Category: Walking

Zig Zag Hiking: Making the Climb Easier on the Camino de Santiago

I stood on the side of the rocky path and gasped for breath. My heart pounded so hard I thought my chest might explode. Sweat dribbled down my face and back.

This was brutal!

And I was not enjoying it.

 

The journey begins—

Chris and I were on our first day of walking the Camino de Santiago. We knew this day would likely be the toughest, although word on the street was that the next day—from Orisson, France to Roncesvalles, Spain—would be just as murderous, if not more so due to the steep elevation gain toward the end and then then precarious descent.

We would start in the medieval French town of St. Jean Pied de Pont, in the Basque country of southern France, at the beginning of the Pyrenees foothills. An elevation of 594 feet above sea level. In 5.1 miles, we would ascend to 3,614 feet.

By car, a 6-minute drive.

By foot, hours.

Not a trek for the faint of heart.

 

When Pierre, our adorable French bed and breakfast provider, waved his hand in dismissal and said in thickly accented English, “Oh, it is easy. No problem!” I chuckled. He was a strapping twenty-something who looked as though he could jog up and down that mountain all day and not feel tired.

In our giddiness to finally be on The Way after a year of planning, praying and physical preparation, the first mile or so didn’t seem so bad. And the view was gorgeous and the weather perfect, (fog and rain had been forecast for our start day, and we were relishing clear skies and warmth), which distracted us a little from our labors.

 

But then the real climbing started as we broke from the paved road and headed up the livestock path. We wobbled over and around sharp rocks as we made Z patterns up the switchbacks and stopped often to catch our breaths or adjust the position of our backpacks.

Then I found myself hiding in the shade of a tree, panting and sweating, looking down on all of those pristine white farmhouses with their identical red trim. My enthusiasm plummeted. Everything I had worried about in ascending the Pyrenees was coming to fruition.

 

Going in afraid—

Frankly, I had been terrified of hiking over those mountains. Hadn’t even wanted to go that route to begin with. I’d wanted to start the journey in Roncesvalles, like most other pilgrims, who seemed to be saner than us. This had been Chris’s idea, and he had pushed for it. “I think it would really add to the experience,” he said. “Make it special” Or something to that effect.

Honestly, I was more than a little miffed he was interjecting his plans into myGod-directed pilgrimage. Shouldn’t Ibe the one making the route decision? Nearly everything I read about those mountains talked about them in terms of the “much-feared” Pyrenees; how deadly they could be in bad weather.

But I caved in and tried to train by walking around our 3000-foot elevation, hilly neighborhood, and in Tucson’s mountains. “Remember, Andrea,” he said. “You live in a city with some of the most rugged mountains in the world. Those Pyrenees won’t be anything compared to them!” Humph, how does he know that? I thought. He’s only seen pictures of them.

 

His pep talk only dampened my worry for a couple of days. I was so worried about it I had a major meltdown the day before we departed Tucson. (The stress of having to prepare to leave the country for a month, with making sure my elderly mother was provided for and calmed down, didn’t help.)

I sat on the family room couch, pounding my fists on my knees and yelling at Chris about how terrified I was of hiking over the Pyrenees, berating him for how he had pushed me to go over those Pyrenees, and screaming and wailing that I didn’t want to hike over those Pyrenees. Ever!

He’d knelt down before me, gathered my hands in his and apologized. Then he encouraged me by saying that if I didn’t want to go, and it was too rough, we could take a cab over the mountain.

 

Ha! Now here we were, fulfilling what I had feared: Me and my beaten up knees and nodule-sprinkled lungs weren’t going to make it.

 

But while you can take the athlete out of the competition, you can’t take the competition out of the athlete. I was already on this mountain and determined to fight on.

After my umpteenth stop to slow my heart rate down, we pressed on. Not long after, Chris must have had a revelation because he padded up behind and whispered in my ear: “Don’t forget your training, Mrs. Owan. You should be zigzagging up this mountain.”

