preparation Archives - Nadine Walks

10 days, Calm and Ready

June 7, 2015

A year ago I wrote a blog post called ’10 Days, rain, and stress’. I was- as you can guess- 10 days away from leaving for my Camino, and my days were consumed by- as you can probably also guess- rain and stress. I felt mildly panicked about everything: I hadn’t trained as much as I wanted, and for some reason I thought that I wouldn’t be remotely prepared for the physical part of the Camino if I didn’t get a chance to practice with back-to-back 15-mile hikes. I can’t remember what my longest training hike even was, last year; if it was 15 miles it only happened once, and it wasn’t with a loaded pack.

The rain was getting me down, I had two huge work presentations that were scheduled for the days just before I left for Spain, and I was terrified of walking the Camino. I was excited, too, but terrified: the Camino was calling me, loud and clear, but I didn’t know if I could handle it. I was so intentional about the decision to walk and the preparations and the training but suddenly, with 10 days to go, it felt a bit absurd- what in the world was I thinking? I was about to walk 500 miles across Spain??

This year is different. 10 days to go, and I feel… calm. Mostly. I actually don’t feel like I’m about to leave for Spain to walk another Camino, and maybe it’s because the stress and the fear isn’t there in the same way that it was last year. It just doesn’t feel real, but then again, things like this never feel real until I’m sitting in the window seat of a large aircraft, with my pack stowed above me and my journal open to a fresh page. That’s when it really hits- the excitement and the fear. I’ve had moments of each but I think they’re going to hit hard, and all at once, when I’m sitting on the plane.

But for now, everything feels controlled and calm. I’m not exactly sure who this person is, sitting here, writing about how calms she feels about a month-long trip to Europe to walk across a country… because months ago, I suspected that I would be a bundle of nerves at this point. Second-guessing everything, wondering if I was fit enough, worried that I would be too shy to make friends, worried about everything that could go wrong.

Instead, I feel settled. Despite spending hours, day, weeks, (months?) earlier this year, struggling to figure out the ‘best’ thing to do this summer, I think I always knew that I wanted to walk another Camino. And I can feel that, now. I feel it strongly: walking another Camino is exactly what I want to do this summer. I wrote about wanting to be ‘open’ on this Camino, and it’s been like a very tiny mantra that I repeat to myself every day, as I organize my gear, as I climb up small hills in a park: “Open. Open. Open.”

I’m ready for it NOW. Yesterday I hiked 15 miles with a loaded pack and I felt good. Tired at the very end, but mostly strong. Not everyday will feel like this, and I still worry that this Camino will be tougher on me than the walk last year… but I’m ready. After my hike, I bought the last few items I need for my trip: a bar of soap, a fresh t-shirt. My pack isn’t put together yet, but I have everything I need. No scrambling for last minute items. I’m ready.

Last year, I asked myself- what do I want out of my pilgrimage? I had some ideas, but I wasn’t really sure what the experience would be like for me. On the plane ride to Iceland, I wrote these words in my journal: “Connection. And fun.” Sometimes it shocks me that I was able to identify what I needed, because those were, perhaps, the two things in life that I needed the very most at that time. To feel strong connections, and to have fun. And man, did the Camino ever provide those things to me.

This year, I kind of want everything- sunshine and beach days and endless cafe con leches and Javier Bardem. And time to myself and time for connections and fun. But I expect nothing. If my days are beautiful and I meet incredible people and I have amazing days full of laughter and joy… then it will be a good Camino. And if I walk in nothing but rain, if I walk alone and stay alone, if I spend more time writing than socializing… then it will be a good Camino. My only goal, I think, is to be open- to accept what’s before me, to talk to the people around me, to take each day as it comes, with whatever it brings.

I still suspect that my next blog post, the one just before I leave or the one I write on the plane ride over, will sound completely different than what I’ve just written. That I’ll be saying things like, “What in the world am I doing?? This Camino is more isolated and it’s more challenging and WHAT IF IT RAINS EVERY DAY???” But right now, I’m not saying those things. I’m saying this: Camino #2, I’m ready for you.

