Pyrenees – Falling in Love
I was wandering around St. Jean Pied de Port on the French side of the border of France and Spain. It had the atmosphere of a European ski village. I’m not certain that I’ve been to a European ski village but I must have been for this image was very familiar. I haven’t been skiing in years and I was filled with an in control anxiety. I kept having a feeling like I was about to do something wrong. I realized that I felt like a fraud. Here I was going through the motions of preparing for the next day. Getting my Pilgrim’s passport, staying in my first refugio, bringing out my sleeping bag and claiming my bed and shopping for trail food for the next day. Was I really going to do this? And was I really going to start the walk climbing up and over the Pyrenees? Everyone looked so fit and healthy. I was 70 pounds overweight and exhausted. I looked and felt like hell and yet I was about to embark on a day that would have my body experiencing more exercise that it had done in a year.
The weather was rainy and very dreary but it actually worked to my advantage, as there were serious warnings about going over the higher mountains because of the fog. I “had” to take the easier route. It was not going to be as beautiful but I wouldn’t have seen much I was told because of the fog. I found myself confirming with other pilgrims that they too were going to take that route. It was the first experience I had with the two different types of pilgrims. Half were ignoring the warnings and excited by the challenge. The other half, like myself, were more trepidatious and being new to the game were following “the rules”. I also had been told that half way up the mountain there was a refugio so I could do the walk in two days. This made perfect sense to me, as the walk the full way to Roncesvalles in Spain was 27 km., ninety percent uphill.
The next morning I set off in the dark, like I had read pilgrims did. I wished I had someone to record the event for me with a picture but being no one about, I took a picture of the refugio instead which didn’t turn out because it was too dark.
I’m so busy worrying that I’m going the wrong way, I’m not noticing particularly that I was walking uphill. In my enthusiasm, I had left before anyone else and I didn’t see any pilgrims on the road. So I stop to pull out the map and in that moment half a dozen pilgrims pass me. I’m feeling good once I realize I haven’t lost my way the first half hour of the trip and start to notice my surroundings. It’s very beautiful and green and pastoral. I stop to take pictures of cows and sheep and gates. More pilgrims pass and I notice that I must be walking very slowly. Many times I would walk behind people and see that I was walking at the same speed, in that our footsteps matched but my stride was so much shorter than theirs that they quickly passed me.
There were places that were quite steep but to my amazement I wasn’t having all that much trouble with them. It was no worse than walking in Hockley Valley at home. This was a piece of cake. Yes I was puffing on the steeper parts but that was to be expected but I noticed that I physically wasn’t fatigued. I was even enjoying the rain, which by this time was teeming down.
I came up to a village and stopped at a bar to figure out how far I still had to go. I met three English people who told me they thought this was Valcarlos, the town where I planned to stop for the night. It was only noon. I had a ton of energy and was so thrilled that I didn’t find the walk difficult, that I considered going the whole way. At this rate, I could have got in about 4 in the afternoon. Some angel was guiding my folly, thank god, and I decided it might be best to do as I had planned.
I had a wonderful night in the refugio with three women from Holland and two from South Africa. We were left on our own and as women will tend to do, we bonded over the celebration of having achieved our first day on the Camino with relative ease, though the South Africans did not like the rain.
The next morning I set off before anyone else, as I knew by now I was much slower than most. I continued to be fine till about noon and then I realized that I was nowhere near my destination and the hills were much steeper than the day before. There was nowhere to stop for water or food and the supply of water I had disappeared fairly quickly with the effort of the hills. It continued to rain, making the path very slippery and tiresome. I suddenly found myself very fatigued and the stretches of walking without stopping were getting shorter. I had started a regime of walking for 20 paces and then stopping to catch my breath. Throughout the day I increased it up to 50 paces but was now back to 20. I was no longer enjoying myself. I was even beginning to wonder whether I could make it. All I could think of was thank god I hadn’t tried to walk this the day before.
