strength Archives - Nadine Walks

No Stones in My Pack: Day 4 on the Camino del Norte (Luarca to Tapia, 42 km)

August 8, 2016

Just before Beatrice left our hotel room in the morning (Day 4), she said, “I hope it doesn’t feel like there’s a stone in my backpack today.”

I understood exactly what she meant- on the Camino, sometimes your pack feels perfect. It’s not too heavy, everything is sitting perfectly, it’s just like an extension of your back. But on other days, and sometimes inexplicably, the pack is heavy. It pulls away from you, it feels like it hangs low, there is an extra, very heavy stone inside.

When I left Luarca that morning, a little after Beatrice, I began walking up the steep pavement that led out of the city. Up and up it climbs, and for the very first time since coming to Spain, it felt like I did not have a stone in my backpack. And that’s when I realized that not only had it felt like I’d been carrying a stone, it felt like I’d been carrying a great big bag of rocks for the past week. Suddenly, the weight had lifted, it was gone. I powered up the hill, it felt easy. Then the path flattened out and I walked away from town with the sun rising aginst my back, the light of the sky pale and soft in front of me, and I felt the Camino. I remembered what it was like to walk with the rising sun, what it was like to walk and not think of how difficult it was to walk… to walk and just be.

I marveled at how good I felt. And before too long, I passed my first group of pilgrims, the first time I’ve done that on this trip. I didn’t know how long this feeling would last, but it felt good to be back. So good.

I flew across Spain that day, and I wanted to dance down the trail. I didn’t feel one hundred percent better, but man, was this an improvement. Everything looked more beautiful, too- the light was gorgeous, the fields seemed to glow. Even the barking dogs sounded friendly, and not menacing.

I stopped for a cafe con leche and orange juice and tortilla and sat outside a bar amongst other pilgrims. I still didn’t really know anyone, but I felt a little less alone, just being surrounded by pilgrims. And as the day continued, I began saying more than hi- I asked where people were from, when they started, where they were going. Basic Camino language, but for the past week it was almost like I’d forgotten how to speak it.

After a stop in a grocery store to buy a few lunch supplies, I sat outside on a bench with an American girl and German guy. They reported that the Norte was very full, and that they were reserving ahead whenever possible. We split a bag of Doritos Roulette (one in every 7, or something, is hot and spicy), and I thought about what they had said about reservations. Nothing has really changed about this for me- I still don’t like calling ahead to reserve a bed on the Camino. I think that part of what I love so much about walking a Camino is the ability to just be in the moment, to not have to plan, to follow your feelings. I knew that I’d already run into some trouble and couldn’t stay in the albergues I’d planned to, but I was going to continue to trust that if I showed up to a town and really needed a bed, something would come through. Or that I would figure something out.

I ended up walking 42 kilometers that day (I can just hear you all now: “Nadine!” you’re saying. “Didn’t you just drag your sick self through a 15km day??”) But I have to say, I felt good for all of those 42 kilometers, though my feet were a bit sore at the end. I wouldn’t have gone so far if I hadn’t been feeling so good, and in the end, my destination was more than worth it. It was, hands down, the best albergue I’ve ever stayed in. The actual albergue was only so-so; not very new, two floors of rather rusty bunks, a “kitchen” that was a microwave and a few dishes (no knife, grr). But the view, oh, the view. The building was smack up against a wooden barrier that overlooked the water. We were right on the coast, we were practically on a cliff.

There were three beds left when I arrived at 5:00, and before I could do anything, Beatrice was ushering me into town to find the tourism office so that we could get our keys for the albergue (things at albergues have been a bit weird, I’ve yet to see a hospitalero on sight when I’ve arrived, and at this place you sign in and then go find a key, which we never ended up needing, so who knows). As we were walking there I ducked into an ice cream place for a few scoops, and in the grocery store picked up a coke and chips, along with salad stuff to share with Beatrice. This is significant only because it really meant that my appetite was coming back- the first ice cream of the trip! (Still no vino tinto since I’ve been sick though- is it really a Camino if I don’t have a glass- or 2 or 3- of vino tinto? I don’t have an answer to that yet…)

And once back at the albergue I barely budged from my spot overlooking the water. The wind was cool so Beatrice and I sat against the stone wall that had been warmed all day by the sun, and we ate our salad and later drank from mugs of tea, all the while listening to the sound of the waves. I recognized a few people in the albergue- a Spanish girl and guy who walk fast with their clacking poles, Yoko from the albergue in Cadavedo, the young girl from Madrid who’d been at the same albergue.

