It’s
no only 15 days until we leave and of course I’m starting to think of all the
things that could go wrong or break once we start our 800 kilometer, two month pilgrimage
walk. I’m not so much worried about my equipment, since except for my walking
poles breaking in half, the backpack ripping apart somehow or the soles of my
hiking boots falling off while crossing a stream, there isn’t a lot of
equipment to break, actually. That’s one of the benefits of being a hiker- it’s
a low tech sport in today’s high-tech world. I was reminded of this the other
day when we stopped by the New England Ski Museum in Franconia, NH and had a
chance to look over some of the vintage equipment they have on display. Back
when I was an aspiring ski racer at Dartmouth in the ‘50’s, our high-end equipment
was Austrian wood skis & leather boots and French long-thong bindings.
Today it’s carbon-fiber skis and slippery bubble-fabric racing suits.
Anyway,
the things that wake me up at 3 AM –my “bumps in the night” – are more about
problems with my “engine”, not equipment. By that I mean my body, which after
78 years, has taken a fair amount of abuse and sometimes suffered poor maintenance
as well. Here’s what worries me:
- · My right ankle. I wear a Blaze orthotic brace to hold the ankle parts together. The doctor says it will need a fusion operation soon. Will I make it through the pilgrimage or will the ankle give out somewhere in Spain? So far we’ve put in about 350 miles of training walks and its feeling sort of OK now. But last week it started to hurt more than usual and that worries me.
- · My left knee. A year ago, my doc said it would need a total knee replacement because I was getting pretty close to a bone on bone situation. I’ve had two Synvisc injections so far, the last eight months ago. I’ve lost 85 pounds and exercised faithfully at the gym and walking. The knee feels just fine now. But two months of daily walking 10-12 miles is a lot of punishment.
- · My right knee. I had a total knee replacement in 2005. So far everything is fine but these things only last (they say) between ten to fifteen years. I’m getting close.
- · My gut. It was only two years ago that my life was saved by being close to Mass General Hospital and their staff of wonderful doctors. What happens if I have another bleed out in the middle of some Spanish no-where?
I
have learned that almost everyone walking the Camino endures pain and sometimes
injury but that enduring the pain is part of the transformational experience. I
can understand how that works for blisters and shin-splints. I expect I will
have those discomforts as well. But my “things that go bump” seem different and
not something that I could just work though if they break. That worries me because
this is such a big thing we’re doing and I don’t want to screw it up.
It
also makes me think as I walk along in my training walks, alone with my
thoughts step by step, about what it will mean for me to persevere, to face
adversity & pain and yet persist. It’s very easy to rationalize taking the
exit ramp off the highway when the roadway gets rough and bumpy. Cruising along
through life has become easy and that’s what most of us do most of the time. We’re
conditioned as modern humans to avoid pain and discomfort, to stay warm and
well fed however we can. But what will happen if and when things go really wrong
for me? If one of those worries I’ve listed above actually happens?
What
I’m hoping is that my dedication to completing this life journey will over-ride
my normal human inclination to take the easy way out and quit (obviously
I’m not talking about life-threatening issues like a bleed-out here). But I really
don’t know how I will react and I’ve told Joan that she will need to be alert
for any of my “whining signs” that something is wrong. That’s one of the wonderful
things about having a life partner with me on this journey. I don’t have to
carry the entire worry-load myself – and that works both ways!