Two of the Dutch women zoomed ahead of me. Both were very thin women and one mentioned it must be so much harder for me with all my body weight. Thanks a lot. Like I needed reminding. A little while after this comment, I realized that it was the equivalent of carrying three more backpacks. I was carrying a lot more weight and yet I was still going. I started to pay attention to what my body was doing. I know that I am determined, that had been established years ago. I also know when pushed through pride, my body will perform miracles as was proved climbing a 60 foot redwood tree on a ropes course. But somehow this was different. Yes there was pride involved. I didn’t want to wimp out and hitchhike the rest of the way, but more than that, my body kept on going, even though what I was asking it to do was so unreasonable for my present state.
I paid attention to my legs and realized my legs would get tired even walking up my stairs at home. Now, in my sixth hour of walking up the equivalent of stairs, they were still performing for me. My heart was needing to pump much harder and longer than it had done in years, but it was doing it and so far no heart attack. I was hit with an overwhelming respect and awe of my body. For so long I had abused it by ignoring it and yet here it was like a mistreated puppy, lovingly doing what I asked it to do, despite the fact that it was a madcap idea. It was like my body loved me, no matter what I did to it. It was always going to faithfully try to do it’s best. For me, it was like looking at someone who’d been an acquaintance for many years and realizing all of a sudden that they were a beautiful person and that you really loved them.
There was no mirror around to tell me otherwise, no one to feel the shame at being out of control, just me and my body and the mountain. I had reached a spot where I could look over a gorgeous vista of mountains and valleys and I felt filled with this new found love. I opened my arms wide like Maria in the Sound of Music and instead of singing “The Hills Are Alive”, I shouted “I love my body!”.
I realized then what I had been sent to the Camino for. This wasn’t about finding self-love but developing a new relationship with my body, to have a love affair with my body. This phrase played over and over again in my head. I’m going to have a love affair with my body. I picked up a rock and held it tightly for the rest of the way up the mountain. It represented for me the love I held for my body. I would carry it the whole way.
I was wandering around St. Jean Pied de Port on the French side of the border of France and Spain. It had the atmosphere of a European ski village. I’m not certain that I’ve been to a European ski village but I must have been for this image was very familiar. I haven’t been skiing in years and I was filled with an in control anxiety. I kept having a feeling like I was about to do something wrong. I realized that I felt like a fraud. Here I was going through the motions of preparing for the next day. Getting my Pilgrim’s passport, staying in my first refugio, bringing out my sleeping bag and claiming my bed and shopping for trail food for the next day. Was I really going to do this? And was I really going to start the walk climbing up and over the Pyrenees? Everyone looked so fit and healthy. I was 70 pounds overweight and exhausted. I looked and felt like hell and yet I was about to embark on a day that would have my body experiencing more exercise that it had done in a year.
The weather was rainy and very dreary but it actually worked to my advantage, as there were serious warnings about going over the higher mountains because of the fog. I “had” to take the easier route. It was not going to be as beautiful but I wouldn’t have seen much I was told because of the fog. I found myself confirming with other pilgrims that they too were going to take that route. It was the first experience I had with the two different types of pilgrims. Half were ignoring the warnings and excited by the challenge. The other half, like myself, were more trepidatious and being new to the game were following “the rules”. I also had been told that half way up the mountain there was a refugio so I could do the walk in two days. This made perfect sense to me, as the walk the full way to Roncesvalles in Spain was 27 km., ninety percent uphill.
The next morning I set off in the dark, like I had read pilgrims did. I wished I had someone to record the event for me with a picture but being no one about, I took a picture of the refugio instead which didn’t turn out because it was too dark.
