I’m feeling rather mellow this evening, and I’ve carefully counted down from 100 whilst focussing on my breathing. However ..
I’ve met all kinds of people on Camino over the last decade from super-fit racing snakes to those built more for comfort than speed; from obsessive gram-counters to those who equipped themselves in a hurry from a garage-sale whilst evading their live-in carers. In every case, by the grace of God and the help of their fellow Peregrinos, all made it to Santiago eventually. Nobody died and nothing caught fire.
There’s always going to be one.
This thread (and I add my somewhat incredulous best-wishes to the OP) defies my experience.
In the course of a varied career I spent a few years as chief spear-carrier to a succession of expat American vice presidents of Pepsi. They were all Texans, and fine people, but they shared a common mind-set. They were culturally disinclined to ever accept that when something went wrong they might actually have the slightest culpability for the outcome.
The greatest challenge was usually explaining how roundabouts work; which is surprisingly difficult when you think about it.
On one memorable occasion the incoming VP (let’s call him Fred, because that was his name) was only given one thing to do in his relocation: get the family dog to the UK alive. Mrs Fred, his long suffering but delightful wife, sorted out the trivia of children, housing, visas and food.
Fred explained that he speed-read the instructions and had a vague recollection that the hound had to arrive at Fort Worth in a suitable shipping crate; which he duly purchased.
He deposited dog and crate at the appropriate check-in and flew over to where Mrs. Fred’s trivial responsibilities had been discharged to perfection. He then found that all had not gone according to plan and the pooch was still in Dallas.
‘Stupid dog was too big for the crate’; was the best he could come up with.