When your body can go no further, what happens?
I found this out yesterday, when I walked from a small refuge outside of Captieux to the town of Roquefort (not the one that’s famous for the cheese, but for a different one).
I knew I had a long day ahead of me; previously, I had only walked this long once, on my second day from Varzy to La Charite-sur-Loire, and it was hard, but I managed to hitch a ride for the last six km so I was spared the full agony.
Yesterday was different in two major ways: between Captieux and Roquefort, the path was flat, straight, and surrounded by trees on both sides for literally the entire distance. Imagine walking for 7 hours and looking at the same thing. No change in scenery, no change in direction, no elevation, nothing to distract you.
What was the other major difference? Yesterday happened to be Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. One must fast for 24 hours and even avoid drinking water. I wasn’t going to stop drinking water, but I did want to fast for as long as I could.
So I set off before 9:00 AM, while the sun was barely reaching over the vast fields that lay on either side of the narrow stretch of trees that hid me in the mist.
I made good time for the first three hours, covering close to 20 km and keeping a good rhythm. At first my stomach rumbled from going without food, but I soon forgot about it.
I finally came to rest past noon and spread out my mat to lie on the gravel path. This was when the hunger hit me; I was almost dizzy from it. So I opened my pack and ate an avocado, a tomato, and the half a baguette I had leftover from the day before. That was all the food I had.
The big problem for me was that because the trail was secluded and didn’t really pass through any towns, I was out of water with another 17 km until I was done for the day.
So I set off at a slower pace, and this was when I felt the massive blister on my left foot develop.
The path was already starting to make me feel claustrophobic; add to this my thirst, my fatigue from walking the first 20 km, my unfulfilled hunger, and the sharp pain whenever I landed on my foot at the wrong angle.
It made sense for me to stop, but I was in the middle of nowhere. I could try walking down one of the small roads that occasionally intersected the path and see if a car would pick me up, but there is no such thing as a guaranteed ride when you’re hitch-hiking.
My best option was to carry on to Roquefort, and that was what I did.
I can’t really remember too much of the last four painful hours into town, but I know that my mind crossed a threshold I didn’t know existed. You go somewhere deep inside yourself in moments like these. There is an element of self-preservation in shutting off the world and ignoring what is around you. The blister receded to a muffled throb; my thirst and my hunger were like dust at my feet; my muscles and joints were reduced to faraway aches and pains. The road was both the question and the answer, and I hardly looked up for the rest of the way.
I think the word “trance” is a little too strong, but whatever level of consciousness I was at brought me somewhere primal that I had rarely encountered before—during summer training for football, which I played in high school, or during a rugby match my third year in college, when I dislocated my left shoulder, popped it in myself and continued for the duration of the game. It is the feeling of being alive in the most basic sense of all, of conquering one’s own body with nothing more than pure force of will.
28 thoughts on “Looking Within”
a beautiful read, which reminded me of my own journey once when the road itself became the question and the answer
Thank you! When did that journey happen? it must have been epic!
in 2000. i had gone on a trek to the Everest base camp – nepal with my husband. on the return trip, i just walked and walked and walked. the road became my everything. my god, my trance, my destination. my husband wanted to stop at a village, but i just went ahead n skipped our halts. forgot my pain, my thirst and everything else. i guess we walked from sunrise to sundown that day. and skipped a couple of stop. i have never felt it again. but that experience was something indescribable. thanks for asking me about it. 🙂
What a wonderful story, and I can now understand where that feeling comes from!
You have just become my new hero! I so enjoy reading about your journey – you write beautifully and I appreciate this faithful record you send out to us! I send you this Celtic quote: ‘May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be forever at your back and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.’
Thank you so much Pauline! Here’s hoping the wind stays at my back, because I have to cross the Pyrenees in a few days and a little extra push can’t hurt.
Hopefully that’s the worst over. Good luck for the remainder of the journey. When are you due to complete?
Hey Jo, I hope that was the worst–I can’t see it getting any worse than that. I should be in Spain in less than a week, and from that point on the Camino is a month.
You’ll be trying to stay ahead of the weather too! Hope all goes well 🙂
In today’s world of easy comforts, that sounds like quite an ordeal. Congratulations for having conquered that which a majority of people will never allow to happen in the first place.
Thank you! It feels great knowing I made it through alive!
Thank you for sharing such a personal, dare I say spiritual? aspect of your experience. These are not easy things to write about.
Also, I just looked up where you were on a map and I didn’t realise the Camino started so far up into France. Is this your own personal add on? I thought it began just over the border…?
Whoa, whoa, whoa…you thought the Camino started in Spain??? Only the tourists (and the Spanish) start in Spain. I have met people who started walking in Holland and Belgium–even farther than me!
Read on, my dear:
No, I thought it started in France but pretty close to the border. I guess you start wherever you start, right?!
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I’d be flattered if you used some of my work. As long as you attribute it back to me that’s totally fine. Thanks for stopping by!
I was moved by the line, “The road was both the question and the answer..” . That line in combination with the photo said it all. A transformative moment. One of so many to come.
It really was a special day PJ. Speaking of transformative, I am in Saint Sever today. The abbey here has the best Romanesque capitals I have ever seen in person. They are in such magnificent condition and are also exceptionally well-done. I had to pause for about a minute and rack my brain to see if there was anything that I’ve seen that could compare; Vezelay sprang to mind, of course, as did Autun (which I have not seen yet), but everything here was almost completely intact. And there was one in particular that blew me away. You’ll hear about it soon enough 🙂
I think to appreciate the Camino you have to suffer, just as the thousands of pilgrims that have preceded you… and you truly have suffered.
Treat yourself to a rest day.
After that stage, I really did. I think I’m still resting!
I love this. You’re such a wonderful, thoughtful writer. I just love following along with your wonderful journey. It’s amazing what our bodies and our minds can overcome. Hooray, you’ve made it to Spain! You should be so so proud.
Thanks Stephanie! After that day, walking over the Pyrenees was easy. And yes Hooray!! I can finally have normal conversations with people here, plus the food is cheaper, and (don’t tell the French I said this), it’s better. Wait til you see my next post 🙂