way of st james Archives - Page 2 of 2

Making a pilgrimage.

April 23, 2014

Sometimes I forget that the Camino de Santiago is a pilgrimage.

I know that it’s a pilgrimage, of course. When I tell people what I’m doing this summer, most have never heard of the Camino, so understandably they have lots of questions. I always start by explaining that it’s a pilgrimage route to Santiago that was popular in the Middle Ages. Sometimes I mention that many believe the remains of St James are buried at the site of the cathedral. But mostly I talk about the walk: how far it is and where I’ll stay, what I’ll eat and what I’ll wear. Always, I answer questions about going alone.

All of that has kind of been my focus, as well. The length of the walk and my gear and my training and the logistics.

Sometimes I forget how this all started.

A lot of people (though not the majority) still walk the Camino for religious reasons: to make a pilgrimage to the burial site of St James, one of the 12 Apostles. James spent time in Spain, preaching the Gospel, and legend has it that after his death (beheaded by King Herod in 44 AD, the first Apostle to be martyred), his body was carried on a boat steered by angels, and landed on the coast of Galicia, near Finisterre. His body was then carried inland to where it was buried, forgotten until the 9th century when a hermit was led by a vision to the site of the grave. A chapel was built over the remains, James became the patron saint of (what would become) Spain, word got out, and people began walking. Eventually a cathedral was built in place of the chapel, and more and more people walked the Camino de Santiago- The Way of St James.

The pilgrimage was in its heyday in the 12th century; the guidebook in those days was the Codex Calixtinus, pilgrims wore a scallop shell (the symbol of St James) to gain free meals and to sleep in churches. They walked for a penance; to be forgiven for their sins. And they walked because they were believers.

I didn’t decide to walk the Camino de Santiago because I wanted to make a pilgrimage. I have other reasons (start here). But in walking the Camino de Santiago, I will make a pilgrimage. I will have a destination, and I will have a goal. When I arrive in Santiago, I will enter the cathedral and touch the statue of St. James, where a groove has been left in the stone from the hands of millions of pilgrims.

I think this will be a powerful experience.

This past weekend, I celebrated Easter with my family. I grew up going to an Eastern Orthodox church, and as a kid, I developed a strong faith and belief in God. But my faith has always been very personal to me. At some points in my life I have attended church regularly, and at other times, only on major religious holidays.

On Saturday night, as I stood in a darkened church with candlelight slowly spreading through the congregation, I thought about the miracle of Jesus’ Resurrection. I thought about my family and the traditions of our faith at this time of the year. Of helping my mom bake 12 loaves of pascha bread in tin coffee cans, of the basket of meats and eggs and cheeses that we bring to church to be blessed, of standing in a pew with my father on Good Friday, singing the Lamentations.

And I thought about the Camino. I thought about my own faith, and wondered how much of a part it would play in my journey this summer.

And I have no idea. I can’t predict what kind of meaning this entire experience will have for me. I’m not doing this long walk for religious reasons- it’s for my own personal, spiritual journey- but I can’t say that religion will have no part in this.

I’m excited to pass through small villages and to peer inside churches. I’m excited to learn more about the history of this path, and I can’t wait to stand before the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela and to know that I’ve made a pilgrimage.

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.

A Perfect Camino.

March 22, 2014

I’ve been doing A LOT of reading/research about the Camino. I can’t get the Camino off my mind, and I don’t know if I want to: this summer is shaping up to potentially be one of the greatest of my life, and I’m feeling more excitement by the day.

But recently, I’ve wondered if I’m doing too much research. If I’m trying to over-prepare.

Right now, I’m a bit overwhelmed by everything I need to purchase for this trip. It’s not even that I need so much: a pair of pants, a pair of shorts, a few t-shirts, socks, a sleeping bag, a pack, shoes. A few extras, too: a lightweight fleece and a rain jacket, maybe a sarong because I hear those things can be used in dozens of different ways.