Some of you expressed interest in the lacing advice the ‘REI guy’ gave me: see the right shoe. I was amazed that I could hike with a shoe laced like that, but I can! And it feels great!

My legs are not what they used to be

April 3, 2015

So just yesterday I was writing about how calm and confident I feel as I plan for my second Camino. And while that is mostly true, I have a small confession: I’m nervous about how physically prepared I’m going to be for the long walk on the Norte.

I know, I know, I was worried about this last year, too, and the training that I thought wasn’t nearly enough proved to be almost more than enough as I set off on the Camino Frances.

But the Norte isn’t the Frances, and if anything, I’m afraid that because of my general confidence with this whole Camino thing, I’m going to relax too much on the training, and start my Camino completely unprepared (which isn’t true because I’m already somewhat prepared… but fear is a funny thing). I’m afraid that I’m going to be in the same boat as so many of the pilgrims I walked with last year: aching legs and sore hips and tired feet and generally just a lot of pain.

I understand that this wouldn’t be such a bad thing- it’s a 500+ mile walk, after all, and what’s a pilgrimage without at least a little pain?

This fear is recent: just two days ago I was talking about how I’m in better physical shape than I was at this same time last year. But already, I’m starting to question that. I did a 3-mile round-trip hike in Virginia earlier this week, up Sharp Top, one of the Peaks of Otter off of the Blue Ridge Parkway near Bedford, VA. At this point, 3-miles is like a warmup to me, so I didn’t think this hike would be particularly challenging.

Well, tell that to my aching legs. The 1.5 mile ascent was tough. Compared to some of the days on last year’s Camino, the hike up to Sharp Top would probably be considered only moderately difficult. Nothing compared to the first day’s walk through the Pyrenees, or up and down the three mountains of the Dragonte route.

But here’s what I’ve learned: while I’ve still been walking somewhat regularly and continuing to wear my pack, my legs are not what they once used to be. Somewhere along the way, I lost my Camino legs.

I don’t think I would be so nervous if I were walking the Frances again. I still have over two months to train and it’s not like I was hiking up mountains every day last year in preparation for my Camino. But the Norte is going to be tough: up and down mountains, sometimes day after day. One reason I loved my Camino so much last year was that I wasn’t in too much physical pain, and I think that allowed me to completely embrace my experience, and everyday I felt so grateful that I got to be outside, walking. I’m afraid that this year, if I walk with pain, I’m going to have a very different experience.

But this is part of it, right? I think this is the beauty of an experience like the Camino- we can prepare and prepare, but we never fully know what we’re going to walk into. And we get to work through whatever challenges we face while on the journey: we have time and space and help and understanding. In many ways, it is the most perfect kind of environment to face fear and challenge.

So if one of my challenges this year is a physical one, I know that I’ll be able to face it. In the meantime, I’m going to keep walking and hiking, but I’m going to try not to stress. I’m going to try to follow one of the great Camino lessons: enjoy the journey. And that means enjoying the preparation part of this journey as well, even if it means sore calves and aching feet.

One Year Later

January 12, 2015

This new year kind of crept up on me. I guess being in Italy and attempting to navigate an unclear friendship/relationship didn’t give me much room to do my normal ‘end of one year, beginning of another year’ reflections.

I still haven’t really given it much thought, except to say this: It feels good to be in 2015.

2014 was an up and down year. The words that come to mind when I think about last January are ‘cold’ and ‘quiet’. I started this blog, and wrote about taking a single step towards… something. My serious relationship had just ended, I didn’t know what direction my life would be taking, and I had no idea what to do to move my life in any direction. So I began to dream about the Camino, and of how alluring it would be to simply follow arrows for a long, long time. Move myself in a physical direction, and determine the figurative one along the way.

