“Will you be disappointed with me if I take the bus from Burgos to Leon?” I asked my husband Brian on the phone. I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
“Of course not. I am so proud of you.” He replied predictably.
But that wasn’t the real question, the real question was more complicated and didn’t have an easy answer. I took a deep breath and asked it. “Do you think that I will be disappointed in myself if I take the bus from Burgos to Leon?”
We talked. “I feel like I am missing the Camino at my current pace.” I explained. “I mean it is not outside the realm of possibility for me to still make it to Santiago within my timeframe, but I am not sure that I want to. Right now I would need to average 37km per day, and I have done a few days at this distance, but the last 10km are so awful. It is like I get tunnel vision that is so narrow that I am not really experiencing what is around me. And I meet these great people, but I keep passing them, so I am not connecting, you know?”
I paused lost in thought, thinking about what I needed this walk to be.
“The bottom line is that three weeks isn’t enough to time for El Camino, but that this is the time that I have and so I want to make sure that I am making the best decisions with the time that I have.”
“So take the bus.” Brian said.
I thought back to a few days earlier when I was talking with Dorte from Denmark. It had been a particularly brutal day, the heat oppressive and draining. I had trudged into Ventosa in the heat and arrived at the Albergue late and in rough shape. I was resting in the courtyard at a table across from her.
“It was so hot in the vineyards today, wasn’t it?”
“SO hot.” I agreed. “It never gets like this in Seattle.”
“It doesn’t get like this in Denmark either.” She informed me.
We began to talk about our families and our lives back home.
"I have three daughters. One is an architect, one is an artist and the other is a student."
I asked if she had any grandchildren.
"No, my one daughter who was married is now divorced. It was for the best. So it is."
"Are you married?" I asked her.
"Yes. I was married in 1969 and I stayed married through all the ups and downs. So it is. " She paused. I could tell that she was thinking about something.
"Why isn't your husband walking with you?" I asked her.
"My husband recently had a stroke so he cannot walk El Camino. He can walk, but not this far. Plus he is still working part time. So it is. I come alone and he will book my flight home when I am ready to go back." She explained that she had retired a few years earlier.
She had previously walked from St. Jean to Logronos several years ago. She had just restarted her pilgrimage the day before. She had walked 16km.
She didn’t have a ticket home and she didn’t have a timeline. She sat stretched out on the plastic garden chair, her feet up on a nearby chair. She was slightly overweight, but in that sturdy, could get through anything kind of way. She had her grey hair pulled back into a utilitarian pony tail, a few wirey strands escaping her hair clip. There was a contentment to her that felt earned.
“I just walk until I don’t want to walk anymore or my feet hurt too badly, then I stop. So it is. Now that is real freedom.” She stretched a little further as she said this.
I told her that I was probably going to need to skip a section. I had been trying to average 40km per day but was not having fun. If I was being honest, my goal was making me miserable. However, I was frustrated with myself because I had been walking 40km at home on my training weekends without any problems.
“Anyone can walk 40km," she said unimpressed, "but it is doing it day after day. The second day and the third day build up. So it is. Maybe after a week things start to feel better again, but it takes a toll on your body.”
She could sense my disappointment.
“Don’t punch yourself.” She said. “Women always punch themselves.” I smiled, I think that this was her way of saying don’t beat yourself up.
I had to admire her. I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to give up my original goal. Everyday that I walked I was pushing to achieve some distance goal to make my deadline. It was getting stressful. I was jealous of those that could truly walk their own journey.
“Maybe modern pilgrims take the bus.” I said unconvincing even to myself.
“Maybe you take the bus three times, however many times you need to, just don’t punch yourself.” She said again.
And so when I got on the bus and watched the Spanish country side roll by me from my window seat I tried not to punch myself.