The thing is, I don’t really “know” anything about hiking/backpacking/travel gear. I’m learning about lightweight, moisture wicking clothing, about synthetic vs cotton, the importance of ounces and grams. I’m weeding through review after review, curious about what others have used on the Camino, what worked, what didn’t.

I’m finding myself wanting to get everything just right.

And it’s not just my gear, it’s everything else, too. What camera should I bring? Should I break up the monstrous first day with an overnight in Orrison? Which albergues should I stay in? Which ones should I avoid?

I haven’t fallen down the rabbit hole yet, but I’m dangerously close.

I’m beginning to fool myself into thinking that I can have the perfect Camino. The ideal pack, not an ounce too heavy. Bringing every essential item and leaving behind all the non-essentials. Walking 500 miles without a single blister. Seeing all the “must-sees” along the way, staying at the best albergues.

There is something that I must remind myself of repeatedly in the next three months, as I continue to prepare for my trip: There is no such thing as a perfect Camino. I will not get everything just right. There will be beauty in my mistakes. There will be discovery in the unknown.

I can’t fly off to Spain completely blind, with no idea what I’m getting myself into. If I took that approach, I’d probably never buy a plane ticket or walk a single step on ‘the way’. I’d be too scared. At times, I envy a “blind” approach: knowing little about the towns and cities I’ll be passing through, throwing a few things in a pack and figuring it out as I go along. Some people will approach their Camino in this way, and I think to do that would be an incredible thing.

But that’s not my way. Instead, I’m finding my balance, my own way to approach this Camino. I’ve given up on the idea of trying to do everything ‘just right’, and it’s taken the pressure off. I’m going to research the things I need to buy for this trip, but I’m not going to obsess: I’ll buy some pants and a light sleeping bag and if something is not right: if I’m too hot or too cold or uncomfortable with my gear, I’ll figure it out while I’m in Spain.

In the reading that I’ve already done, I’ve discovered a few things and places along the Camino that I’ve very curious about: my own ‘must-sees’. But I’m keeping that list small. I want to be able to set off on my Camino with a vague and flexible itinerary. I’ll stop walking when I want to stop walking, keep walking when I want to keep walking. Maybe I’ll stay in the “popular” places, maybe I’ll take detours, maybe I’ll walk with others, maybe I’ll walk alone.

There will be no perfect Camino. There will be only my Camino.

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.

A Stone of Burdens

February 28, 2014

There is a sort of famous spot along the Camino called the Cruz de Ferro. It’s located about 2/3 of the way into the Camino Francés; pilgrims reach it after walking for about three weeks. This huge ‘Iron Cross’- a wooden pole with a cross at the top- marks the approach of the highest point on the Camino.

I’ve read about several legends associated with the cross: how and when and why it originated, and maybe I’ll write more about it when I actually start my Camino and learn about it from other pilgrims. But what I do know, and what I’m a bit fascinated by, is the tradition of the rocks. At the base of the pole is a growing mound of rocks, placed there for centuries by pilgrims walking the Camino. Pilgrims are supposed to bring a rock along with them on their Camino, ideally choosing one from their place of origin. It seems as though this rock can represent a lot. Often, pilgrims carry a rock in honor of someone: someone who has passed away, someone they have lost, someone whose memory they hold onto.

But I’ve also heard the rock referred to as ‘a stone of burdens’: the rock represents all that you want to leave behind. Or, all that you want to forgive, or be forgiven for.

Pretty heavy stuff.

I’m not sure where I’m going to find my rock, but I still have several months to search for it. And I’ve only just started to think about what my rock will mean to me. I have a few ideas already, but I’m sure that when I place it on top of the thousands of other rocks from pilgrims before me, it’s going to hold more meaning that I could ever imagine.

I’ve been thinking about loss recently. I’ve been struck by how much loss I’ve experienced in the last 3-4 years, and I wonder: was I just lucky for the first 30 years of my life? Or, did I learn how to open my heart, to love more fully, and to risk losing/being left? Or, is this a natural consequence of getting older? Maybe it’s a combination of all three.