The first half of 2014 was filled with preparing for the Camino. Did I do anything else? Maybe, but all I can remember is spending hours on my computer, researching gear and reading blogs. Of walking in endless small circles on an indoor track at the Y, and later walking in loops through a park. Multiple trips to REI, Amazon boxes delivered weekly to my doorstep.

And then the summer came around and I was on the Camino, and I was finally moving. It was beyond what I expected, and I’m still processing that walk, still kindling the flame of energy that it gave me, still working on how to continue “walking” the Camino in my every day life.

In the months since returning from the Camino I’ve been a bit restless. I’m home, I’m back into my routines, but I’m anxious to figure out the next steps in my life. That feeling continued straight up until the end of the year, right up until I left for Italy.

Since returning? I’m sure it’s too soon to tell, but it feels good to have just returned from a trip. It feels good to be in a new year. It feels like I’m ready to start moving again.

This year feels like an open book, like I could take it anywhere I want to. Soon I will start to fill in the images of what this year will look like, but right now the pages are blank. The only thing I see are possibilities, but nothing certain. Will this be the year that I finally start to write the book that I’ve been dreaming about writing? Will it be the year that I switch jobs? Will it be the year that I move out of my apartment? Will it be the year that I walk another Camino? Go back to France for another writer’s retreat? Do a US cross-country road trip? Will it be the year that I go on lots of dates? The year that I meet someone to settle down with? The year that I make a dozen new friends? Where will my travels take me this year? Where will I go?

Last year, as 2013 changed to 2014, I was in my best friend’s apartment. I was in a daze, trying as hard as I could to be happy, but struggling. We watched a marathon of Harry Potter movies and as we toasted the New Year with a glass of champagne, I remember thinking, “In 2014, I want to feel alive.”

And as 2014 changed to 2015, I was in the Piazza San Marco in Venice, with a man at my side, a plastic cup of wine in my hand, thousands of people packed in around me, and fireworks exploding overhead.

Alive.

So here we go, another year, an open book. This blog started as a place to write about my Camino, but I think it was really a place to write about my life. So have no fear, the blogging will continue. Thanks for reading and following along, I hope I can continue to share some good stories with you this year.

A can of tuna and a white fleece (pre-Camino thoughts).

May 28, 2014

I was opening a can of tuna fish tonight and it slipped off the edge of the counter and fell down towards my bare feet. In my mind I was shouting, “No!!! Don’t hit my toes!!!!” I tried to jump out of the way, my big toe got nicked, but- you can rest assured- it was in no way a Camino-ending injury.

My feet, these days, are precious. My health is precious. The money in my wallet is precious. My time is precious.

It’s all so precious because my Camino is close. 27 days until I leave and I’m holding my breath that it all comes together and that I will somehow find myself on a trail, walking.

It still feels a little bit impossible. As more people are asking me about my summer plans and I explain this long walk, I find that I have some disbelief that I’ll actually do this. It still feels so far away, like there’s so much that needs to happen before I can believe that I can do this.

Isn’t there a point when I’m supposed to feel like a hiker? Isn’t there a point when I’m supposed to have a surge of confidence? Isn’t there a point when I’m supposed to feel certain about my pack and my shoes and my gear?

Some parts of this are slowly coming together, but other parts are a comedy of errors.

For instance, I bought a white fleece. A white fleece! To wear on a 500-mile summer walk through Spain! My best friend has been staying with me for a few weeks, and she’s been great at giving advice and opinions when I ask for them. So I even talked over the whole white fleece thing with her, and she looked at me and said, “White gets dirty.” And I agreed but what did I do? I bought a white fleece.

I get so overwhelmed with shopping and choosing the ‘right’ things that at a certain point, I usually give up and buy whatever strikes my fancy. In this case, I fixated on having something white to wear, because I love wearing white in the summer. It’s impractical and ridiculous but it still seemed like an okay idea. And then, today, the fleece arrived in the mail and I opened it and man, is it white. A pure, soft, beautiful white that is going to be so dirty and stained covered by the end of my walk… what was I thinking?

