic bite of river water and diesel from the barges below. It slapped my hood against my ears, roared through the harp-string cables overhead. The ruck’s weight shifted forward; I felt it press between my shoulder blades like a hot palm, urging me to fold. Instead I leaned from the ankles, thighs igniting with a deep, spreading heat that tasted like iron on my tongue. Sweat bloomed under the hip belt, salty rivulets tracing my spine. Each exhale steamed white; each inhale drew in the cold sting of mist. Halfway up, the cables hummed—low, vibrating through my sternum. At the crest—32 m above the Maas—the river spread wide and metallic, its surface chopped into dull pewter shards by the wind. My quads throbbed in slow, heavy pulses; lungs burned clean. I stopped for ten seconds, heart hammering against the ruck’s frame. Rotterdam’s cranes and glass boxes glittered below; I felt suddenly huge, as if the city were a model I could pocket. The descent on cobblestones rattled my teeth—short strides, knees soft. Grip held firm.
Katendrecht smelled of frying onions and sea salt. Brick pavers, café tables forcing tight turns—my obliques lit up. I passed murals of ships and children; colors punched through the gray. A vendor nodded; I nodded back, sweat mixing with drizzle on my temples. The burn in my hamstrings felt earned, almost luxurious.
The Willemsbrug climb was shorter, steeper. Concrete, 5 % grade. The wind had eased to a steady push at my back, but the grade bit harder—calves knotting, breath rasping loud in my ears. The surface vibrated faintly underfoot from traffic below, a low thrum traveling up through my soles and into the ruck’s frame. Sweat pooled at the base of my neck, trickled cold under the collar. The cables here were thicker, closer; their shadow striped the path like prison bars. I tasted blood-tinged air—lungs working overtime. At the summit—28 m high—the city opened again, but softer, filtered through thinner mist. My thighs trembled with a sweet, shaky fatigue; the burn felt like molten glass cooling into strength. Another pause, another vista. My mind was clear now, thoughts reduced to the next step, the next bridge cable overhead.
Parkkade stretched flat and open along the water. Concrete smooth as a gym floor. I loosened my hips, rolled my shoulders; the ruck swayed like a pendulum. River spray cooled my face. Seagulls wheeled overhead. Legs heavy but rhythmic, mind quiet and bright.
Back through Het Park the gravel was tackier, almost springy. Leaves stuck to my soles. Final kilometer: posture tall, gaze forward. Under Centraal’s arch at 12.5 km the watch beeped—3 h 20 m. I leaned against a pillar, chest heaving, thighs trembling. The drizzle had stopped; steam rose from my jacket. I laughed once, softly. Body exhausted, mind electric—every ache a souvenir, every sight etched behind my eyes. Rotterdam had carried me as much as I had carried the load.
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