Last week my best friend’s dog died, and I’m heartbroken. It’s brought up loss all over again. Everyone, for good reason, thinks that their dog is the greatest. Molly wasn’t even my dog and I thought she was the greatest. Because she was the greatest. The death of a pet is different than the death of a friend or a parent or a partner, but that doesn’t change this fact: losing someone you love is hard. It is always going to be so hard.

I guess the only way to counter death, if it’s even possible, is to carry the people we lose within us. So I’m thinking about the rock that I will take with me on my Camino, and how I will carry it for over 300 miles before I place it at the base of a cross at the highest point on my pilgrimage.

And within that rock, I’m going to carry with me all of the people I’ve loved and lost in my life. I know that I’ll carry them for my whole life- it won’t end when I place that rock at the Cruz de Ferro. But I love the idea of this act: to carry something as you walk across a country, something that represents your love and your loss. I like the act of placing it down: not to leave it behind, but to be able to place it somewhere. That I can carry a rock for hundreds of miles and hold it in my palm and before climbing over the mound of stones to the base of the cross, I can look down into my hand and say, “This is for you.”

Camino Planning: Time to Begin.

February 26, 2014

It’s nearly March, and it’s time to get serious about my Camino.

It’s not like I haven’t been serious; at this point, there’s not much that can stop me from going to Spain this summer to walk. My mind has been made up for awhile, I’ve done a ton of research, and most of my friends and family know about my plans.

But everything else? I feel like I haven’t even begun.

Let’s run down where I stand on training, supplies and equipment, and logistical stuff that needs to be planned:

Training hikes completed: Zero.

Equipment purchased: Zero. (As ever, all I currently have for this walk is a Spork. And a headlamp that either belongs to my ex-boyfriend, or my handyman. Either way, it’s mine now).

Spanish learned: Zero.

Flights/hotels/trains booked: Zero.

Aside from work, a major portion of my time is spent thinking about and focusing on the Camino, but I don’t have much to actually show for all of this. What, then, have I been doing?

For starters, I get lost in reading blogs and books about people who have walked the Camino or are preparing to walk (and on this note, I’m so excited that several bloggers I follow will be walking the Camino in the next month or two. It’s so great to be able to follow along in “real time”, and makes me even more excited about this crazy adventure).

What else have I done? I signed up for the Y, and I’ve been pretty consistent about driving out there, lacing up some sneakers, and walking/running on their indoor track. It’s not a training hike, but walking 4 miles is certainly better than nothing. It feels so easy and I feel like I’m walking so fast, but then I think about wearing a 12-15 pound pack, walking an additional 4-5 hours, and doing it every single day. Yikes.

And, finally, I watched ‘The Way’. Again.

So with approximately 4 months left until I leave for Europe, I know that it’s time to check some items off of my Camino to-do list. I’ve got a few goals for March; nothing too difficult, but all stuff that is going to push me into the reality of the Camino.

I’ve got a lot of time to purchase all of the items I need for this walk, but the two big things I want to have by the end of March are a backpack and shoes. This is the perfect time to try out different models and find a pack and shoes that really fit and are comfortable. Then, moving into April and better weather (hopefully), I’ll be ready to find some long trails and begin my practice hikes.

I’m also hoping to buy my plane ticket by the end of March. I’ve held off on this mostly because I need to wait and see how long the school year is going to last, and whether winter is going to hit us with any more snow days.

I also really need to pin down my plans for this trip: how many days to set aside for the walk, and what my post-walk plans will be. I’ve been considering a dozen different options, many of which involve spending some time in France. The latest plan is to have a friend meet me in Santiago, walk with her to Finisterre, and then travel over to France and spend time exploring Provence. Just typing this all out seems unreal. Walking across Spain, meeting a friend and walking to the coast, roaming around France, spending the last day of my trip in Paris… it’s just unreal.