Eureka!!! “You’re right!” I responded. “I’d forgotten. All of my hill work at home, zigzagging up our foothills. Thank you for reminding me!”

My giddiness returned as I shifted my backpack again and re-clasped my hiking poles.

 

And up I went. Crisscrossing the path, weaving around other pilgrims as I greeted them with a wide smile and hearty “Buen Camino!” (The standard Spanish “howdy do” you give other pilgrims as you pass them.)

My heart rate and breathing slowed even as I leaned heavily on my poles. The walk intensity dropped to a level just above feeling easy. And my confidence and enjoyment levels shot up.

 

It was then I knew that I was going to make it over those mountains.

And thank Chris for pushing for this route.

 

Even with all of our panting and water breaks, we maintained a rigorous pace and arrived at the Orisson refuge with plenty of time to shower, wash and hang our clothes, enjoy a hot chocolate on the deck overlooking the rolling pastoral vistas of wheat, Basque sheep, cows, and work horses and village of St. Jean, take a nap and socialize with other pilgrims before the 7:00 PM dinner.

And I didn’t forget my zigzagging the rest of the journey, even on the descents. It saved my decrepit knees from disintegrating and the pilgrimage from potentially ending in disaster.

 

Why zig zag?

Like a switchback trail that cuts off the slope of a mountain, making it easier to climb or ascend it, (even though it inevitably increases the mileage you walk), zigzagging across a moderate to steep path decreases the slope—and difficulty—of the trail. I even used the technique on narrow trails, zig, zag, zig, zag, zig, zag. Shorter steps. Pivot, walk, pivot, walk. And use your poles to maintain your balance and disperse even more of the load, away from your hips and knees.

 

Like using ski poles as you zigzag down a mountain.

 

I encourage you to give it try on your next hike with a tough grade. I’m here to testify that it will likely increase your hiking joy and success rate. And let me know if you notice a difference.

 

Until next week,

Buen Camino!

(And happy zigzagging!)

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Photo by Raphael Biscaldi on unsplash.com

3 Reasons Why Everyone (Especially Women) Should Use Hiking or Nordic Poles for Trekking or Fitness!

I’m not going to need to use hiking poles until I’m old! That was my thinking, although I wouldn’t have been able to define what “old” was when those thoughts crossed my mind five years ago.

Then I read an article by a guy who writes for a hiking magazine. A young guy, late twenties or early thirties. He thought hiking poles were for wimps or decrepits, too, until he caved in to a friend’s advice and used them to hike the Kalalau Trail on Hawaii’s island of Kauai. He was an instant convert. In the article, he noted how the poles reduced the load on his knees and made the trek easier and more enjoyable. I could relate. Our family hiked part of the Kalaulua Trail a couple of years earlier, and the return trip was murder, for all of us, including the high school and college kids.

I mentioned the article to my older son—25 at the time—who is an avid hiker. He said, “You, know, I would have said the same thing, until I got my poles. (He got poles?!) And now I use them whenever I’m out hiking. They make a huge difference. Lyndsey (his then fiancée, now wife) loves them.”

“Hmmm, maybe I should get some.” As soon as I voiced that thought, he offered to buy a pair for me for my birthday, and I told him that’s a great present! (Which it is!)

So, I got my poles and have rarely walked even our neighborhood since then without at least one in my hand. And then my younger son got me some spiffy ergonomic models from England last year for Christmas. A Camino alumni highly recommended them. I used mine on our Camino last month, and they saved my legs (and maybe my entire body) on more than one occasion. Chris used his poles too. A couple of years ago I bought a pair for him like the kind Parker had given me.

People have stopped me on hikes around Tucson to ask about my poles and why I use them. After the conversations they’re excited about buying a pair for themselves.

Why do I recommend hiking poles foreveryone? I’ll give you my reasons.

 

3 reasons all hikers (especially women over 50 years) should use hiking poles:

  1. The number reason, hands down.

They save your knees!

