I was walking through the cool rain and mist of Galicia, a region in western Spain, after walking 495 miles in the past weeks. I was soaked through and through. I was chilly, if I had to be honest, but my legs knew the drill and kept moving me toward my goal, the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. They were on autopilot by now. During the first two weeks of the pilgrimage, they rebelled and put up some resistance, but now they propelled me as if on the wings of the angels.
I started in the dark that morning at 6:50, before sunrise, undeterred by the cold rain. I could see the faint glow of headlamps and cell phones from other pilgrims far ahead of me. This helped reassure me that I was heading in the right direction. I knew I would only have half an hour of this before daybreak, but under the cloudy sky, I also knew I would not see the sun.
Due to the conditions and my pace on this final day, I made my first mistake and veered off the way for a couple of hundred meters. After realizing my error, I quickly course-corrected and, with the help of a local farmer, was pointed in the right direction. 34 days of walking and not once losing the way, but on the last day… I found this humorous enough to laugh out loud. This final day was one of the shortest (10 miles), by design, so that I could arrive in the square with enough time to make the Pilgrim Mass in the cathedral at noon.
In my haste, I skipped breakfast, which also meant that I skipped coffee. It cannot be overstated how critical coffee is on the Camino. I knew that I would have an opportunity over the three and a half hours I had predicted it would take. But in the beginning, nothing was open. I passed the 12k Bar, but there were too many people in line. I passed several more, all with at least 4 or 5 pilgrims waiting for their coffee. I didn’t need it, I convinced myself, so single-mindedly was my drive.
Walking for six hours each day, with no headphones, no podcast, no music or audiobooks, one has plenty of time to think, ruminate, and listen. It was about halfway through this morning when I had yet another epiphany. These last four years have been a struggle for me to return to health. I have written endlessly about this topic. I have averaged at least three hours every day for the last four years on various remedies in my attempt to come back.
Spoiler alert: I’m back. I mean that yes, my body is back in Leland at my home, but more importantly, I’m back to full health (at least my version of full health). The epiphany was that these last four years, I earned my master’s degree in my own health and wellness. I have studied, read, probed for answers, and worked very hard to make it back. The Camino was my thesis statement, and with only five miles to go, I knew I could defend it and earn my degree.
I’m not trying to overstate the physical limits I put my body through, but starting in the Pyrenees, I genuinely had my doubts. Would my knees hold up? Could I get enough sleep to have the energy for the distance the next day? Would my adrenals shut down again because I was asking too much? How could I walk 15 to 18 miles every day, back to back, for 35 days when I have never even put two of those days back to back?
In addition, the 15-mile days I did in training were on the relatively flat land of Northern Michigan. On the Camino, I would have elevation changes in the thousands of feet on any given day, with an “easy” day being about 500 to 600 feet. It can also not be overstated how many hills/mountains there are on this walk.
After about 10 days, I got glimmers of hope, and most of those doubts evaporated like the morning dew by second breakfast. Which brings up another point. Those first several weeks, my mind thought I was going to starve due to the energy demands, so I ate easily four solid meals each day. On average, I burned 3,500 calories each day. I likely consumed closer to 4,000.
Back to the final day. I had dinner the night before at 7:00, and would not consume anything but a single shot of espresso until 1:30 pm after the Mass. I approached the outskirts of Santiago, and the path turned to sidewalks. Traffic increased, and signage decreased; the rain remained constant. I made it past the outer ring of traffic and into the old town, where winding, narrow streets made it easier for pedestrians.
I was only a little disappointed to enter the square by myself, but very proud of my pace this morning. Instead of the 3.5 hours I had expected, I clocked in at a blistering 2 hours and 45 minutes. On a normal day, I walked at a much slower pace, but as I mentioned, I was flying on the wings of angels.
Literally 200 meters from the entrance to the square, I came upon two familiar ponchos, those of my Camino buddies from Australia, Ros and Michelle. We had become good friends after a few weeks of traveling in the same direction, and we would often encounter each other along the way and walk together or share a meal. I was dumbfounded at how they could be there when their starting point was 5 km further away than mine. They left at 5 am. Once hugs were exchanged, they doffed their ponchos, anticipating the inevitable photos once in the square. This cost precious seconds, but it was worth it to enter the square with friends.
I was giddy, a feeling I have rarely experienced but that perfectly describes my mood. I practically skipped into the square. It was not quite 10:00 am, so there was only a smattering of other pilgrims. After the photos, we headed directly to the pilgrim office to receive our Compostela (the credential for completion). Of the 2,399 pilgrims that completed that day, we were numbers 60, 61, and 62 (ironically, our respective ages). However, only 4% began as far back as we had in St. John Pied du Port (790 km). The vast majority started in Sarria (112 km), the minimum distance required to receive the credential.
With the business end of the day behind us, it was time for the spiritual part of the day. Together, we crossed the square once more to enter the cathedral. We were seated in the second row of the indescribable Cathedral by 10:30, plenty of time for the noon Mass. It occurred to me that the last time I sat through a church service in wet pants was when I was two years old. But there was no place I would rather be.