I’ve spent so much time reading and researching gear and clothing and sleeping bags and micro-fiber towels and sock liners and buffs and water bottles and rain jackets and my head is spinning. There always seems to be more to read, more to learn, more opinions to hear, more advice to receive. And usually, by the end of all of this reading and researching, I feel further behind than where I started. Confused. Clueless.

I’ve written about this already, but as ever, it’s a practice in letting go. It’s okay to have anxiety about this trip and whether I’m preparing enough, but I also need to let go of all the small worries. Is my fleece going to get dirty? Yes. Is my fleece lightweight and going to give me a layer of warmth when I need it? Yes. And both of these answers are okay.

What’s not okay is dropping a can of tuna fish on my foot and breaking a toe and being forced to delay my Camino. This, luckily, didn’t happen, but you’d better believe I’m going to be extra careful with my feet in these next few weeks.

Pre-Camino Visions.

April 22, 2014

I have this sort of ominous feeling that I’m in my last few weeks of quiet and calm. Everything is still fairly relaxed: I’m going to work and seeing friends and family, going on hikes and occasionally picking up something to bring along on my Camino. There is still so much left to be done, but I don’t feel as if there is any hurry- surely, I must still have plenty of time?

And I do, kind of. I have about 2 months until I leave, and that sounds like a lot. Panic hasn’t set in, but it’s like I can sense it, waiting just around the corner. I’m afraid it’s going to suddenly hit and I’ll feel like I won’t have enough time: not enough time to train with my pack (which I still have to buy) or time to research all of my travel plans or time to work out what I want to accomplish on this long walk.

But that panic isn’t here, not yet. I’m still settled into this pre-Camino time, going on hikes when I can, and dreaming idly about my summer plans. It’s still a nice phase to be in.

Yesterday I went on a hike, at a nearby park. I’d been walking for over 2 hours, approaching mile 7, when I saw a deer. I’d been walking on a small stretch of pavement before going back into the woods on a trail, and the deer was positioned perfectly: far off in the distance between two lines of trees, standing in a still silhouette.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” I whispered, as I swung my backpack around to reach in for my iPhone, so I could snap a photo. The deer was far away, but because it was standing so still, I thought that it must have sensed me. I zoomed in with my phone and took a picture, but it was blurry and I could barely make out the deer.

So I inched closer, taking steps through the tall grass crunching under my feet. The deer was standing so perfectly still, and with each few steps I would take another photo. Two steps, photo. Two steps, photo.

I couldn’t believe my luck. That deer wasn’t moving!

I was still far away but finally, I realized that something was wrong. The deer hadn’t moved in a few minutes- not an inch. I blinked, and then shifted my position. Was that actually a deer? Or… a tree trunk?

I waded off-trail through knee-high grass to take over a dozen photos of a tree trunk that I thought was a deer.

So, these are my days, lately. Long spring hikes with my camera, dreaming about the things that I’ll see this summer.

I still think it looks like a deer…

52 days. 3 countries. Suddenly, this trip has become real.

April 2, 2014

I booked my flight last night. And just before I hit the ‘confirm booking’ button on my computer screen, I could feel my heart beating in my chest, sweat forming on my palms, my breathing becoming shallow.

Man, I was nervous. I’ve been preparing for this trip for three months now: reading everything I can, writing about all of my reasons for doing this long walk, training and hiking and learning how to take care of blisters. I’ve told everyone that I’m walking the Camino, I’ve told myself that I’m walking the Camino, and yet, until yesterday, it wasn’t actually real.

Without a flight, I could back out. I could have decided that I am indeed crazy for doing this, that I didn’t want to go alone, that walking for 5 weeks was not how I wanted to spend my vacation. I could be on a beach instead, I could be in Maine, I could go back to France and write.

And all of those thoughts have gone through my head. Am I crazy for wanting to do this? Do I want to be alone? Do I want to be on a beach in Maine instead?