I didn’t feel like such a stranger on the Camino anymore. I felt like I was back, that the Camino was back- though really it had never left. I had just needed to find it again.

Don’t Stop Me Now; Thoughts on Strength and the Camino

August 25, 2015

I was surprised the other day when I looked at a calendar and realized that I’d been home from the Camino for a month. A month already! It doesn’t quite seem right, especially since I just started working again, but even these work days aren’t “normal” yet. My days, for now, are spent working from home: sitting on a couch, or lounged out on my porch with my legs in the sun, or maybe spread out on a blanket in the park. I take breaks to walk to the library, to jog around my neighborhood, to drink more coffee. These are the slow, easy, waning days of summer. After Labor Day things will return to normal and maybe then I’ll feel like the Camino is far, far away. For now, it feels as though I only just stopped walking.

A few of my friends have commented on how I look exactly the same. “Sometimes I think that I should look at you and see some sort of difference,” one says. “Show me your calf muscles!” another says. But there’s nothing much to see: my body, that felt so very strong in the last few weeks of my Camino, looks the same as it ever did. Maybe the muscles that grew and strengthened on the Camino are still there- I suspect they are- but they’re hidden. They might even be slowly fading away. They must be; after all, it has been a month since I’ve done much long-distance walking.

These days I’m running instead, and when I say ‘running’, I mean ‘jogging’. And whatever jogging I’m doing is of the very, very slowest variety. But it’s a different motion than walking, and uses different muscles, and I can feel my body working, hard, to figure this out. And despite never enjoying running and despite still being convinced that this won’t last very long, I like the feeling of my body working hard once again.

I learned this on the Camino Frances, last year, but I really learned it this year. For those of you who followed my blog while I was on the Camino del Norte/Primitivo this year, you’ll know that I walked some very long days, especially at the end. I’m still a little surprised when I jot down the distances and add up the kilometers and see the amount I covered in my last week of walking. It wasn’t something I had planned on doing- at least, not until a day or two before- and I didn’t feel like I had anything to prove. I just wanted to walk. And to be very honest, I suppose I loved feeling strong.

A Camino conversation that I see come up from time to time- in facebook groups and on message boards- is “the pilgrim who walks really fast”. Sometimes there’s criticism and judgement around this topic; inevitably, someone will say, “I don’t understand why anyone would want to walk so fast. You miss so much of the beauty of the walk! This is not a race- why move so fast to get to a destination only to have to wait several hours for the albergue to open? Or, why walk huge distances only to arrive in the evening and then have to go to bed and do it all over again the next day?”

I understand these comments, sort of, but they always make me a little uncomfortable to read. Because I’m one of the fast walkers (though I had my days this year when I was the slowest in a group). Sometimes, when I’m walking fast, I worry that others will see me and think these same things- that I’m just flying through the experience, not stopping to smell the roses, not slowing down to enjoy the journey.

But it’s not true, and at some point along the way, I stopped worrying about what anyone else might think.

I love the way I walked my Camino, especially this year’s Camino. It took me a solid 10 days to find my footing and to rediscover my Camino legs, and even once I did, I still had a few very difficult walking days when I felt sluggish and tired. But something happened to me in my last two weeks of walking: I felt strong. Really strong. Stronger, maybe, than I did last year. The Norte and Primitivo were more challenging routes than the Frances, and this year I had to cope with a large blister and walk through pain (plus, walk through a few days of bad weather). But once the blister was gone and my legs started to get used to those hills, I often felt like nothing could stop me.

