That Big Kid Ellen #20: Play with a puppy
I recently returned from a 16-day trip (won’t call it a vacation) to Portugal and Spain. My mom and I walked 150+ miles of the Portuguese Camino de Santiago — starting in Porto, Portugal, and ending in the famous city of Santiago de Compostela, Spain. And we walked that distance in 10 days (read: ouch).
If you aren’t familiar with this traditional Catholic pilgrimage, here’s the TLDR from Wikipedia:
The Camino de Santiago, known in English as the Way of St. James, is a network of pilgrims’ ways or pilgrimages leading to the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain, where tradition holds that the remains of the apostle are buried.
There’s much more to the story, but for the sake of this story, in order to officially complete the pilgrimage, you must walk the last 100 km (or bike 200 km, or horseback ride??) to the cathedral in Santiago, and you have to collect stamps in your Pilgrim Passport at least twice a day from restaurants, hotels, cafes, etc. to prove your distance covered. We went a bit further and ended up walking about 250 km total (livin’ that overachiever life).
Once you arrive at the Santiago cathedral, not only are you overcome with emotions, exhaustion, and a deep desire for ice cream and a full-body massage, you then take your pilgrim passport to the pilgrimage office and get the official Certificate that says that you completed the pilgrimage. Then, you are a good Catholic. Sins washed away.
At least I think that’s how it works. 😉
I haven’t been a Catholic since childhood, but I completed this trip to spend time with my mom, who is a practicing Catholic and whom I haven’t seen a lot of in the last couple of years because of COVID. I suppose I also wanted to find some spiritual clarity within my own life, not really knowing what specifically I would find.
Lo and behold, three main epiphanies came to me during this trip ✨
1. There is no shame in rest; there is strength in recovery.
Not only did this big, beautiful body carry me across 150 miles of remote Europe by foot, she also decided to test me in how I much I actually support and love her.
Our hike was scheduled to take place over 12 days, with daily distances ranging from 12 to 18 miles, according to the guide books. We walked on the “litoral” and coastal routes of the Portuguese Way, which led us through quaint beach towns, always with the ocean on our left and the sun on our backs (we saw a lot of sunburnt calves, lemme tell ya).
The first day was superb. Great weather, if not just a hint too warm, with immaculate views of the ocean. We started on a Sunday and ended up running into the annual Matosinhos Marathon that happened to be that same day. Everyone looked energized to be moving their bodies outside in such a glorious place. We were happy to revel in the feeling with them.
At the end of Day 1, we had ended up walking about 15.3 miles (according to Strava), which was pretty close to what we had estimated for the day. It had been a flat path, boardwalk for the majority of the time, but we hadn’t done a great job fueling ourselves or stopping for breaks. We said we’d do better the next day.
Day 2 was supposed to be a bit shorter, estimated at 13 miles, but we ended up clocking 15.5 miles to arrive at our hotel. Let me tell you, on a long, sunny day of walking, an extra 2.5 miles seemed cruel. We did end up eating a large pilgrim lunch (a fixed menu option available only to pilgrims with pilgrim passports), and I was thankful to have that energy coursing through me to finish the day.
Day 3… well, Day 3 was a doozy. Again, our distance estimate had been wrong (thought it would be 16 miles and it ended up being 17.6 miles), and this time we were walking through the small towns on cobblestone roads. Cobblestone in Portugal is rough on your feet, especially for that long of a walk. We had some spots of path that took us through the woods, but the trail was still littered with small stones that fatigued our feet and caused painful blisters.
It was also on Day 3 that something strange started to happen with my body. I noticed that my calves and hips were very sore and tired, as is typical with walking long distances. But near mid-day, I began to experience discomfort and pain whenever I would drink or eat anything. It felt like I was swallowing glass, and it would come in strong waves. It was terrible, and I didn’t understand what was causing it.
Thankfully, it only happened when I was actively eating and drinking, so I didn’t experience it too much after we ate lunch. I did notice myself not wanting to drink water so as not to feel the sensation, but I somehow kept myself from dehydrating. I told myself I was strong. I pushed through it.
I was exhausted and angry by the time we reached our destination, and complained until I got some pizza in my body. My body was desperately craving salt like it never had before (I usually crave sweets). Something was up.
Little did I know, but my mom had been pushing through her own flavor of pain as well. She had a possible infection on her toe, and on the morning of Day 4, she decided to venture to a Portuguese hospital to get it checked out while I made the very hard-headed decision to walk alone on the day scheduled to be our longest (16.7 miles).
While my mom had an adventure of her own at the hospital (only one nurse spoke a bit of English), I found some fellow Americans to walk with for a bit. They were extremely kind to me and welcomed me graciously into their group. (We later saw the same group many times on the trail and even met up with them in Madrid at the end of our trip.)