When you’re trudging uphill, you can lean on them to reduce the load from your legs and knees. When you’re going downhill, you can do the same. And the downhill is probably the most significant. Negative loading, which happens when you’re going downhill, stresses the muscles and tears up the joints faster than uphill work. (Unless, of course, you’re climbing over big boulders.)

When going downhill, I’ve actually planted my poles (checking to make sure they’re secure in the terrain) and hopped or swung myself over precarious rocks or steps in the trail. I’m not swinging around like a monkey; just taking short swings over obstacles I might risk falling over.

The rocky incline we had to descend the second day into our Camino last month was brutal and could have been excruciating on the knees. Actually, without the poles I think my knees would have called it quits long before I needed them to. Even with my poles, my knees complained. But I was able to use the poles as supports, like ski poles, as I walked sideways and zigzagged down the mountain, almost as a skier might telemark. I was able to move quickly, without as much risk of slipping or falling, which would have been disastrous on the sharp rocks.

Chris commented that in the first two days of walking the Camino he had never leaned on his poles so hard. At times we were bent over close to 45 degrees on the inclines. If you’re expecting your thighs and knees and ankles and feet to sustain that load without some help, you’re going to quickly regret that thought.

 

  1. Hiking poles help you maintain your balance.

Walking or hiking with poles is a little like having an extra pair of legs. I was amazed at the number of pilgrims walking without poles; and I was just as amazed by the pilgrims who had poles they dragged along the ground behind them. If they didn’t want to use them, they could have shortened them and stowed them in their backpack. But maybe they weren’t in-the-know on how to properly use them. Or they were so exhausted they couldn’t lift their arms.

As long as you’re not leaning on them while walking on a flat surface, poles help you maintain your center of gravity. That’s good for your biomechanics.

And when walking downhill, you lean forward and use your poles like outriggers. This keeps you from leaning backward, which places a tremendous amount of stress on both the knees and low back!

 

  1. Getting your arms involved gives you more of a full body workout.

Using poles helps strengthen your arms!(Hey, ladies, are you paying attention?) Planting your poles and pulling and pushing with them works both the biceps and triceps, and that means (drum rolllll!) the flappy arms disappear! They’ll be thinner, tighter and better defined. Getting excited about hiking with poles now?)

And getting your arms involved is great for your heart! Upper body exercises get your heart rate moving faster sooner since they’re closer to your heart than your legs.

Using poles also gets the core and abdominals involved, so they’re more likely to get whittled down and tightened up too.

But you have to know how to use them properly and practice with them. Some people aren’t as coordinated as they need to be to use poles efficiently. I’ve provided a couple of YouTube videos to help you get started. (I don’t make anything from referring you to these videos or products.)

 

Knowhow—

Rick Deutsch uses Nordic walking poles for an everyday fitness program. The poles he recommends are not for hiking, but they—and the techniques he covers in her video—will give you a great workout. Evidently it’s all the rage in Europe. Deutsch says using poles engages 90% of your body rather than just 70% without any poles.

Heather Rhodes, the physical therapist in the second video, is the developer of Pacer Poles and has an entirely different method for the proper use of poles. What you choose will have to do with your fitness goals, activity, and physical limitations.

Go to the Pacer Pole website to learn more about how to use your poles in walking and hiking situations.

And for those of you hardcore types that want to train for a real tough climb, see this REI video on training to climb a 14er, any mountain meeting or exceeding 14,000 feet in elevation. Their training program is awesome!

 

Either way, get yourself a pair of poles and starting moving!

 

NEXT WEEK we’ll have a short discussion on another technique to help you navigate hills—up and down—with less difficulty.

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Photo by Andrea A Owan

My Camino wasn’t going to be rising before dawn and rushing through the popular 15-18-mile “stage” in order to make sure I secured a bed at the next town’s cheapest Albergue (like so many of the pilgrims on the path).

My Camino was going to be slowing down, engaging with the history, geography and spirituality. Stopping often to absorb the surroundings, architecture, history and people. Sitting in churches long enough to breathe in the Spirit of God. Trusting that God would provide a place for me to lay my head each night. Teaching myself how to live and walk in a relaxed manner.