I always knew that the answer was ‘no’, but it didn’t stop those questions from tip-toeing around my mind. And even though I have been so certain that I will walk the Camino this summer, until now, it’s all been words. Only words, and some hikes through a local park.

But now I have a plane ticket, and I’ll be away for 52 days. I look at that number and I have some disbelief. I just committed to a 52-day trip in Europe. 52 days. Right now, it feels a bit daunting. And… incredible.

There is still so much planning to do, but for now my trip looks kind of like this: fly into Paris. Get down to St. Jean-Pied-de-Port and start walking. Walk for about 5 weeks. Arrive in Santiago, possibly on my birthday. Meet up with a friend and (maybe) walk to Finisterre. Fly/train back over to France and spend time in Provence. Return to Paris.

And here’s the final twist. In Paris, get on a plane, and on my way home, stop in Iceland for 17 hours.

I couldn’t resist! I’ve been looking at flights for months, and trying different combinations of dates and airports and airlines. Flying in and out of New York, rather than Philadelphia, was $300 dollars cheaper on Icelandair, and when I saw that I could fairly easily roam around Reykjavik and experience the midnight sun, I was sold.

There are now so many parts to this trip that I feel overwhelmed, but it’s a very, very good kind of ‘overwhelm’. I’m just relieved that I still have several months to prepare.

So I just put a giant check mark next to ‘purchase flight’. Phew. Next up: a new pair of shoes.

First training “hikes” and first blisters

March 14, 2014

Last weekend I hopped in my car and drove out to a nearby state park to do some hiking. The weather was mild and sunny- it was the first warm air I’d felt in what seemed like years (this has been such a long, cold winter). I was excited to be outside and to get on a trail, and to actually begin my training.

I’ve been to this park many times before, and I know its trails inside and out. There are four ‘wooded’ trails that provide about 13 miles of hiking, and a 5-mile paved “multi-use” trail that loops around in a circle. In the past I’d always hiked the trails that run through the woods: there are several hills, and few people hike them, which I like. I never really measure my distance when I hike (though this is about to change), but I’d guess that I typically hike 4-6 miles.

I got to the park and realized that the trails are almost completely covered with snow. Of course. If I were walking the Camino at a different time of the year, I might have considered hiking through the snow, but since I’ll be in Spain during June & July, there’s no need for me to attempt to snow-shoe it through the park.

I was bummed, at first, but then realized that I could walk the multi-use trail instead. It’s a paved trail, and that’s probably a good thing; a portion of the Camino (I’m not sure how much… 1/3 of it?) is on paved roads, and it’s probably good experience for my ‘training’ to include all types of surfaces.

So, I walked. I’ve been out to the park multiple times in the last week, walking 5 miles, 9 miles, 6 miles, 7 miles. My feet hurt, a bit, but by the next day they usually feel better.

And then there are the blisters.

I have a few, and they’re not bad. If anything, I was sort of glad to see them (probably the last time in my life that I will say something like that). I don’t have the shoes I’ll be taking on the Camino yet, so these blisters don’t tell me too much… and yet, it’s a good reality check. If I’m not careful with my feet, I will get blisters on the Camino. Once I get my Camino shoes, I’ll hopefully be able to figure out where the problem spots on my feet are going to be. In the meantime, I’m getting some practice treating blisters/practicing better prevention.

So as I sit here, early on a Friday morning, drinking some coffee before heading into work, I’ve got a couple small blisters on my toes and a dull ache in my legs. But I don’t mind. Signs of things to come.

Worries & Excitement

March 11, 2014

As I near the 100-day countdown to my Camino (right now, my projected start date is June 26th), my mind fills with fears. I still have a lot of time time prepare, but also time to think about what could go wrong, what I might not be ready for, the unexpected, etc.

But is it really fear? Am I actually afraid, or am I just worried?

I’m going with just worried. I’ve already written a post about fear, and that was all about the big stuff (mostly, how to change).

