Roncesvalles

9:30pm

In my cute little cubby bed, in the beautiful old monastery that is the Roncesvalles albergue.

Today was looooong, but I wouldn’t change a thing. It started with a climb out of Orisson and pretty much just kept climbing, but we were rewarded for our hard work at every turn. Each viewpoint was more breathtaking than the last. Passing sheep and cows and horses (oh my!), and rainbows and rivers and peak after cloud-hidden peak. Views like you wouldn’t believe. I mean I barely did, and I saw them with my own eyeballs. This place really is magic. 

There’s one section of this leg of the journey where you’re given a choice between two paths. My parents took the wrong one last time (in that it’s straight downhill and pretty treacherous), so we elected to take a longer but less dangerous route into Roncesvalles this time. RIGHT after we made that call and began walking, the most amazing, mystical fog started rolling in. So thick we could barely see the path ahead. We could hear the loud bells of livestock so close to the road, but couldn’t even see them through the mist. Each turn appeared only moments before we came to it, making for some intimidating moments when we weren’t sure of the right move, but it always presented itself to us. We walked through this thick mist for miles. Hours. Through forests, fields, and flat lands alike. And then, out of the fog appeared our home for the night. Tall and grand and welcoming. We had showers, a lovely peregrino dinner, a mass and blessing in the neighboring cathedral, and of course more beautiful conversations with new friends from all over the world.

I experienced many meaningful moments today, but the one that really stands out was a series of thoughts that occurred to me during one of our many rocky climbs... 

I am so often critical of my body. Tragically, who isn’t?  It’s what we are taught to be. But the thing I kept thinking today, is how very proud I am of this imperfect collection of parts of which I’m made. These thick thighs and booty are hauling me through mountains and through rivers and through an entire country. These lungs just keep breathing and this heart just keeps beating, and my sturdy torso and back is carrying at least 17 extra pounds of backpack + all my belongings. 

Sure, I could be in much better shape. And I still want to be. And after this adventure, I’ll be well on my way. But I’m almost glad I wasn’t able to train to quite the degree I originally hoped or imagined. It’s a beautiful illustration that not everything has to be perfect, or planned, or prepared, or "ready." So much of that learning happens along the way. 

I am strong.

I am powerful.

I can do this.

I AM doing this. 

And the journey continues tomorrow.