“What are you, a mountain goat?” asks Shelley as I bound ahead up the rocky slope to capture a picture of our fellow pilgrims on one of the steepest and most dangerous part of the pass over the Pyrenees Mountains.  Not sure if she’s impressed or exasperated, I answer honestly “This is PLAY!”

The first section of the Camino is a physical test, bringing pilgrims to tears, to prematurely ending their quest, to question their strength and stamina.  I don’t take my health for granted, especially after a summer of physio on a soccer-strained knee, but I do identify with the mountain goat feeling of freedom on a mountain. My pain and challenge won’t start for a few days, but this Day Two challenge is COLD.  Wet, windy, and so cold that the food truck man at the one and only stop has to help me zip up my backpack.  So cold that I reach into my pocket for the map and can’t tell if it’s in my hands or not.  So cold that I stop to pee and can’t feel if…

We huddle in a tiny emergency shelter near the top, wistfully looking at the charred remains of a fire that, it turns out, was from our German friend Weibke who decided it would be an adventure to sleep here the night before. As the wind and rain intensified she stacked more and more rocks against the wood doors to try to keep them from blowing in again.  But at 10pm the door once more blew in, this time thanks to Derek from Amsterdam who asked her forgiveness for barging in but he’s underestimated how long it would take to cross the peak.  He was actually going to continue in the dark storm over the poorly-marked trail where others have met their end, but she thankfully convinced him to stay the night around their feeble fire.

Unlike our adventurous young friend, we continue over the pass and down the steep descent into Roncesvalles, where an industrially-efficient monastery processes at least 400 of us wet tired hungry exhausted pilgrims a day. And we had it good compared to others. Jerry missed the cutoff and added 5km to her day. What’s taken us 7 hours ends up taking Roger 12 hours.  What took us 27,000 steps took our short-legged Canadian friend 34,000 steps.

Day Three we’re back up and up then a treacherous downhill to Zubiri on a narrow path over deep jagged diagonal rock formations. It’s work, but still I’m never out of breath or heavy-legged or wishing it was over. 

Then part way through Day Four I become human. Evidently somewhere during that steep descent yesterday I strained an ankle tendon and it hurts more and more. We stumble into Pamplona and explore the famous narrow streets and bull-running ring with less zest and adventure than normal, retreating to our intimate monastery hostel to rest and commune with other pilgrims. After a shared dinner we’re led down for an evening worship down secret interior stairs (leaning heavily on the bannister) to a fully subterranean chapel where the monks who aren’t supposed to interact with the world worship.