 

Preparing for your day—

When you’re preparing to leave one place you know you won’t be returning to and walking 5 – 15 miles to another location, you plan carefully. You spend some time thinking about what you’re going to wear, how you’re going to pack, in case the weather changes and you need to shed a jacket or get to your rain gear and poncho in a hurry. If you happen to leave something back at the place you slept, you think long and hard about whether you really need it. About whether or not you can buy a replacement in the next tiny village you sleep in.

You get into a rhythm, and you realize quickly just what you need to have and what you can live without. Hopefully you’ve done some serious thinking about this before you’ve arrived to start the walk. Unless you’ve decided to splurge and have a carrier service cart your bag from sleeping town to sleeping town, carrying an extra 2 or three pounds of unnecessary gear in your backpack can be physically and mentally debilitating.

At first it’s a little frustrating and disarming: Where do I keep my pilgrim credentials so I can access them easily to give to the person checking me in at the albergue? Where’s the best place in my backpack to keep my reading glasses so I can access them in a hurry? My sunglasses if the clouds should part? My first aid kit? (Just in case your or another pilgrim needs some care.) A special place for the precious handmade journal my son gave me and insisted I take along. The one I’d weep buckets of tears over if it got wet or lost.

It takes your brain some time to process, the fact that you have to think carefully about these particulars, since you’re more accustomed to being able to jump in the car to rush back where you left something, make an additional trip to the store to buy what you forgot. But the brain is an amazing body part. It eventually learns to accommodate and think in different patterns and meet new demands.

 

You develop a daily rhythm:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although this run-down may read like a tedious list, stay with me. I’ll talk about the benefits afterward.

  • Wake up and rise slowly, stretch the body to prepare it for the day’s walk.
  • Do your bathroom thing. Since the pottying and washing rooms might be separate, you need to prepare for carting your tooth supplies to a different location for preparation, and your clothes for dressing. Putting in contact lenses might require yet another locale (depending upon sink and mirror availability.)
  • Roll up and shrink your sleeping bag (if you had to use one) and then spread all of your bags of clothing and necessities out on your bed, to make sure everything is accounted for.
  • If you haven’t done so the night before, head to the clothesline to gather your clothes and give them a once-over to see if socks, shirts, undies and pants are dry enough to wear or roll up in a baggy. If not, the item will be rolled into a special bag (so as not to dampen other items) or clipped onto your backpack to dry as you walk.
  • Kinesiotape any body parts that need taping.
  • Double check the weather and temperature outside and decide on the day’s start-off clothing.
  • Get your hiking shirt(s) and pants on.
  • Prepare your feet and toes for the day, carefully put on your socks and then your shoes. (Although you may have to wait until you’re fully dressed and backpacked and headed to the front of the albergue if you’re shoes are stored in a downstairs cubby to keep the floors clean.)
  • Carefully pack up your backpack—sleeping bag in the very bottom, followed by bath towel and washcloth, silk sleeping bag liner, shower sandals, Ziploc bags of clothes and undies. The tiny pouches of daily contact lenses, foot care tape and pedicure supplies and the one containing general toiletries get tucked into available areas.
  • Then the journal and pilgrim credential (stored in waterproof bags) are slipped into the backpack and covered by the rain poncho and compressed puff jacket.
  • The upper pouch gets the Goretex rain jacket and pants (if the jacket isn’t being worn that day for general warmth), along with the assorted eyeglass containers (long distance sunglasses, travel-sized readers, and general long distance (for those times I’m taking a contact lens break). The sports sunglasses—in their case—get attached to the outside of my backpack’s hip pocket pouch for easy access. If I’m not wearing my sunhat that day, it gets folded up and stored in the top pouch too, for easy access. The money pouch, with the United States passport in its waterproof container, goes on top. Just in case we stop for a café con leche, banana or hunk of cheese along the way.
  • The outside pouch stores the Duck Back cover for my backpack (which I actually don’t need any longer since I purchased a full over-the-backpack-and-me poncho in St. Jean Pied de Pont just before setting out). It also carries my collapsible parachute bag I used for necessities like my United States of America passport and money pouch. The compact first aid get goes there, too, as well as any oranges, cheese or bananas I can squeeze into available space.
  • The two hip pouches contain lip cream, Euro coinage, the rosary Cory bought me in Rome, the prayer beads my dear girlfriend Judy bought me for my journey, and my hearing aids, which would cost me a small fortune to replace.
  • Before grabbing my coveted Pacer Poles hiking sticks, I double and triple-check for several items:
  • Hearing aids in the container (if they’re not in my ears, which Chris always checked for me too).
  • My phone, which I have only to take pictures, and in case of an emergency, should Chris and I become separated and I need to make contact with someone.
  • My precious leather journal and pilgrim credentials, to prove I’m on a foot-born pilgrimage and which gives me the right to bed down in an albergue.
  • Contact lenses
  • My money pouch and official passport, (which Chris always eyeballs too).
  • My Kinesiotape, (with which I could not walk comfortable if I were to lose).
  • Finally, the critical water bottles are topped off and placed in our backpack pockets.
  • Then the wrist sweatbands go on, followed by the Kool Tie neck wrap tied around my neck to ward off overheating and migraines, the hiking poles are grabbed, and you head out the door for another adventure, which you’ve come to realize you’re going to have. Every day.
  • The only jewelry I wore was a $15.00 faux pearl and diamond ring, so I didn’t have to worry about losing my real wedding ring or futzing with earrings. No watch, either. I relied on my phone, or the sunlight, for the time. And I didn’t bring any makeup. The only thing I applied to my face was sunscreen.