What’s on my mind now are the worries, and I have a lot of them. I think (hope) that most will vanish once I start my Camino, but until then, I have a feeling they will be nagging at me.

In no particular order, here are the things that are worrying me:

1. I’m going to get huge, painful blisters on my feet.

2. I’m going to get injured on my walk (and/or sick) and not be able to finish.

3. I’m going to be too shy to make strong connections with other Pilgrims.

4. Bedbugs.

5. Wild dogs.

6. Staying in refugios/albergues (basically, hostels) with dozens of other people.

7. Snoring pilgrims and not being able to fall asleep.

8. Wishing that I could stay put for a few days and not constantly be on the move.

9. Being in the middle of my Camino and wanting to come home.

10. Ending my Camino and not wanting to come home.

11. Not knowing how to speak Spanish.

12. The possibility of having to pee in the woods.

13. Hiking over the Pyrenees.

14. Walking all day in the rain.

15. Losing my way.

That’s a big list. But on the other hand, I’ve got some stuff that I’m not too worried about at all. Here are some things that I’m confident about/excited for:

1. Navigating my way down to St. Jean-Pied-de-Port (and being able to speak French!).

2. Enjoying the food/having enough to eat.

3. Being friendly to everyone I see and saying ‘Buen Camino!’

4. Walking for hours every day (there’s a tiny bit of worry with this, but not much. I think I’m going to love it).

5. Getting to walk to a new place every day, not getting bored.

6. Having a lot of time to think/be alone with my thoughts.

7. Experiencing a different country/culture.

8. Wearing the same clothes every day/simplifying my life.

9. Not making plans and not knowing where I’ll be sleeping day-to-day.

10. Walking in the summer (maybe I should be worried about this one, but I love the heat of summer. Check back with me sometime in the middle of July and I might be singing a different tune, but for now I’m excited for this).

11. Writing about my Camino every day, having something to say.

12. Knowing that regardless of how far I walk, I pushed myself to go on an adventure and a journey.

Preparation, fear, and forgotten words

July 6, 2013

I leave for France on Tuesday, and I’m not ready.

What does it mean, really, to be ready for something? My bags aren’t completely packed, but they will be, soon. I don’t have a detailed plan of work for while I’m there, but I have ideas, and I think that’s all I need. I’ve taken care of the details: flights and trains and hotels, money and plug adapters. My passport is practically glued to my hand, that’s now nervous I am about forgetting it.

The other day, my grandmother asked me how to say ‘pull’ in French. I felt like the word was on the tip of my tongue; I opened my mouth to say it, but nothing came out. I searched through my mind, at first confident that I could find it. I couldn’t.

I’ve forgotten a lot of the French that I learned in college. When did I lose the word ‘pull’? Last year? 5 years ago? Slowly, and without my knowledge, words have been slipping away. Going back to France makes me realize how much of the language I’ve lost, it makes me wonder how much of the language I can, and will, get back. I think to myself- “Why haven’t I been preparing? Why haven’t I been studying vocab, watching French movies?”

It wouldn’t have mattered. What I learned in France during my first week abroad was equal to or greater than everything I’d learned in the classroom over the previous 7 years. I’ll go back to France and the language will be there. It will be around me, and it will be in my head. The word ‘pull’ might appear, effortlessly, along with all the others that have gotten lost.

But this trip isn’t really about the language. I can focus on not feeling prepared to speak French, but that’s not what I’m really worried about.

I’m worried about having three weeks to chase a dream, and wondering if I can do it. I’m worried about sitting down and writing. I’m worried about how to be an artist.

I’m worried, but my excitement is a bit stronger. I’m excited about giving myself a chance to focus on a dream. I’m excited to see what happens when I sit down and write for three weeks. I’m excited to find out what kind of artist I am, I’m excited to let myself be an artist.

Right now, I’m about as prepared as I’m going to be. It’s time to get to France and speak the language and eat the bread and take some photos and start to write. I’m excited to share this experience, because I think it’s going to be a great one.