I didn’t know what I was getting into when I agreed to this adventure.  I have spent a lifetime laboring under the assumption that if others can do it, so can I.  In most cases, this turns out to be very true, but this turned out to be a real test.

The Camino de Santiago trail is a religious pilgrimage that offers several different routes to end up at the St James Cathedral in Compostela, Spain.  You can read the Camino history here if you like, it is quite interesting.  The cathedral in the photo was completed in 1211; to the best of my knowledge it is the oldest man-made thing I have ever laid eyes on.  And I earned that view…

We chose the Portugal coastal route, which sounds like a nice, leisurely stroll along the ocean.  Despite being a total of 163 miles, this made it seem like about 15 miles a day of walking on flat ground with a cool ocean breeze cascading across us.  Nope…not what this is at all.  The first two days were as described above, but much of the rest was cobblestone streets, steep hills, and forest terrain that was very rocky.  Day Three was a serious test for me physically, and by the end of the day my feet were blistered and aching.  Day Four was very similar, and although there are some effective tricks to dealing with blisters, the aching in my feet continued to worsen.  In retrospect I did not have the right shoes on for this type of endeavor, and I was paying the price.  Each day by mile 7 or 8 my feet were more and more sensitive, and the feeling of bruised heels and balls of my feet became a stark reality.

By Day Eight I was in a lot of pain walking.  For the previous few days, as soon as we arrived at our destination I wanted my shoes off and my feet propped up.  It was the only thing that provided a little relief.  I was eating 400 mg ibuprofen on a regimented schedule.  I was physically exhausted, and mentally drained.  I was cracking.  I could feel my desire to continue waning quickly.  When we checked into our room on Day 8 I laid in bed staring at the ceiling trying to find the will to fight on.  I couldn’t.  I felt a tear run down my face and I turned away from my wife who was laying next to me.  I didn’t want her to see me break.  I did my best to compose myself, but not before some seriously dark thoughts that spiraled out of control.  See, I have had to tap out on other adventures of ours before, and it really bothers me.  My wife is amazingly fit and very determined, and she is great at this sort of thing.  I am not; it is very different than anything in my athletic background.  I am built for anaerobic activity, and she is all aerobic and slow twitch muscle.  A tough combo for me to keep up with.

I started to let my mind run away from me.  Thoughts of not only having to take an Uber from this town to the next, but maybe do that the rest of the trip were the start, but it ended with my wife divorcing me because I am not really a man she can look up to or count on when things get tough.  Seriously, I am not joking, this is where my mind went.  This was the moment of The Fork in my Mind.  I had to muster the courage and emotional strength to try and solve the problem.  I had noticed on the way to our room that there was a place that offered massages, and I thought I should start there.  I took a couple of deep breaths and composed myself as best I could.  I noticed she was awake, so I told her my idea and she came along to not only translate but also to get one as well.  My calves and lower legs were super tight, but the pain in my feet overrode that by quite a bit.  I had the massage therapist work on just my legs and feet for thirty minutes, nothing else was a priority.

After a difficult half hour, I did feel better.  It is no picnic having someone with strong hands dig their thumbs into sore and sensitive muscles of your legs and feet.  I was gritting my teeth at times, grabbing the table in effort to not squeal in pain or ask her to stop.  I knew the therapeutic benefit was more important than my own comfort.  It definitely helped, and once my wife had hers done, we went for a little walk around town.  The movement helped my legs, but my feet were still aching.  I told her I was struggling, but she already knew.  I am not much of a poker player, if you know what I mean.  I saw a pharmacy and thought it would be worth a look at to what remedies they had.  I couldn’t be the only one on this journey that had this issue.  I found some sport insoles that had a gel pad in the heel; I took them out of the box and stood on them and could tell this would help.  They weren’t expensive, and I would have paid triple the price at this point. I put them in my shoes immediately and walked back towards our room.

