Day XIII: Hontanas -> Boadilla del Camino: 17.9mi.

🛏: En El Camino Albergue, 8€.

🎒:

Everyone participating in this trek has a “credential” that needs to be stamped, at the very least, by every place you stay. It essentially serves as proof that you completed the entire thing. But it isn’t just lodging facilities that stamp credentials; bars, cathedrals, the post office, etc. all potentially have a stamp. It’s a camino version of a Disney-world autograph book, collecting your favorites and proudly displaying them to all your trail friends. I love it too much.

I woke up this morning to our (70yo) Australian roommate storming into the room. He flipped on the lights, “the Koreans said it’s pouring rain, but it doesn’t look like it to me.” It was pitch black outside. He flung open the window. It sounded like a monsoon. “.. I suppose they’re right ..” he said.

It only rained for the first ten minutes of our walk .. then it started snowing. I was thrilled. I skipped and giggled and scream-sang along to Merle Haggard as big fat snowflakes fell onto and all around me.

I think I was mostly just thankful to get another chance to love winter. Historically, winter has always been my favorite season, but this past winter had me questioning that. Maybe it was the combination of winter and night shift. Maybe it was because it was my first winter season in years without a ski-pass. Maybe it was the dread of facing my first holiday season without my family. Maybe it was the day(s) I spent in bed convincing myself I wasn’t prepared for whatever I’d face outdoors. Maybe it was the parking tickets and the cavities and the scraping ice off my windshield part. Maybe it was the people who walked away when they said they’d stay. Maybe it was the guilt I felt for being one of those people to people I really really care about. Maybe it was the change and transition that inevitably trailed behind that. Maybe it was the close-to-home reminders of how fragile life can be. Maybe it was the depression. Maybe it was starting the anti-depressants. (Cue more of the aforementioned “days spent in bed.” The week my body began adjusting to anti-depressants was the worst of all. Deciding I needed the help and getting worse before I got better was devastating. It was a large-scale version of when I took DayQuil for my sore throat a few days ago. Those pills are so damn big and make the problem they’re supposed to fix worse before they make it better. It’s the rudest irony). Maybe it was all just circumstantial. Regardless of the reason(s), winter settled in before I was ready and I never quite made a comeback.

Tired of the perpetual funk, I opted to head to the base of a Colorado 14er after I got off work at 3am one February morning. I endured deeper than anticipated snow, 60mph gusts of wind and the bitter cold for hours before finding myself at 14,265ft. “I felt like I owed myself the victory of standing on top,” I told my counselor later that week. (These days, I’m working on better balance and less extremes).

Today I had the victory of reminding myself what I already knew deep down: circumstances don’t determine who you’re going to be. I still love winter and that feels more significant than completing 17.9mi in the rain and snow and everything in between.

“Today was a good day for a bad day,” one of my Irish friends said when we were all sitting in front of the wood burning stove thawing after a day of battling the elements. We all laughed. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

🎧:

“The past is fading over time, but it’s still hanging on for life.” (Tattoos)