Preparing for a Long Walk

The time has come to begin heavier training; “to take the first step, the step I don’t want to take” to quote David Whyte. This past week I committed to walking almost 10 miles as a training walk. Those who complete the Way of Frances advise that training for a pilgrimage is a dance between “taking a long walk” and “going on an inner journey.” I have been traveling the space of inner journey lately, which has been notable in terms of communion with God, others, and me. Yet now, I also need to be attentive to the walking portion of the pilgrimage.

I laced my shoes; filled my bottle; and loaded my pack. It was 87 degrees. I double-checked the map on my phone to measure and clarify the route. I thought I was 7-8.5 miles away from home - my planned destination. Just over 90 minutes later, I learned I was wrong, and 9.5 miles is significantly more than 8.5 miles.

I began the walk with strength and excitement. I wondered what would fill the quiet space of step-after-step. Thoughts filled my mind; people filled my mind, but mostly I was in a state of delight. I was doing it! It wasn’t all delight; I admit that the heat on my body occupied most of my thoughts, “Wow! This is hot, but Spain will be 5-10 degrees hotter.”

I was three miles into my walk when I decided to take a water break. At the corner of Riley and 112th, I removed my bag from my back and could feel the tension between my shoulder blades. I was thirsty. And I learned my first walking lesson. 

Lesson one: 3 miles is too long to go without taking a water or rest break. I sat at the corner realizing that failing to drink enough and to drink often would be perilous. 

I arrived at Highway 31 two miles later, which is no small street to cross. Instead of being a pilgrim at that moment, I was live-action Frogger. Lesson 2: Be more alert to your surroundings, for fatigue and exhaustion require greater awareness.  I am not nearly as agile a runner as I think with my backpack, and walking across a street takes more consciousness than normal. Thankfully the grill of the SUV that was staring at me had an alert driver who spared me.

At mile 6, I took another break and said out loud, “I need to stop every mile and drink water.” Lesson 3: Whatever you think you taught yourself at mile 3, you will need to learn again at twice the distance. Seriously, I have much to learn about the gift of water to the body. I am a kidney stone carrier, so my body has multiple experiences of screaming, "DRINK MORE WATER!” Even so, I fail to listen.

I remember my phone announcing, “8 miles.” I was finally on the home stretch but had at least another mile to go before arriving. I ran into some friends who were biking and it was good to chat with them and drink water. Again, I had yet to learn to stop every mile, but at least my friends assisted in making it only 2 versus 3 miles between water breaks. 

At the end of our conversation and as they began to bike away, my friend said to me, “Have fun, you are almost home!” His comment was reminiscent of a marathon spectator yelling to runners at mile 22 or 23, “you are almost there!” In the amateur long distance world, "almost there" is when a runner is within eyesight of the finish line. At mile 8, I felt a long ways from home.  

When my phone announced “9 miles” I felt closer. I rose in excitement again that I had almost come to the end. I continued walking at the same 16.5-minute pace I had walked from the beginning. I walked across the street and through a neighbor’s yard. My foot stepped on the uneven dirt, and the friction and heat in my shoes sent blazing needles through my body. At that point I learned the lesson that every spiritual and physical pilgrim has learned along the journey - going fast isn’t efficient. My feet were so sore in the moment. I was convinced that when I arrived home and unlaced my shoes, I would either see the blister or the blood. The pain of those few steps ruined me for the remaining half of a mile.

Lesson 4: Slow down. going fast isn’t efficient. Pilgrimage isn’t a race. I don’t know what it is exactly, but the categories of efficiency, productivity, and finishing are not operative for a pilgrim. 

I am grateful for the 9.5-mile walk last week. I am grateful for the heat and for the foot friction; they were my teachers. I am grateful I experienced this learning now. I am guessing I will need to learn these four walking lessons again, and my body, either through dehydration or foot friction, will remind me what I have chosen to ignore.