My therapist recently told me that the Camino was easy living–an escape from it all–and that reality back home presents the true challenges. I’d like to disagree.
As my roommates’ alarm clocks activated one by one, I delicately tested out my ankle which had spent the night throbbing and occasionally spasming depending on my position. Nope, can’t move it. I knew that I’d finally hit my limit. Without a solid night of sleep in seven days, I had to make a call, something needed to change.
I let everyone else trickle out to gather their stuff before I attempted to get down from my bunk, but the moment I hit the ground I burst into tears. I’d never had pain like that before. I immediately crawled back up into bed.
When the twins came in to tell me about breakfast, I turned around and they saw the state of my red and tear-soaked face. I explained to the two of them–and then to Christina–that I wouldn’t be able to walk for at least an hour, if at all. Christina was willing to wait until 8am, and if I wasn’t in good shape by then, I’d call a cab. I was too afraid to get stuck somewhere on my own without a phone signal.
I am a stubborn human, especially when I tell myself that I’m going to complete something. A few minutes after 8, against all logic, I slipped my swollen foot into my boot and flipped on my backpack.