I’m so busy worrying that I’m going the wrong way, I’m not noticing particularly that I was walking uphill. In my enthusiasm, I had left before anyone else and I didn’t see any pilgrims on the road. So I stop to pull out the map and in that moment half a dozen pilgrims pass me. I’m feeling good once I realize I haven’t lost my way the first half hour of the trip and start to notice my surroundings. It’s very beautiful and green and pastoral. I stop to take pictures of cows and sheep and gates. More pilgrims pass and I notice that I must be walking very slowly. Many times I would walk behind people and see that I was walking at the same speed, in that our footsteps matched but my stride was so much shorter than theirs that they quickly passed me.
There were places that were quite steep but to my amazement I wasn’t having all that much trouble with them. It was no worse than walking in Hockley Valley at home. This was a piece of cake. Yes I was puffing on the steeper parts but that was to be expected but I noticed that I physically wasn’t fatigued. I was even enjoying the rain, which by this time was teeming down.
I came up to a village and stopped at a bar to figure out how far I still had to go. I met three English people who told me they thought this was Valcarlos, the town where I planned to stop for the night. It was only noon. I had a ton of energy and was so thrilled that I didn’t find the walk difficult, that I considered going the whole way. At this rate, I could have got in about 4 in the afternoon. Some angel was guiding my folly, thank god, and I decided it might be best to do as I had planned.
I had a wonderful night in the refugio with three women from Holland and two from South Africa. We were left on our own and as women will tend to do, we bonded over the celebration of having achieved our first day on the Camino with relative ease, though the South Africans did not like the rain.
The next morning I set off before anyone else, as I knew by now I was much slower than most. I continued to be fine till about noon and then I realized that I was nowhere near my destination and the hills were much steeper than the day before. There was nowhere to stop for water or food and the supply of water I had disappeared fairly quickly with the effort of the hills. It continued to rain, making the path very slippery and tiresome. I suddenly found myself very fatigued and the stretches of walking without stopping were getting shorter. I had started a regime of walking for 20 paces and then stopping to catch my breath. Throughout the day I increased it up to 50 paces but was now back to 20. I was no longer enjoying myself. I was even beginning to wonder whether I could make it. All I could think of was thank god I hadn’t tried to walk this the day before.
Two of the Dutch women zoomed ahead of me. Both were very thin women and one mentioned it must be so much harder for me with all my body weight. Thanks a lot. Like I needed reminding. A little while after this comment, I realized that it was the equivalent of carrying three more backpacks. I was carrying a lot more weight and yet I was still going. I started to pay attention to what my body was doing. I know that I am determined, that had been established years ago. I also know when pushed through pride, my body will perform miracles as was proved climbing a 60 foot redwood tree on a ropes course. But somehow this was different. Yes there was pride involved. I didn’t want to wimp out and hitchhike the rest of the way, but more than that, my body kept on going, even though what I was asking it to do was so unreasonable for my present state.
I paid attention to my legs and realized my legs would get tired even walking up my stairs at home. Now, in my sixth hour of walking up the equivalent of stairs, they were still performing for me. My heart was needing to pump much harder and longer than it had done in years, but it was doing it and so far no heart attack. I was hit with an overwhelming respect and awe of my body. For so long I had abused it by ignoring it and yet here it was like a mistreated puppy, lovingly doing what I asked it to do, despite the fact that it was a madcap idea. It was like my body loved me, no matter what I did to it. It was always going to faithfully try to do it’s best. For me, it was like looking at someone who’d been an acquaintance for many years and realizing all of a sudden that they were a beautiful person and that you really loved them.
There was no mirror around to tell me otherwise, no one to feel the shame at being out of control, just me and my body and the mountain. I had reached a spot where I could look over a gorgeous vista of mountains and valleys and I felt filled with this new found love. I opened my arms wide like Maria in the Sound of Music and instead of singing “The Hills Are Alive”, I shouted “I love my body!”.
I realized then what I had been sent to the Camino for. This wasn’t about finding self-love but developing a new relationship with my body, to have a love affair with my body. This phrase played over and over again in my head. I’m going to have a love affair with my body. I picked up a rock and held it tightly for the rest of the way up the mountain. It represented for me the love I held for my body. I would carry it the whole way.