And it’s so hard to describe this feeling, but this is what I felt when I was moving so fast down the trail: I felt a bit like I was flying, like my mind was almost detached from my body and I didn’t have to really think or work to move my legs and my feet. The walking became automatic and almost effortless- even, at times, when I was climbing up hills. And when I felt like this, I didn’t want to stop, sometimes I think I couldn’t stop, even if I wanted to: I just powered on, usually under a hot sun, sometimes with music blasting in my ears, feeling free and strong.

It’s why I walked so many of those long days, in the end- I felt so good that I didn’t want to stop. And why stop if I was still feeling so good? So I kept going. My last day, the 52 kilometer day, that was maybe a little bit about proving something to myself, proving that I could walk a longer distance than I ever had in my life. I was curious- could I do something like this? What were the limits of my strength? And even on this last Camino day I continued to experience and learn new things: that my body could walk 52 kilometers, but it wasn’t effortless. My strength was waning, the steps were not automatic, I wasn’t smiling and dancing and laughing down the trail. I was trudging down the path, moving slowly, pulling myself up small hills, focusing- in the end- on what I had told myself from the very beginning: one step at a time.

I needed a break after that 52 kilometer day- and the multiple 40km days that preceded it. For a good two weeks after my Camino ended, I didn’t feel a strong need to walk. I still did walk, a bit, but not like I tried to last year. This year, I was happy to let my body rest.

But I love remembering how strong I felt, and I’m beginning to really miss that feeling. I’ve talked a little about how I might not feel a need to rush back and do another Camino next summer, but that doesn’t change the fact that I miss the walking: those entire days of walking, the flow I felt when my legs were strong, the joy of moving myself across a vast space.

And I have these moments, lately, when I take a break to go for a short walk around my neighborhood, and I listen to the music that I played on my Camino. Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” begins to play and I swear I can start to feel the Camino again. I start to feel my legs grow stronger and I begin to move a little faster. And suddenly, before I know it, I’m flying.

Next Post: Camino Frances vs Camino del Norte

Nuns and plums and getting close to the end; Day 28 on the Camino, Portomarin to San Xulian

July 24, 2014

It’s only been in the last few days that I’ve felt close to Santiago, and aware of what that means to me. I’ve been walking towards Santiago for 28 days, but I couldn’t really put it all together in my head until yesterday. Until now, it’s all just been walking: day after day. I knew that the kilometers were adding up, but I wasn’t paying close attention to how much I walked or where I was on a map. I was just walking, and taking in the experience.

The first thing that struck me was something three nuns said, on a little hill on the outskirts of Ponferrada a few days ago. Saskia and I had been walking by when we saw them picking fruit from a tree. Saskia, who can speak Spanish, asked what the fruit was. The answer was plums, and instantly the women reached down to us, offering handfuls of the round fruit. They filled our hands, offering more and more. The plums were spilling out of my grasp and rolling down the hill, but they kept reaching down to give us more. Two guys were approaching (who, it turns out, had just started their Camino that day and were about 20 minutes into their walk). I shoved handfuls of plums at them, and the nuns continued to give us more, speaking in Spanish the whole time. We finally left, our hands and pockets overflowing, and I asked Saskia what they were saying.

“They were saying- ‘pray for us in Santiago.'”

It gives me chills now as I write this, the idea that these three holy women recognized the importance of what we were doing, and saw a great meaning in our walking and in our destination.

I’ve tried to be aware that I’m on a holy pilgrimage, but it wasn’t the reason that I chose to walk the Camino, and it’s been overshadowed by so much here. I try to stop in churches when I can, and have attended a few masses and received several Pilgrim Blessings. But most of the people I talk with aren’t here for the religious part of the pilgrimage. And it’s easy to forget about the history of the path we’re walking on, and the reason that this Camino exists at all.

But when I heard that the nuns asked us to pray for them in Santiago, something shifted a bit in my head. I knew that I would say a prayer for them when I reached Santiago, and all at once, the larger scope of what I was doing came into focus.

I’m almost in Santiago. And I’ve walked a long way. This is day 28, which means I’ve been walking for 4 weeks. The beginning of this Camino- that first day through the Pyrenees- feels like a lifetime ago, and it feels like yesterday. I don’t want this to end, but I’m also so excited to reach Santiago.

