24/7

This year’s pain has nothing on the pain I experienced two years ago on Camino Frances. It’s the normal kind of pain if you walk 30 kilometers every day. What I love about it is that it’s not boring. It moves from the hip to the knees, and of course the feet. But I manage to kill it with Magnesium oil, a gift from Maja. Abracadabra, a little trick and the pain is gone. That way I can actually enjoy walking. Two years ago, though? A totally different story. First, I didn’t wear shoes one size bigger, so I tore ligaments in my left ankle. Then, thanks to a misstep, the other leg went the same way. Fantastic! Pure painful agony that makes you see all the stars in the universe. And I’m supposed to be one of those who can take the pain and doesn’t moan for nothing. Since I forgot to pack my brain that year, I decided then to continue the Path without any rest. I was there to walk, not loll, right? But stupidity is taxed and what a tax it was. I started my days with pain, walked with it, went to bed with it, and wash, rinse, repeat the following day. There’s nothing worse for someone who loves long walks. Sure, there are painkillers, but you can’t eat them like candy, since it fucks up your stomach. And I’m more of a home-remedy kind of a girl. But your body gets used to those through daily use as well, and soon enough, home remedies are useless. Enter suffering. One day I agonized so much we decided to call it a day after twenty kilometers. I just couldn’t do it, but we had to reach the next hostel. It took me more than two hours to walk five kilometers that day. If you’re springy and painless, it takes only half an hour. You can’t measure pain, but I tell you, it was like someone was smashing nails into my foot with a sledgehammer, making every hammer worse. I did cry that day. And some other days. Of course, you can’t call a cab, since you’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. There’re also no buses. So, what do you do? You walk. What I almost did was hitchhike a gentleman on a horse. Unfortunately, I don’t hablo español, and I didn’t have the energy to communicate by gestures, let alone sign language. When I finally got to the albergo, I wasn’t even able to change the bed – which is necessary in those circumstances. I fell on the floor and slept for two hours. When I woke up, the bed happened to be made. Thank you, Tina, one chore less after an exhausting walk. All I could do is get a beer, kill the pain, and shut my nagging for a few hours. I knew the next day won’t bring deliverance. It was never easier – just different. The pain accompanied me for three weeks. And on this Path, every woman is the architect of her own doping (pain).