Renewed Hope…

My feet still hurt, and I wish I had exercised this option sooner.  I probably had bruised heels at this point already, so this was still Band-Aid therapy instead of a preventative exercise.  But is was better than nothing, and I went to sleep with the mindset that this would work and I could make the rest of the journey.  I slept poorly this whole trip, but that night was one of the better ones.  I woke the next day with a new attitude and ready to attack the day.  That day’s journey was a shorter one “only” 11.5 miles.  We burned through this flatter and shorter walk pretty quickly, and we got to our destination in about 4 hours.  This gave me more time to rest and recuperate, hedging my chances for the next day.  Day 10 was a repeat of the day before, shorter distance and only one major hill (and it was MAJOR!) to deal with.  We arrived in town ahead of schedule and I did my recovery routine once again.  I knew what lie ahead, and I had to be ready.

Fast forward to Day 12, one of the longer mileage days of the trip.  We would finish in the courtyard of the infamous St. James Cathedral, just like everyone else who was on track to finish that day.  We woke up early and I began what became my new routine:  applying KT tape to my arches and lower legs to help the pain in my feet remain tolerable.  Four hundred milligrams of ibuprofen down the hatch, along with 24 ounces of water.  We had snacks ready and our packs loaded up.  Two liters of water in my hydrobladder and another liter on board as well.  We were ready to go.  As we walked out into the dark morning, my wife gave me a pep talk that helped a little, but in my mind, I was already prepared for the fight.  I had to fight my desire to stop, to rest, to get off my feet  This was the last push and I wanted us to finish side by side instead of her waiting for me to show up.  I was Hell Bent on making that happen.

It took a lot out of me that day, but I made it.  When I would start to feel tired or my feet would have a wave of pain I would think about hitting the winning shot in a racquetball match I had played.  This shot of adrenaline did the trick; I can remember things like this so vividly that it gives me goosebumps when I really focus on it.  I had headphones with me, but wanted to save the heavy mix of songs I listen to at the gym for a “real emergency” if things got worse.  Before I knew it, we were at six miles.  Then 8, which is where we originally planned to stop for breakfast.  I was in the zone, and I didn’t want to break out of that.  “Let’s keep going” I said, and she agreed.  We walked on, ten miles, then 12, and then into the city of Compostela.  Much of the last two miles was uphill and over cobblestone road or sidewalk.  My feet were hurting badly at this point and I was really starting to feel it.  I slid one of my headphones into my ear and cranked up the heavy, pounding music that I use for motivation at the gym.  I took my mind away from the pain in each step as we drew closer to our destination.

We continued on, drawn by the promise to be done.  My wife was doing just fine, but I was struggling.  We could see the top of the cathedral as we rounded the last street corner.  As wave of relief washed over me, I knew I was going to make it.  We got our phones out and recorded us walking into the courtyard together.  We took photos and enjoyed a moment of accomplishment and reflection on 12 days of walking/hiking.  It was a really cool moment with an amazing background that was constructed over twelve hundred years ago.  We burned through 15.6 miles without a break, and did it in under four and a half hours.  It was our fastest mile average speed for the whole trip… a strong finish.

Soon the reality set in, and I had to get off my feet.  Once we sat down and my shoes were off, I didn’t want to move.  I wanted to sit there in the courtyard for as long as necessary, waiting for the rest of our small group to show up.  My wife got me to walk a brief distance to a nearby bakery, and we grabbed some much earned food and went back to the courtyard to wait for the others.  I was never so happy to sit on cobblestones again, but it meant I was not putting any pressure on my feet.

So, the Fork in My Mind was that night on day eight.  I basically broke mentally and was ready to quit.  I allowed my mind more leeway than I should have, and things got dark.  I went down a rabbit hole that was very overblown once I looked at it through much more rational thoughts.  But at the time, it was front and center, and I was buying into the darkness.  I had two options in that moment, try to find some solutions to the problem, or give up and hitch a ride for the remaining 4 days of the event.  I chose to fight on, give it my absolute all, and see if I could do it.  I bet on myself that I could, and it turned out I was right.  I gave myself a chance to work through things instead of giving up.  I could have tapped out and taken the easier way out, but I chose not to.

So my question for you is this: when your reach the proverbial fork in the road, what path do you take?  Do you bet on yourself, that you can find a way to see things through or do you tap out and choose the easier route?  How you feel about yourself is defined by moments like this throughout your life.  The more often you see things through the more receipts you have proving you can.  I no longer need to believe in myself, I have proof.

I wish you luck in your endeavors, and choosing the right fork in the road to take.