The Laugavegur path | Day 1 | It’s time to pass!

I woke up at 8:00 am to a world wrapped in fog: 52 degrees, low clouds and rain expected at the end of the afternoon. Seven miles got out of me and the next cabin, and I had a goal: to move with purpose and hope To overcome the weather.

That is the mentality in which you slide when you are walking alone in a foreign landscape, which is nothing more than your body, your instincts and the always changing sky.

I packed my tent with intention, separating the rainfly from the interior. If your configuration allows it, do it. There is nothing better than being able to launch a dry space in the middle of a downpour.

I took some vitamin I (ibuprofen) for my hips and my back, unusual for me, but I have gone too far to let a pain distract me from my commitment. After a fast breakfast, I went out around 10:20 am, and as I did, the sun broke the clouds. My path of the Laugavegur path had officially started.

Keep ahead!

The walk begins with a climb, stable and stable, then mocks you with a brief flat section before throwing it back to the uphill routine. And then more climbing after that. I felt it immediately. Among yesterday’s warm -up walk and exploring each corner of Reykjavík the day before, I already had 24 miles on my legs. They were tired. My body was talking.

But the path was stronger. And what he said was: Look at this.

I was walking through a landscape sculpted by fire and ice: the fields of tightened lava fields in black rock, crest carved by missing glaciers. The ground under me changed between the loose volcanic floor and the solidified flows of obsidian and basalt. In the distance, the mountains of multicolored riolite shone in roses, oranges and turned off, minerals that react to centuries of geothermal heat. The snow patches still clung stubbornly to the slopes, challenging the summer.

Then I kept walking.

People and lemon drops

One of the best parts of hiking is not just the landscape: they are the people you know while they chase it.

First, there was Kiel, a 22 -year -old from the Netherlands in his third Laugavegur Trek. He had just finished a walk of several months in New Zealand and arrived directly to Iceland to walk this path with his family. Next? Move to Banff to work in a resort. It has the type of intrepid spirit that I admire, and, okay, envy a little.

Then there was a man from Ohio who lived in Germany for more than two decades. We play politics, simply briefly, but isn’t it wild how even in the medium of Iceland, «Do you like Trump?» Does it still become the universal conversation filter?

At that time, between the steep climbs and all the small talk, I felt a bit socially overloaded.

Later, I crossed roads with Caitlin and Brad. She grew up in Rochester, where most of my family lives now, and when I mentioned Route 104, she knew exactly what I was referring to. Little world, great path.

She offered me Kix covered with chocolate, and changed a few drops of lemon. Barter with sweets in a glacier, just another day in the heifested highlands.

A goal. Nothing else.

Somewhere in the middle of the path, something unexpected happened: my brain was silent.

No rotating thoughts. There are no mental tasks lists. I do not ask me if I reminded Venmo to my ex -wife of children some of the children. Without registering.

Just a clear mission: It arrives at the cabin and prepares the camp.

That was all. Without multitasking, without second screens, without open eyelashes in my mind. This was weird. It was a bit magical.

For once, I was not everywhere, it was right here.

A little rain, a lot of gratitude

The last mile, heaven finally yielded. I felt the first drops, looked up and saw the clouds stacked in rain formation. So I pushed hard.

When I got to the cabin, I settled quickly: advance first, then the rest. Just in time. The rain entered its entirety.

But it was dry. I was safe. It was exactly where I needed to be.

Inside my store, I prepared tea, paste and broke some Icelandic chocolate that I had bought in the city. My camp chair was ready, my dry ground sheet. I felt like a king in a nylon castle.

The lesson in the miles

Today he reminded me of something I already knew, but I had forgotten to trust: You just have to do one thing at a time.

I didn’t need to plan all my life. I didn’t need to carry all the concerns I have met. I didn’t even need to walk the seven miles at the same time.

Just one step. Then another.

And when he got hard, and did Stop hard, I kept moving anyway.

Even when I got caught in the bathroom because the lock stuck (yes, that happened), I discovered it. Because, what else can you do but solve the thing in front of you?

Rain tomorrow? So it is.

The prognosis says that tomorrow is a washing. That’s ok. I will wake up when I wake up. Walk when I’m ready. Eat when I’m hungry. Walk seven more miles.

One thing at a time.

Maybe see Caitlin and Brad again. Maybe I meet the Canadian couple I met before. Maybe I will walk in silence all day and I love it.

For now, I am lying in my store, full and warm, listening to the sound of Iceland’s sky lets go.

And I am very proud of what I did today.

Not because it was easy.

But because it wasn’t.

Day 1 is ready. My legs hurt. My heart is full. My brain is calm. I am not thinking about the end of the path, only the next curve. And that is more than enough

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