My plans keep getting bigger and bigger: at first, I figured I’d spend 5-6 weeks in Europe. Now I know I’ll be there for at least 6 weeks, but I’m leaning towards 7. And then there’s this crazy part of me that thinks, “But Nadine, you have 8 weeks off in the summer! Why not spend that entire time in Europe?”

I may never come home.

But first, before any of this craziness and fun, I need to get some things done.

How do you say, “Let’s begin!” in Spanish?

LIVING (part two)

February 3, 2014

I wrote the first part of this post (LIVING (part one)), thinking that I had sufficiently explained how and why ‘living’ is a reason that I am going to walk the Camino this summer. I published the post and then instantly thought, “I would need to write a book to explain the importance of ‘living’ to my journey this summer.”

So this is part two, but I know that nothing I can say here will explain the depth of what it means to me to live.

Lines from a poem by Walt Whitman have been circling in my head. I’m pretty sure I first heard of the poem after watching the movie Dead Poet’s Society (and just mentioning the name of this movie makes me want to drop everything and watch it again, right now).

Oh Me! Oh Life! (Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass)

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

These lines: “That you are here- that life exists and identity…” These words are simple and gripping. We are here, our lives exist. We exist. And “that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” A friend wrote this line in my yearbook, on the last day of my senior year of high school. I remember studying those words, feeling their strength and thinking I understood them.

How well do I understand them, even now? That the powerful play goes on? How aware am I that my life exists, that I get to live all of my days, these incredible and heartbreaking and bitter and glorious and fleeting and everlasting and mundane and precious days?

There have been moments- periods- when I’ve felt acutely aware of the value of my life. Of life and of my existence. But there are also so many ordinary days. Days that slip by, days when I think only of the past, or the future. Or when I am simply bogged down in the routines of my days.

Going to Spain to walk the Camino is a response to my existence and to the powerful play of my life. And it’s an attempt, in some way, to contribute a verse. Man, I could write a book about this, too. All I can say and all that I know is that I am in the process of contributing a verse… I’m writing it now, I’m living it now, and will continue to write it and live it.

There are so many different ways to live, ways that feel small and large and powerful and delicate. I feel life today when I look out my window at the falling snow, and as I listen to music that I love, as I drink a mug of milky espresso, as I craft my words into a blog post. It’s the awareness of all of these things that equals living. I could live in any number of ways this summer, but this summer I choose to live on the Camino.

LIVING (part one)

January 28, 2014

Last month, I was talking to a colleague at the school I work in. He and I are acquaintances, our conversations always centered on the kids we work with rather than details about our own lives.

But there was something different about that particular conversation. We had started talking about our summers off- in the way that many school employees do in the middle of winter.

“What do you usually do with your time off?” he asked.

“Oh, hang out, spend time with family and friends.” I paused. I hadn’t yet decided that I was going to walk the Camino at that point, but I knew that I’d be traveling somewhere in the summer. “Last year I spent a month in France… and I want to do something again this summer. Something big.”

I wasn’t sure what his response would be. When I went to France last summer, I got a lot of mixed reactions from people my age. Just about everyone thought it was a great idea, and many were thrilled for me. But often there was something else in the response. Sometimes it was unspoken- just a look in their eye- but other times it was voiced. “Wow, must be nice,” they would say. Or, “I wish I had the money to do that,” or “With kids, my traveling opportunities are pretty limited.”

It’s not that I felt judged at those times, not exactly. It was more like I felt that I had to defend my lifestyle and the choices I was making for myself.

I’m in my early thirties and a lot of people my age are married and starting families. I’m not. This automatically gives me a very different lifestyle, but sometimes- especially when it involves exciting European travel- I have to be careful how I explain myself.