 

Not much to worry about.

 

Preparation time—

Because Chris and I were unhurried, this procedure took us about an hour. On days we wanted to rise early to beat the heat or walk longer distances, we managed to whittle it down to 45 minutes. Because most albergues expect you to vacate by 8:00 AM—to prepare for the next gaggle of pilgrims flooding their dormers—you’d likely have to rise earlier than you might have preferred. Especially if you’re sharing a room with pilgrims on a sprint to their next bed, who awaken you with noisy departure preparations or abrupt, dream-shattering light so they can be off.

 

Typed out on a word document, the process looks boring and tedious. Too methodical and repetitious. But it quickly became a comfortable ritual, one that gave consistency to our lives and only mildly jostled the brain. Each possession had a purpose and its place. Nothing useless or unnecessary. Everything we carried was meant to meet the basics of our daily needs. There was nothing but the necessaries to weigh us down. And most of it, besides the eyeglasses to see, the hearing aids to hear, the United States passport to move around Europe and get home, and the water was not critical.

 

Joy, and possibilities, in tedious structure—

The mundaneness had its advantages.

Since my brain had very little to be concerned about every morning, and became accustomed to the repetitive program, it was left with plenty of room to engage in the geography, the new surroundings, sights, smells, tastes and varied languages. New people and interesting conversations. All enjoyed without distractions or waste. Just as I was doing physically, my brain was relishing being able to take a breath.

I started enjoying the simplicity of carrying lightly and started pondering what I carried through life back home—what I’d picked up and carted along in my life “just in case”—that could be discarded.

There were plenty of buying opportunities, (and I had a wad of Euros in my pouch), but with so little room available, and the burden of extra weight to consider, I pondered each purchase with care and conscientious analysis. Something else I knew I needed to do more of in life.

 

Seriously consider the weight and substance of everything I own, everything I do, everything I buy.

 

It wasn’t that I was embracing a minimalistic attitude or view of life. If anything I probably found greater emotional joy than I had before in thinking about the beautiful and varied things that enrich my life and bring me happiness and satisfaction. The family heirlooms and pictures that trigger happy memories and the release of feel-good brain chemicals.