However, they walked fast. And we were walking on that uneven, rough Portuguese cobblestone almost the entire time. They were not carrying large packs with them like I was (many people hired couriers to send their suitcases ahead to their next hotel and then just carried day packs with them), and they were very experienced mountain hikers. I tried to keep pace with them, and did, for a while. However, I sneakily let them go on without me after we stopped at a cafe for a drink and a passport stamp.
But the damage had been done.
I started walking alone again, feeling like feet were going to split open and my calves were going to seize. The esophageal spasms were back with a vengeance, lasting well after I was done eating or drinking. I felt myself developing Planter’s fasciitis in my right foot due to extensive blisters on my pinky toe. My fingers were so swollen that I could barely make a fist. And my period was days late due to all of the bodily stress. I was breaking my body.
That day, I pushed my body too far. I walked a total of 12 miles alone without my mom, and by the time I met her for lunch, my body felt ripped to shreds. I barely finished my sandwich without crying, the pain in my throat and chest was so extreme.
Thankfully, my mom’s toe issue turned out not to be an infection, but she was still glad that she had rested and gotten it checked on. I questioned my decision to walk alone and not rest with her. But I kept telling myself that it’s just walking. How hard could walking be? I’m a strong woman in a strong body. Surely this shouldn’t be that hard. I can push through the pain.
Day 4 ended up being an 18.8 mile day for me — the longest of the trip. I think the only thing that got me through that day was the knowledge that the next day should be a “short” 13-mile day and the fact that the ocean was staring at me the entire rest of the day once my mom met up with me. I can’t resist the ocean. I’m a true Pisces baby.
We walked to the edge of Portugal at the end of Day 4 and rejoiced when we arrived to our hostel. We were staying at the same place as my walking buddies were, but they had arrived significantly earlier. I was not interested in socializing, only in the bed waiting for me on the third floor.
After a shower and some rest, we went to find some Italian food for dinner. Now here’s the crazy part. I was rested up a bit after a long day of walking — calmer, not as anxious about my body or what lied ahead on the journey. And I was able to eat dinner without any of the painful spasms. It was as if they hadn’t been happening all day. My body had gotten some of the rest it needed and so it was able to mend itself a bit. My feet were still on fire and my tight calves turned me into a straight-legged soldier walking down the road. But I noticed that just a little rest went a long way.
I called my husband and told him about what was going on. He’s a massage therapist and is intimate with our muscles and how they all work together. He made a passing comment about how our calf, psoas (hips), and esophagus muscles are all on the same muscle plane, and what affects one can affect them all.
This really stuck with me. I know that the body is an amazing thing — I took biochemistry in college, and, not only was it the single hardest course I completed (and aced), it taught me all about how incredibly perfect our bodies have to be in order to function (like wth Kreb’s cycle?!). But somehow this link, between muscles on opposite ends of my body with no obvious connection, realizing they were all in cahoots with each other, blew my mind. My hips and calves were all shot to bits, hence the spasms in my esophagus.
I stretched a little bit more that night (which means I stretched for, like, 10 minutes 😬), and was determined to get through the next day.
Day 5 was not it, y’all.
This “short” day was yet again longer than predicted. We had crossed into Spain at this point, so there was no more rough cobblestone to speak of, but my body had not recovered after the 5 minutes (I lied before 😬) of stretching and 8 hours of sleep I had given it.
She needed more time to rest and recover.
Day 5 was easily the most spectacular day as far as vistas go. The ocean stayed close to us the entire day. We didn’t come across many towns or homes, so the landscapes were sweeping. But it also meant that we didn’t eat a lot and didn’t rest and just kept moving.
I was miserable.
And it was liberating when I finally said, “I need to stop.”
Yes, it was after we walked more than 14 miles that day. Yes, it was after all of the blisters on my feet exploded. Yes, it was after I cried at lunch because I couldn’t swallow my food without the glass shard feeling accompanying each gulp.
But I said it.
And so we rested. For two days. With no shame. And there arose the first epiphany.
Our bodies are strong, but they are not invincible. They need rest and recovery. In fact, only with proper recovery days can our bodies grow stronger. Without recovery, they continue to deteriorate and grow weak. I have preached this exact fact to my husband many times, who wants to ride his bike every single day, but now it was time to take my own advice.
My body is so very strong, and sometimes I can’t believe I got through those first five days without more damage to her, but she needs a champion. She needs someone who loves her enough to say ENOUGH. She needs someone to look out for her and to give her rest when she needs it.
There is no shame in rest. There is strength in recovery.
2. Puppies make everything better.
I bet you’re wondering what made me change my mind. What allowed the first epiphany to even occur.
It wasn’t a broken bone, or a popped blood blister, or uncontrollable bowel movements (although all of those were highly probable on this hike).
No, the thing that got me to say enough is enough… was a puppy.
This puppy:
Her name was Kira. And she was so very smol (3 pounds!).
I met her on Day 5, at my worst, when I desperately needed food but couldn’t swallow anything.
