these boots!

Finally, this weekend, I found my boots. These boots! Aren’t they cute?

Truth be told, cute was so extra, near to the bottom of the checklist. I needed soles to accommodate a wonky spine and tendency to pronate. Waterproof with not too high a cuff. Wide toe box, too. Quality guarantees and warranty. Most important of all, super comfortable.

That last one was the kicker. When the fit is right, you know it. If not now, in those first few steps, most likely never.

The Hubs and I made a whirlwind trip to Burlington. We ran the gauntlet of retail service, and covered some ground in Vermont side-trip adventures. But this was mostly about the boots. He found some, too. Whew!

Then, the rest fell into place. We were fitted for packs that fit about as perfect as can be expected on a human, or a mule. Trekking poles, water bladders — check, check. We scored free branded baseball caps and bandanas, compliments of an endearing sales person at Farm-Way in Bradford, so smart and sweet!

Now I’m starting to accumulate necessities from a running list of items that surface in podcasts, memoirs, and guide books. It never ends, nor do my questions. At REI, we learned about Darn Tough socks — made in Vermont. Super cute, comfy, functional, and lifetime guaranteed! At Farm-Way, Vet Wrap for a bargain priced self-adhesive to tend blisters and sprains. Who knew?

All of this effort due to one audacious goal: to trek the Camino de Santiago, or The Way of St. James. I’ve dreamed of this trip for more than a decade.

A few months ago, we fine-tuned and finalized plans. There are many possible routes. Ours is the Camino Portugues. We’ll trek from Porto, Portugual, to Santiago de Compostela, Spain, then on to Finisterre. Two hundred twenty-two miles, plus whatever detours the day brings.

We’ve purchased airfare and insurance; reserved accommodations (both for comfort and peace of mind); and contracted for small baggage transport (in part, to accommodate my spine). Some of which, I know, pilgrim purists disdain. But, as they also say, “Walk your walk.” And this is mine.

More accurately — mine, and the Hubs, and a couple of friends, too. We’re on this epic journey for varied and very personal reasons. Not to mention, the adventure!

This July, I turn sixty; as, in November, the Hubs will do. We’ll celebrate this milestone walking The Way for three weeks, averaging ten miles a day. We’ve seen sixty years of the goodness of God in the land of the living. Forty-four years finding our way together. We’ve raised three children, each happily married; we’ve welcomed six grands, whom we adore. We’ll toast to star-crossed paths, life-long love, the blessings of family and friendships that last.

For now, we’ve done most of what we can do. Except, of course, the training. For this, I needed the pack and boots! Today, dear reader, training is officially underway. Woo-hoo!

I must admit, as the trip draws closer, I sometimes suppress an urge to panic. What was I thinking? What have I gotten us into? And I gotta’ tell you, it got really real when I bought these boots!

But I do not fall prey to limbic thinking, swirling down the WHAT-IFs drain. Oh, no, my friend. You know me better than that! I’m rising higher, to hold hope and keep faith.

Whatever our Camino is to be, we will make the most of it. We’ll take joy in the journey. We will do the best we can; it will be enough.

I’m a planner. I like to think I’m pretty good at it. Even so, I know we’re not owed tomorrow. The Apostle James is right: Life is like a vapor, as tenuous as the morning mist. (James 4:13-15)

Each breath is a gift. Today is all we have. So then, we hold each day loosely, and leave room for “divine detours” on the Camino, and in life.

But as much as I can know anything 118 days into the future, I know this: I will move this good body with gratitude, each step, by minute or mile. And I’ll be wearing cute boots.

~ Sincerely, Sondra