 

But I started asking myself some questions. Questions you may also want to ask yourself:

 

Introspection—

  1. What things do I too hastily pick up and burden my heart, mind and life with? Do I carefully count the cost of carrying them before picking them up?
  2. What belongings do I have that add nothing to my life, or, worse yet, only make it more complicated and burdensome?
  3. What should and would I divest myself of in order to enjoy a richer, fuller life?
  4. What should I divest myself of in order to invest in deeper, fuller relationships with family, friends and strangers?

 

It didn’t take long for me to start pondering those questions and soaking myself in the simple, divested life of a pilgrim. After all, I had traveled all that distance to hear what God had to teach me through the experience.

And I was determined to listen.

I’ll tell you more about that NEXT WEEK!

Until then, take some time to count the cost of your belongings and attachments?

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Photos by Andrea A Owan

Blister Care on the Camino de Santiago: A Personal Case Study

The pilgrimage was a success, emotionally and spiritually, and, for the most part, physically! I even got comfortable with carrying 23 pounds. By the end of the trip, I didn’t even notice the weight, and neither did my arthritic back!

Unfortunately, though, I injured my right knee and didn’t stay off of it enough. The last day of walking pretty much did me in. It was too far—15 miles—too fast on a bad leg. Then I tramped 7 miles across Paris to ascend the Eiffel Tour. Now, I’m back to very low daily mileage, icing and making sure I put my leg up every afternoon. That usually means a nap accompanies the leg elevation, which isn’t such a bad way to spend a rainy fall afternoon.

But most of the other days were rousing successes physically, actually better than I hoped, including the blister prevention and management. Here’s a quick rundown on that aspect of my journey:

 

Daily rituals—

The morning prepto start walking usually went like this:

  1. Make sure all strategic body parts (like the sore left ankle) were clean and properly supported with Kinesiotape.
  2. Kinesiotape the ball of my right foot.
  3. Tape (usually with Kinesiotape) the second, third and fourth toes to avoid blisters.
  4. Slather the heals and toes with Foot Glide cream.
  5. Put the light sock liner on.
  6. Sprinkle Gold Bond medicated foot powder (to absorb moisture) in the main sock, squish it around for good coverage, and put the sock over the liner.
  7. Slide gaiters over my ankles before putting shoes on.
  8. Place lambs wool in the right toe box to cut down on toenail bruising from foot sliding forward in the shoe and banging on the toe box. (This worked wonders! I knew my ballet training with toe shoes knowledge would come in handy some day.)
  9. Insert foot in shoe and make sure no seams or bunched up sock areas are annoying or noticeable.
  10. Properly double tie the shoes and attach gaiters to laces and spread them down around the heals and mid-shoe areas.
  11. Make sure my toes were comfortably spread out while walking rather than scrunched up in the shoes.

 

Post-walk ritual—

  1. After peeling off soaked clothes and taking a shower, dry feet thoroughly and check for blisters and hot spots, and then check toe nails, cuticles and rough skin that needs trimming and filing. (I tried to keep my feet and toes as smooth as possible, without grinding off all of the calluses on my big toes and heals. I used a fairly rough mani/pedicure board for this.)
  2. Walk around the rest of the afternoon and evening in open-toed flip-flops to make sure my feet stay dry. Sometimes my Kinesiotape stayed on in the shower, so I kept it on the body parts it was anchored to the next day.)
  3. Slather feet with lotion and put socks on to sleep in.

 

Even with this ritual, which I adhered to religiously, my fourth toes sprung leaks with some nasty blisters; the one on the right toe had two blisters with one under the callus that runs down the middle of my toe. The other toe had a pretty sizeable blister, probably because I didn’t correctly place my blister pressure pad on it a couple of days and ended up increasing the shear rather than decreasing it.

The results—

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep those fourth toes blister-free, which is probably due to the fact that they curve and twist like little commas, due to all of the time I spent with them hooked around a balance beam while growing up. So I had to do some minor surgery on those.

