Last night? Another eight hours of real and deep sleep. It is not the type in which each twig gives in or changes its weight every 30 minutes, a regional dream. My body seems to know that it needs it. Temperatures submerged in the 40s, and the rain fell all night. In fact, he really hasn’t stopped.
Today was a shorter mileage day, only 7 miles, but most was spent on a constant downpour. Even so, it was one of those days when the path gives you everything at once: beauty, fear, growth and a reminder that you are never really alone, even when you feel like that.
Accommodate in the morning rhythm
For now, I have established a routine that works for me. Wake up. Take medications. Apply «blue magic» to my hair. Prepare breakfast. Organize the team. Bathroom. Water. Pack. Hike.
That rhythm is helping. Especially in days like today, when heaven feels relentless and the mud tries to tear you down with each step. The path does not allow to hurry or distractions. Instead, it requires patience, intention and a will to put aside control.
Rinse and repeat: glacial beds
The first six miles became a pattern that I anticipated and feared. Again and again, the path followed the same rhythm:
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Cross a relatively flat crest
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Look at the two Californians ahead of me disappear
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Whispers «here we go again» for myself
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Glacial Bed
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Rises abruptly
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Walk for a few minutes, then repeat
This repeated cycle was used both in my legs and in my nerves. Finally, somewhere around the fifth or sixth round, I reached a fork on the road. A route had a near path marker, so I chose it.
At first, it seemed the correct movement. But almost immediately, the slope became slippery. My path runners began to lose grip. I bent down and drove my trekking post deeply on the earth. Even so, I slim, -surfing towards a melted glacier.
Somehow, I stayed vertically. Somehow, the post held. I managed to stop enough time to recover my breath.
That was when I heard voices: «Hello!»
It was a couple who had met day 1. They had taken the safest alternative route. I quickly continued on his way and did it through the glacier. Once I arrived on the other side, I turned around and saw exactly where I had come from, and I couldn’t believe it.
My visual disability sometimes places me in situations like this. I often see almost Clearly, but not at all. It is frustrating, even sometimes scary. But it is also part of what shapes my experience here. This is the adventure within the adventure.
Moments like this remind me: The path provides. That couple appeared when I needed additional eyes, and today, that meant everything.
The descent that would not leave
Once I passed the glacial crosses, I thought it was clear. However, the next section was a descent that never seemed to end. The curves tight and steep, some as short as three feet, had been seen by the mountain as a snail staircase designed to punish the thighs and knees equally.
Each shift sent a new burning wave through my legs. And just when I thought I had finished, I arrived at a river crossing. A sign promised a bridge, but what I found was a lonely cable stretched through hurried water.
Thanks Iceland.
Even so, by the time I arrived at the camp, aged, muddy and exhausted, I felt an unexpected sense of pride. This day I had tried almost every way. But deep down, I knew: for this it is for what I came here.
Campaign time
At 2:00 pm, I was back in my store. I did tea, stretched and existed for a while. It may have been a nap. I definitely jumped. I also spent some time drawing in my diary, a sketch of the wild terrain of the day and my reactions to him. A little self -critical humor helped lighten the weight of the day.
5:20 PM – Supper
The dinner was a Mexican quinoa bowl covered with crumbled takis. Yes, Takis. Salado, spicy, crispy, absolutely perfect.
Missing, but not only
Later, while laying in my tent, dinner, full, and listening to the constant touch of the rain, a quiet pain appeared. I found myself thinking about the people I love: my girlfriend, my children, my close friends. I missed them, not with urgency or pain, but in that soft way that strange family voices and the feeling of being seen.
However, at the same time, I was not alone.
There is a strange comfort in being alone outside. I have begun to enjoy it, making decisions only for me, moving at my own pace and has no responsibilities outside my basic needs. I’ve been eating all my meals in my store, I’m not looking for a conversation. Maybe I am issuing an environment of «please do not participate.» Maybe I need that space more than I realized.
A message in silence
Early in the day, I tried to walk with the couple I had met before. I asked him if I could join them briefly: the visibility was poor and was fighting with the fog. They agreed, and we walked silently for a while.
After about thirty minutes, they stopped to adjust their layers. I also stopped, but the moment felt uncomfortable. There is no little talk. Only vague visual contact. I am quite sure that one of them muttered something about the need to use the bathroom, but independently, I understood. My presence was not necessary.
And maybe it’s fine.
Maybe I was destined to walk on this part alone.
Being here only affects your sense of who you are and what you value. It reminds me that love does not need to be strong to be real. It is stable. Constant. It does not fader just because I have been out of the network.
Maybe you have also felt it, on a solo trip, or even at a rare and quiet moment. That feeling of getting lost to others while realizing how much loneliness is forming.
Today reminded me:
We do not always know how loved we are, until we finally decrease enough to feel the absence.
Urinate or not urinate
At 7:30 pm, the rain had not yet stopped. I had been in my store for hours and I didn’t want to leave, but I needed to use the bathroom.
Because he is not allowed to approach his store, and because he never darkens completely here, there is no privacy shortcut. I undressed carefully, put the rain team and made the walk to the designated area. Only another moment of surrender to the reality of the life of the path.
Final thoughts
At 7:50 pm, I spent some time doing neurographic art. I am not sure what the images mean, maybe I will solve it after a few more days. Or maybe I won’t.
At 8:30, I settled again. I saw some episodes downloaded from a Netflix program, then I turned off everything and let the silence take over.
Tomorrow is a 9 -mile day. I hope with less rain. But honestly, rain or not, I’m still here. Still learning. Still putting one foot in front of the other.
Because here,
There are no bad days, just difficult moments.
