Choosing challenges

Kiki and I had decided to go for it. It was day 26 on the Camino. We would walk almost 30 kilometers from Villafranca to the tiny village of O Cebreiro, the last 12K of which would be a climb of 600 meters. That is an almost 2000 feet ascent. At the top, up at about 4500 feet, the views were supposed to be spectacular. Many pilgrims split this section in half. Not us.

Before I continue this story, you should know a few things: First, apparently when the ancient path that is the Camino Francés was created, no one had ever heard of switchbacks. When you go up, you go straight up. More harrowing, however, are the descents, especially down very narrow, rocky trails that are more like slot canyons than paths. Both would be part of that day’s hike.

The second thing you should know is that there were five kinds of rain that day: spitting rain, heavy rain, downpours, horizontal rain, and wind-gusted torrents.

And thirdly, to put these two together, there would be five kinds of mountain ascents and descents that day: muddy with slippery leaves, muddy with rocks, muddy and rocky with cow pies, and ludicrous.

We hiked, tromped, trudged, slogged—and peregrinated (we were, after all, peregrinas) for 10 hours. Yes, 10 hours. What did we talk about? The Wife of Bath, the glories of cheap Spanish wine, how we both knew and used the word “peckish,” Joan Didion, Roz Chast, snappy comebacks we could have made to that bitch M but didn’t think of in time, lame jokes about our emergency stashes of almonds which we persisted in referring to as “nut sacks.” Also, much silence. And more than a lot of cursing.

By then Kiki and I were soul (I am so tempted to be cheesy here and write “sole” as in, you know, shoes) sisters. We had crossed paths during the first third of the journey, coming in and out of each other’s hiking lives until it was obvious to both of us that we belonged together.

Allow me to fast-forward as you do NOT want to slog along. When we finally got to the little village at the top. Kiki turned on Google maps to locate our lodging for the night. Google maps confidently informed us that the lodging did not in fact exist in this town but was, instead, located 4k away (that’s another 2.5 miles) in a town we never heard of. Various bad words were uttered. And then, on we hiked, at first hard by a busy highway, then up through a sketchy, unmarked forest path. Did I mention the rain?

We got to the aforementioned town. The colorful town map directed us to the hostel. Which was not there. Walked back to the map. Yes, on the map. No, not actually in the town. Maybe you want to know what we did then? But I do so like a cliff-hanger.

Besides, if you know my writing, you know that I employ the small story to illuminate the larger issue. Here’s the larger issue: It is about choosing challenges. How life throws shit at you, trials and tribulations, illnesses and deaths, unexpected, unwanted, unmooring. This day–the Camino itself–was about my power to choose the challenge. About the privilege of being able to choose what is hard and uncomfortable, risky, chancy. This is how you strengthen the resilience muscle before you need it. It is practice for the challenges that come unbidden.

Ultreia.