 

First steps in dealing with the blisters—

This is where the Spenco 2ndSkin and moleskin strips and cutouts saved my life.

  1. For several days, I provided extra padding over the blister and around the toe to protect the tender, elevated skin and keep it from breaking. A little piece of Second Skin cut to the length of my toe was placed over the blister and then covered with Kinesiotape or moleskin. If it was just a hot spot I was tending to, I applied a generic blister pad.
  2. Then I decided I needed to do some lancing of the one blister because it appeared to be getting larger. So I sterilized my cuticle scissors and made tiny slices at the base of the blister and gently pushed the fluid from the blister. Then I went through the same padding procedure.
  3. But one blister was a toughy. It kept re-sealing itself, so I kept cutting. Several slices on the last go around to make sure it stayed drained. Then I applied the Second Skin and wrapped it across the top and around with moleskin. To alleviate some pressure and attempt to straighten out the toe a bit, I placed a small wedge of lambs wool between the fourth and third toe.
  4. In spite of pretty fire-red blisters and skin, I walked a lot of mileage without blister pain. Now, about 10 days after completing the walk, I’ve snipped off the dead skin layers. And we’re back in business!

 

Survival kit—

My toes wouldn’t have survived without my blister care arsenal:

  • Foot Glide
  • Double-layered socks
  • Sock liners
  • Drymax socks (these are now my favorite go=to socks!)
  • Moleskin
  • Spenco 2ndSkin
  • Kinesiotape
  • Toe clippers and scissors and cuticle clippers
  • Told Bond Powder
  • Kinesiotape

I also used Desitin Maximum Strength cream for its zinc oxide protection and drying, and its medicated healing capabilities. That was applied at night after a thorough cleaning and drying and before putting on my socks.

 

Toward the end of the journey, I was measuring and pre-cutting my tape and moleskin to reduce the morning prep time. And I actually had to snap Chris’s Kinesiotape from him to enlist on my feet, legs, knees, and ankles. Good thing for me that he didn’t need it!

 

Other pilgrims’s foot woes—

We ate dinner one night with a gentleman who was walking the Camino for the second time. He recounted his devastating first experience, with such severe blisters that he couldn’t walk. Some of them broke on their own and ended up getting infected after he showered without wearing shower sandals. Then he contracted something like trench foot. Only after he managed to secure some hefty antibiotic did the infections subside and he finished his walk. It sounded ghastly!

In one of the hostels I watched an older French couple sitting in the lounge. She had her feet on his legs, and he was lovingly applying ointment and bandages to her blistered feet and toes. Her oooh, ooh, ooh’s were replaced by grateful sighs when he carefully slid socks on her feet and tenderly massaged them.

Then, on our last official day of walking, Chris and I encountered a pilgrim perched on a large boulder on the side of the path. Her foot was a mess, and she was trying to improve her predicament by taping a large-wound Telfa pad sheet (like the kind you see with the “plastic” side to control fluid draining and infection) on the bottom of her foot. She had it cut (as closely as possible) to the shape of her foot. I suspect she was trying to reduce friction. It didn’t look as though it was going to turn out so well for her.

She looked miserable.

 

Not to be taken lightly—

Blister problems can be more than annoying and painful. They can be dangerous. And they need to be taken care of immediately. I’m fortunate to know how to care for blisters and be able to take care of them on my own. But even my blister ailments could have gone south very quickly. The one blister got so red I became concerned about infection. I applied triple antibiotic cream to it for a couple of days as a precaution.

I was fortunate.

 

Planning and preparing for problems—

If you’re planning any long distance hiking, make sure you prepare your feet well by training, wearing the right shoes for your feet, wearing friction-reducing sock liners and attending to your hot spots as soon as they crop up, NOT after you’ve put in your mileage. If you wait until the walk is over, it might be too late to get control over them. Stay vigilant.

Be prepared.

Make sure you’re all set so you can enjoy the walk!

 

NEXT WEEK we’ll take a quick look at more equipment you don’t want to hike without. Equipment that can reduce the stress on your joints and feet.

