I’m running and running and running. And I don’t know why I am running so hard or what I am running away from, but I actually do know exactly what I am running away from and why I am running so hard for in the same breath.
It is dark. I shouldn’t be running. It is past midnight. I shouldn’t be running. But that is part of the reason I run, part of why I take the risk anyway, because I need to defy something, anything. in my own terms.
The thing about Spain is that it isn’t France.
I don’t mean this in a terrible way. Except that I do. In a sense.
When I woke up the next day, it felt odd to know I’d been so tired that I couldn’t remember hearing anyone getting ready for their walk. Apparently, my body had been exhausted enough to acknowledge that their noises was nothing out of the ordinary. I couldn’t even remember if I’d woken up at all that night, which was rare enough in of itself.
Just as I had finished my blog post from before, I got a message from Katherine stating that she was only sixteen kilometers behind me, and that Ludo was back on the trail, close behind as he’d decided to skip some kilometers as if he’d kept walking. I was happy to hear the news, but I realized that I’d changed already from the last time I’d seen them. I’d accepted that I could just not see them again, true, but I was also in a walking mindset.
As much as I wanted to see them both again, to hug and laugh and drink wine, a part of me knew that I wouldn’t be waiting for them unless I needed a day of rest. It was a strange realization, and I contemplated whether this change was good or bad. The more I thought about how the Camino worked, the more I was sure that this development was a good thing.
And to think I’d loathed this notion just a week prior.
I heaved a hefty sigh because it had been four days without any contact from Katherine. I’d hoped she would have responded to me since I posed about meeting up a few days ago, then had felt immediately bad because I’d rushed getting to a point since there hadn’t been a gite available where I said I’d be. When I’d gotten wifi again, I’d emailed to tell her I was in Cahors, but the day after that, still nothing.
I had to wonder if it had been something I’d said or done, of course, if just for those few childish seconds. Everybody likes to be liked (more or less), and I was beginning to second guess my capabilities at being a normal human being now that I was out on the road alone without my books and video games to protect me. Perhaps I made too many geeky references and my ridiculous personality point of being blunt/honest wasn’t taken as great as I’d thought.
Maybe they’d seen my blog and thought, “Ooooooooooooooooookay, going to just leave that one there…”
When I opened my eyes the next morning, I felt a bit heavier from the sleep I’d gotten. While I know I’d woken up a few times due to the heat, it had been the sleep of the dead when I’d been out. And I’d purposefully slept later than normal, getting up at 8am rather than 7am.
What an odd difference that makes on the body.
We got up late again the next morning. I had set my alarm for 7am, but after hitting the snooze button, I fell asleep again after that. The other two trouble makers didn’t seem to care, although I distinctly remembered how Ludo wanted to be on the road early on.
Around 8am, I forced myself to get out of bed and poke the bears into waking. They responded in a slow, molasses way. We didn’t get on toward the bakery until almost 9:30am.