Camino Tip: Break your trail shoes in.
Everything related to the Camino depends on these five short words. Trust me on this one.
If you don’t follow this sensible advice, your entire pilgrimage will revolve around what is happening south of your ankles. That gnawing irritation between your second and third toes will be trivial compared to what is happening on the sole of your foot, right where your big toe bent down to grip the edge of the tree root you almost tripped over. Your carefully pedicured toenails may soon have black edges peaking from beyond the magenta polish that glistened beautifully just a few days before. Funny looking water-filled marbles will appear on the tips of your toes and areas of your feet you never knew existed. Complete strangers will approach you with sharp implements and thread, insisting on piercing your tender skin, leaving tiny puddles of plasma on cold tiled floors.
The soft and cushy socks that seemed so wonderfully fresh out of the package will inflate like water balloons in the blistering sun, filling every last centimeter of space in your state of the art, breathable-unless-it-gets-dirty-wet-sweaty trail shoes. You will curse whoever invented GoreTex and wonder why you put that pair of flip flops back in the closet to save 6 measly ounces.
Don’t worry about finding a bed each night or whether there is any place open at 6 am for your morning caffeine fix. Train schedules? No problem. Sleeping next to snoring strangers? Not an issue. Rain jacket or poncho? Who cares?!
Worry about breaking your shoes in. Before you leave home.
Then get going. Throw a few things in a backpack, grab your passport and ATM card, jump on a plane and fly across the big, scary ocean. Relish arriving in a country where no one knows you, you don’t speak the local language and you are scared out of your bones. Grab it, live it, embrace it!
Take the first breath and step. Then another. And another. Until your rhythm kicks in.
Sure, there will be times when things get rough. Give yourself 500 steps for a pity party and then no more. Take a hundred more steps and get a sip of water as a reward. Eat chocolate for lunch and drink more wine than is respectable at home.
Look up at the sky and realize that Camino clouds are totally different from the clouds at home. And so are you.
Shout! Sing! Twirl!
Write the world’s greatest novel in your head. Or the love letter you never had the guts to send. The road is long and you’ve got all the time in the world.
Keep a diary in
Brierly’s margins. Spill a little wine on it, write an address on the table of contents. Fold a page into a paper airplane for a local kid. Doodle on the back cover.
Stretch out at the end of the day. Lose all your regrets.
Respect other pilgrims. And yourself. Clean up and do your laundry, even when you’re tired. There’s a fine line between being a pilgrim and a hobo.
Appreciate your body. Treat it kindly and reward it with a long, hot bath at the end of the trail.
Pray. For forgiveness and grace and thanks and hope. Even for world peace, which seems in short supply these days.
But don’t forget to break in the shoes. Trust me on this one.