I didn’t know how that conversation with my co-worker would go. I looked at him, trying to guess what his reaction would be. I continued on. “I’m not married yet, I don’t have kids, but I hope to, someday. And I know that I won’t always have this time, all for myself. So… I don’t want to waste it.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then his face broke into a wide grin and his eyes lit up. “That,” he said, “is awesome. It’s awesome. Go to Europe, go to Asia. Oh man, you’ve got to travel everywhere.”

He started talking about his early twenties, when he spent a year abroad. He talked about the amazing experiences he had and the places he still wants to go. Then he talked about his wife and kids, about his upcoming trip to Disney World- how he learned to develop a happy acceptance of what vacationing with kids meant.

But again he looked at me, and there was so much life in his eyes when he said- “Go for us. Go for all of us who are married and have kids and spend our summers at the shore. Go roam around Europe.”

He’d become animated. “Send me a postcard when you’re there. Please, promise me you will. I want you to send me a postcard with a single word written across it: LIVING.”

And this is why I’m going to Spain this summer, why I’m walking across the country. This- this– is my life. I’ve got to live it.

To be very honest, I look at my friends who are in wonderful relationships and raising children and I feel some envy. They, too, are living. And so often, it’s the very kind of living that I want to be doing. I want to build a family and take my kids camping and to the beach and to Disney World and, well, everywhere. And maybe one day I will.

But now, what I have is this time and this summer and a choice on how I want to spend it. And I’m going to spend it walking across Spain and living.

Steps in the Snow, and My Camino Training.

January 26, 2014

There are so many pieces of this Camino journey that I need to consider. I have a lot of time- 5 months- to prepare, and I know that this time is going to both crawl and fly. Money, travel logistics, buying equipment (I won’t need much, but, having never backpacked or “formally” hiked before, the ONLY item I already own is a Spork), learning some basic Spanish, training… the list goes on and on.

I’ve done a bit of reading on how much physical preparation is required to walk 500 miles on the Camino, and it appears that this is a walk that nearly anyone can do. Practice and training won’t hurt- and by all means, it will probably help- but many say that the first week of the Camino will be an adjustment, no matter how prepared you are. And that after a week or so, most people find their ‘Camino legs’.

That being said, the advice is to get in some good, long training hikes, ideally wearing both the shoes and pack you’ll be bringing on the Camino. For pilgrims walking the French route and starting in St Jean Pied-de-Port (the common starting point), the first day is widely considered the most challenging of the entire route. Pilgrims leave the village and almost immediately begin a steep ascent into the Pyrenees. From what I’ve read, it is a long, tough day.

I’m relatively fit, and already a regular walker. The winter months slow me down and I don’t get outside nearly as often as I do in other seasons. But as soon as the weather warms, I know that I’ll be hitting some trails and will work up to some long hikes. In the next few months, I’ll find good shoes and a good pack and will attempt to put it all together.

But my legs are getting itchy. I’m reading account after account of pilgrims on the Camino, about the long days of walking, about the sore muscles and blistered feet. I’m anxious to get outside and to get walking. So today, I did. Despite the freezing temperatures and the falling snow, I took a walk. I bundled up and put on some boots and walked through my neighborhood. And despite the raw wind on my face and my numbed fingers, the walk was beautiful.

So this is my training, for now. Short, winter walks in the cold. I’m also thinking about joining the Y so that I can stay a bit more active in these next few months: go to some yoga classes and walk/run around a track, maybe even spend some time on an elliptical. It probably sounds silly but this is big for me: I’ve never joined a gym before. In the past few years I’ve gone to some zumba and yoga classes, but I’ve always hesitated to join a gym. Maybe I still feel out of place: a non-athlete surrounded by people who know what they are doing.

I think I’m finally beginning to let go of this: the idea that I don’t actually belong in certain places or doing certain things. I belong anywhere I want to belong. I have a feeling that the experience of walking the Camino is going to stretch this idea even more, that it will challenge the ways I’ve always seen myself, and that it will challenge the limitations I put on myself. In fact, it’s already started to.