Some days are harder than others be it physically, mentally, or both. Today was one of the hard days both mentally and physically. I departed Leon with the intention of taking the bus to Astorga but decided to walk the short twenty kilometers instead. I had heard that if there was any time to take a rest day and skip a section of the Camino it was leaving Leon. Well, they were right.
Leaving Leon behind was like saying good bye to your lover to spend a day at the DMV; it was not a pleasant afternoon. On the way out of town I passed by the Hostal San Marcos Parador (photo below) and then stopped in a very cool Colonial Afrika bar in Trabajo del Camino, but that's where the cool stuff ended.
Given that I was walking very much alone, the day was growing exponentially hotter, and I was having issues with my own body, I opted to take the shorter path along the highway. This seemed the prudent thing to do as I was getting off to a rather late start (I slept in. Most pilgrim days you're up and out by 0700 and checking into a hostel around 1200 or 1300. I left Leon around 1100.) I wanted to be able to get to the road for help if I needed it and not be the last pilgrim stranded on a desolate path. The path was flat, hard, boring; I barely made it into Villadangos del Paramo. For the first day in weeks my knee was doing fine, but my right quad was ceasing up, cramping, and I was struggling to push through. What the hell? Never in my life has my body given up on me, not like this. I suspect my shitty pilgrim diet is the root cause.
For the first time on the Camino I felt genuinely scared. I stopped at the first hostel I came to at the edge of Villadangos. The parking lot was filled with truckers-not a pleasing sign. I walked into the very smoky bar, turned around, and walked out. I got a bad vibe; there was no way in hell I was staying there. My leg was cramping terribly but I decided I'd cut it off before staying there. I forced myself to keep going. I stopped at another hostel. It seemed nice enough but I was still not in the right place: too far from food, too far from town, and not another peregrino in sight. The barista said it was another ten minute walk to town. I sucked down my cafe con leche and kept going. Finally, the municipal albergue.
Please have beds. Please have beds. That's all I could think with my last steps. Upon arrival I learned that I was one of the first to arrive here; it was 1630. There were plenty of beds and I virtually had the place to myself. I felt relieved and utterly frightened at the same time. I've grown quite concerned about my body's ability to carry on with the Camino. I showered, washed and hung my clothes, and checked my e-mail.
I feel very much alone now. I am a day ahead of all the pilgrims I know. There are only two familiars here; a set of twin teenage girls from Europe. We had a short conversation-they speak English-and they gave me directions to the supermarket. All I want is fruit and yogurt. I feel like I'm literally dying. My leg is bruising and I know it's from lack of nutrition, not from any bar brawl I've been in. This is truly frightening and certainly isn't normal. I miss my friends and especially Josef, the great healer. At the very least, if he were here, I wouldn't feel as scared as I do in this moment. I'm thinking that seeing a doctor might be a good idea but I will decide tomorrow. There is nothing I can do about it now.
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