Less than a week out of Saint-Jean, a small pilgrim social group had formed. Leading the group was Collin, who munches miles with fortitude. He carries a bum knee and a muscle-gnarled foot as he walks.
Next is Harry. His gimp produces a bowing leg action, where he pulls his right knee out to minimize stress on his straining knee. He walks like a large and dopey fawn. Fern takes up the rear, which in this case actually places her slightly ahead of the group as she can walk slightly faster than the others. Her gimp is less noticeable. At times she would even try to deny any association with the club, but her foot injury makes such denial impossible, as she leans heavily on her two trekking poles.
This is the Gimp Squad. Three young pilgrims limping their way towards Santiago. Fearless, they trudge through the muck of the mud and the heat of the sun, resisting and hopelessly ignoring their nagging injuries and screaming limbs. 40km in one day? No problem.
So far, I had been able to avoid any affiliation with the Gimp Squad. I was healthy, my feet strong. I even went as far to share my opinion that limping was actually quite silly. “Limping’s unnecessary. It only makes injuries worse!” I would jibe as my bulging calves powered me past the struggling squad. I felt as invincible as Achilles. Pure hubris.
Two days after the legendary trek to Pamplona, I started for Logroño from Los Arcos. Collin had already bussed ahead to Logroño from Estella, a gimp-driven decision that ate into his soul. Harry and Fern had both trekked on ahead of me. I faced an unfamiliar feeling of bringing up the rear. I was anxious to get out and continue walking.
It was a cold morning. The cloudy, grey sky reflected in the river as I passed over the stone bridge leaving Los Arcos. It had rained the past three days and both my socks and the cuffs of my sweater were already wet. Starting off my walk alone for the first time of my Camino, I walked along the brown dirt and gravel path.
I felt the pain within the first five minutes of the walk. I had heard it whispering hints of sore muscles and slightly inflamed tendons in the past couple of days. The pain was no longer whispering. As I walked along I saw the soft image of the next town, far off in the distance, but now I heard the full bodied voice of pain bellowing from my right heel. My achilles heel.
I looked down at my foot. How could this be!? I stopped to re-tie my boots. Maybe they were too tight? Restricting blood flow? I tied a more forgiving knot hoping for some forgiveness from pain but I couldn’t quiet its voice. It started to rain.
The pain was sharp. I looked up at the distant town. It was a demoralizing sight, resting in the opposite end of the valley basin where I walked. I was 30km from Logroño. I felt as if the purity of my pilgrimage was in jeopardy as I contemplated the possibility of catching a bus from that distant town to to reach my destination. I trekked, no, I limped on. Through the rain and the whipping wind.
The rain is pelting
And the wind is whipping
I walk though
I don’t want to go
The hills are screaming
The feeling´s demeaning
My feet trudge to and fro
Now I hear my calf screaming
I think my ankle is bleeding
So I curse
And I pray as I walk.
Finally, I limp up to the buildings of the small Spanish town. I walk past closed shops. Rain pours off the old colonial style tiled roofs onto the hood of my rain jacket. The streets are empty with the exception of cold rainwater running down the middle channel of the cobblestone streets. It must be ciesta.
I come to a crossroad. On the right is the path of the Camino, spiraling down a hill and back up to another distant town. On the left, a bus stop. I jangle the change in my pocket. Somehow unsurprisingly, I pick up my sore right foot and take a step towards the right direction, only dreaming of taking a bus in the next town. I gimp on to Logroño as a full pledged member of the Gimp Squad.
I´m almost there now
Though I don´t know how
I fucking
Better be close
Now beyond the curving
I see a big building
And I quicken
The gimp in my limp
And now here I am
Happy as a clam
I take a
Shower I´m good