There’s a running joke in my family that I can’t survive without the following five things: husband, books, ice creams, plants, and puppies. They are my five favorite things that make life so much more vibrant and exciting.
It’s why petting a puppy ended up on my Big Kid Ellen list. There’s nothing more grounding and giddy and giggly than playing with a puppy.
Their little, sharp teeth that playfully nip at you. Their gangly limbs that they are still trying to figure out how to control. Their laser focus on you one minute and their total lack of interest in you the next.
They are intoxicating.
And this little pup came into my life at the exact right time. I had just lost our own dog, Chopper, a couple weeks earlier, and I needed to be reminded of a dog’s innocence and loyalty.
I ordered a ham and cheese sandwich, and was given a monster sub that made me sob just thinking about how painful yet satisfying it would be to eat. I took it to my table outside the small building we had found for lunch, looking out at the ocean. And I was followed by this little fuzzy baby, curious about me and my sandwich.
She was a little skittish at first, her so small and me so new. But I won her over with bits of ham and cheese, and soon she was in my lap getting kisses on the top of her head and beaucoup compliments in my patented doggy voice that is a full four octaves higher than my speaking voice. I tickled her tummy. She nibbled on my fingers. I forgot about my misery for a moment.
And something clicked.
She was what I needed to be present in the moment. To be able to listen to my body and speak up for myself. She reminded me what it was to be happy and playful and carefree. She wasn’t putting herself through a painful journey. She just wanted ham.
Puppies make everything better.
3. I need to sell my house and move.
Now, I will admit that while Kira was the catalyst that got me to speak up for my body, the moment when I said the words “I need to rest” out loud actually came at the end of Day 5.
And it was because of a snake.
Snakes are not a foreign thing to me, living in Texas. But I’m still not a fan of them. Like fish (a huge fear of mine), the way that they move freaks me the heck out. They always startle me, sending adrenaline to the tips of my body.
I’m not sure how my mom and I made it to the end of Day 5. Our hotel was further out than we thought it would be, the sun was beaming down, and our bodies were done with it all. We were walking on a path that was lined with low, rock walls that delineated old farming fields. No homes or roads anywhere near us. Totally oblivious that snakes even existed in this part of the world.
And then I saw a snake slither on top of one of the walls just a couple feet from my hand.
NOPE.
I jumped, screamed, launched my body towards my mom, felt every atom of energy sap from my body. And that’s when I said, “I’m taking some rest days.” In that moment, my mom and I schemed and we both planned to take two consecutive rest days and taxi to the towns that were on our itinerary instead of walking.
And boy oh boy, did things change.
When we got to our hotel that night, I slept forever. When I woke up the next morning, my period arrived. She had waited, bless her heart, until I was able to handle it. My body was on the mend.
We taxied over to the next town where we had serendipitously booked a room at a literal fortress (ask me about that story another time). The castle was strategically placed on a peninsula jutting out into the ocean, and the scenery was breathtaking. There were islands just off the coast, bright blues of sky and sea, and an idyllic beach town just inland. The perfect place for some R&R.
My mom required another trip to the hospital that day, her toe having swelled with a surprisingly large blood blister, but other than that, we stayed put. We ordered hot chocolate and tea on the veranda, I read and journaled, and we laid in our tiny twin beds and watched Eurovision (the movie) on my iPad (we had watched Eurovision, the competition, for the first time in our lives the night before). Resting felt luxurious.
It was also on this day, Day 6, that something bigger clicked for me. My body needed rest and recovery, but it also needed a change of scenery. I felt like my soul had been filled with the landscape of ocean and mountains in front of me. The ability to walk anywhere in the small town appealed to my ecological heart. And the plants and trees were blossoming and flowering everywhere you looked.
I had already been considering a move to a coastal California town before this trip, but it was solidified that day, in a majestic castle.
I need to sell my house and move.
Life feels stagnant in Texas. The heat and politics are oppressive. The geography of the city makes owning and driving a car a necessity. The closest thing that isn’t another house is more than a mile away.
I also feel so far away from some of the biggest loves of my life. Gardening is almost impossible in Texas without huge water bills. The ocean in the gulf is far away and filled with oil and half-dead sea life. And I literally can’t be outside, let alone exercise outside, for more than 30 minutes without getting heat stroke.
And so, the final epiphany brought all of the epiphanies together. If I wanted to honor my body, bring her to a place where she can move freely outdoors, take puppies on long hikes, and be by the ocean, it wasn’t going to happen in Texas.
We rested for Days 6 and 7 of the trip and then finished walking Days 8–12. The back half was so much more enjoyable, with shorter days, more breaks, rain (!!), and conversations with people from all over the world.
And when I got home, I told Derek about my epiphanies, and he agreed that he feels the same way. So we’re going to make it happen. We’re going to live our dream and move west.
It’s time for a new adventure.