Until then, take care of your feet so they can keep you moving!

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).

Photo of my own toes taken by me!

Enjoying the Benefits of Not Reading

FOR MY Free-for-All Friday posts, I often refer to and recommend a book I’ve been reading, one I think you’d enjoy or that could grow or enlarge your faith. But I haven’t read much the last month, which, for an author who’s a voracious reader, is really unordinary. I was enjoying the benefits that come from not having my eyes plastered to the words in a book or magazine or characters in a text or email.

Spending 25 days on a pilgrimage can do that to you. Change your focus.

But I don’t mean to imply that I didn’t read anything. I read—and tried to decipher—signs written in foreign languages. (I’m happy to say that, for the most part, I did pretty well with this!)

I also read special pilgrim maps, so we wouldn’t get lost or miss one of those special yellow and blue shell signs marking the route. (Our biggest obstacle to this was getting our brains used to the British-sourced maps that direct you to the top of the page for south, rather than the other way around. I never did get my brain adjusted. Thankfully, Chris did!)

And I read brief historical literature or pamphlets about the towns, villages, castles or churches we visited, and the people who made them famous.

And I read a few bus terminal signs and restaurant menus. And several texts from my kids. But not very many. And I wrote several brief ones in return. On Chris’s phone.

 

Satisfying a goal—

Part of our pilgrimage goal—mentally, physically and spiritually—was to deliberately divest ourselves of the daily anxieties of life. Like staying engaged in the endless world discourse, reading breaking news flashes, television-scrolling news briefs, texts and emails so we could “be in the know.” Instead, we wanted to be fully engaged in our moment-by-moment experiences. Undistracted from the here and now. Totally absorbed in where the map and our feet took us, in the conversations shared (and I do mean shared) at festival seating meal tables, in the geography of the land, and in the habits of its inhabitants.

 

Totally absorbed in what was happening to our bodies, minds and spirits.

 

I didn’t lug along a computer. My iPad rested peacefully in its pocket in my desk cabinet back home. I didn’t bring a magazine or book to kill time during down times. From the moment our plane lifted off the John F. Kennedy International Airport runway on its way to Paris and I returned home 26 days later, my phone was engaged in Airplane mode. (Actually, it took me two additional days after returning home to shut off the Airplane Mode toggle.) I had it along only to take pictures, and if a dire emergency warranted a call. It never did.

Frankly, I was surprised at how quickly and happily my brain and five senses responded to this new program.

They became fully engaged and magnified as they absorbed the sights, sounds and smells of pastoral settings brimming with sheep, cattle and horses, succulent green grasses, dank and mildewed medieval churches and monasteries, lazy rivers, spring-fed, dripping water fountains, the excited conversations of expectant pilgrims ready to start their journeys, the laughter of people enjoying al fresco dining and intimate conversations, the tick-tick-tick of un-capped hiking poles on cobbled streets.

And that was just on the first day!

My brain was so busy absorbing the sensory input I focused on that it didn’t have an opportunity to log one iota of regret at what it was missing out on.

 

And for the first time in a very long time my brain and I felt fully alive!

And so very grateful to be so.

In my last Free-for-All Friday post, I mentioned that I would be on a pilgrimage to discover a body and soul waltz. Now that my official pilgrimage is over for now, I can tell you my body and my soul quickly embraced the new tempo and melded together in perfect timing and rhythm, playing off of one another and gliding in synchrony.

It was a dance I didn’t want to end, and I’m making sure it won’t.

Next week Friday I’ll tell you how I’m accomplishing that. Maybe you’ll find some ideas and tips to accomplish the same things in your life.

I hope so.

But please join me this coming Monday when we’ll start preparing our hearts and minds for Thanksgiving!

Until then,

engage all of your senses in the moment. Be not only conscious but conscientious in every thought, word and life nuance.

Blessings,

Andrea

May you prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers (3 John 2).
Photo by Ian on Unsplash.com