And I’m a little surprised by my excitement. For weeks now, Adam has been talking about the sense of accomplishment we’ll have once we reach Santiago- to be able to say that we walked this distance. And every time I heard him or someone else say something like that, I couldn’t really agree. I’ve loved the walking so much, and some days have been hard, but it’s also been one of the easiest and natural things I’ve ever done, in a way.

But now that Santiago is close, man, I’m excited. And I feel proud. Lots of new pilgrims have started in the last few days (including large, large groups of students, and everyone tries to figure out where they’re stopping so we can avoid those towns), and the Camino is crowded. I was expecting this, and am trying my hardest to have an open mind when I can’t walk alone. When these newer pilgrims ask where I started, I feel really proud when I answer, ‘St Jean’, and I wasn’t expecting that. But I do feel proud: I’ve been walking for a long time, and now, finally, I’m starting to feel the accumulation of all of my steps.

My legs are strong. They’re really strong. I’ve always been a fast walker, but here? It’s a rare thing when people pass me. Several people have joked that I’m impossible to catch. On hilly and rocky sections of the Camino, I can nearly keep the same pace as bikers. I was walking quickly in the beginning and I’ve continued to, but now I just feel so solid. This isn’t to say that I haven’t had my hard days here, physically, but even my hardest day hasn’t been that bad. I’m proud of myself for being able to physically handle this walk, and proud that I can safely say that I could do this for another month.

I’m proud that I’ve handled the potentially uncomfortable parts of this as well as I have. I worried that I would have trouble with feeling displaced, and constantly on the move, and that I would tire of the same routine day after day. But if anything, every day feels so new and exciting and full of possibility. I have no idea what I’ll see or who I’ll meet. I have a fairly good idea of what I’ll eat but since I’ve mostly been loving what I’m eating, that’s not so bad (bread, coffee, cheese, wine, fries, tuna. Mmm). Last night I feel asleep in an albergue with about 100 beds in a wide open space. The lights were still on at 10:30 and people were moving around and talking and, somehow, I fell asleep. I’ve adapted to the strange conditions of this trip: the offbeat places where I’ve had to stay, nearly always sleeping on the top bunk, cramped and sometimes dirty showers. After the first week I gave in and bought shampoo and having been using it every since, but as for the rest of it? I think I’ve shaved my legs once, I’m definitely not wearing makeup, I wear the same two outfits every day. And I feel great.

I’ve had great practice in letting go of planning, I’ve spoken up for what I need when I need it, I feel more comfortable socially than I have in a long time. I’ve loved the people that I’ve met, and it feels good to know that I’m loved in return.

I’m not done with this walk yet but I’m certainly processing the ending. I had such a good walk yesterday: I walked alone for nearly the entire day, not seeing many pilgrims. The sun was shining and I was walking through a beautiful part of Galicia. I felt so good and at peace. I listened to music and at some points was dancing down the trail.

Last night I stayed in Portomarin where lots and lots of people stopped for the day. I ran into so many that I knew: all of the Koreans, the Spanish man and his two kids, the Italian mother and daughter, the Vermont family. Almost everyone is going to arrive in Santiago on the same day, the 27th, and that makes me so happy. There was a long time when I thought I would fully break away and stretch out my trip and walk short days or take days off. But about 10 days ago I realized that I wanted to celebrate in Santiago with all of the people I’ve met along the way.

And I think most of us feel this way. “When are you arriving in Santiago?” we ask. “The 27th, and you?” “Me too! We’ll take a photo in front of the cathedral!” “We’ll celebrate with sangria!”

Two days ago Ibai showed me a photo on his phone. ‘Can you see who this is?’ he asked. There was a man standing in front of the cathedral in Santiago, his walking poles raised in the air in triumph. I squinted at the photo. ‘That’s not Adrien, is it?’ Ibai nodded in excitement. ‘It is, he made it to Santiago!’ All I could do was grin. Adrien had started from St Jean on the same day that we did, but after two weeks started walking really long days to reach Santiago by his deadline. I hadn’t seen him since Hontanas.

And now there he was, the first person I’d walked with who made it to Santiago. I couldn’t stop smiling when I saw the photo, and I can’t stop smiling now.

Santiago is close.