The Present Pain by Laura Santi

Nonfiction

Photo by Luís Feliciano on Unsplash

Outside the church in Hontanas, the nuns take our bruised and blistered feet and rub them

with tenderness, anoint them with oil. For thirty-three days, I am doing nothing but walking;

fourteen days in and my feet are showing signs of resistance through the hotspots and muscle aches that develop each day. While temporarily healed by the nuns’ touch, I know the pain will return in the morning.

We were warned about this: on the third day, Olivier, the owner of a breakfast café en

route, told us that one of the main lessons of the Camino is that the pain allows you to be present. “You don’t think about yesterday or tomorrow because the pain keeps you in today,” he said as he sat and talked with us over croissants and coffees.

Although no longer a regular churchgoer, I attend the occasional evening Pilgrims’ Mass

along the Camino. I stand when others stand and kneel when others kneel, pain emphasized

when I bring my knees down to the wooden bench: this is my body, broken for you.

In the monastery in Carrion de los Condes, the nuns feed us dinner, asking only that we

bring something to contribute if we’re able. The donation table fills with watermelons and

baguettes, crackers and cheese. Before our meal, they gather us in prayer, a blessing for what we have done so far and what we have yet to do. At dinner, they serve us noodles in broth followed by rice and sausages: take and eat, in remembrance of me.

Later that night, I fixate on the dusk’s pale purple clouds and the moon in the still-blue

sky overhead the stone church, breathing in and out on counts of five to distract myself from the present pain as Aimee pops my blisters with a needle. My feet will still hurt in the morning, but they will keep trying to heal, day after day.

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Author's Note:

Taking a long walk without a set destination is one of my favorite forms of self-care—I don’t have an aptitude for sitting still and meditating, but can reach that meditative state while walking. Whether I’m wandering around my neighborhood or hiking through the mountains, I love the mental clarity that comes with being in motion. My month-long walk on the Camino de Santiago was my longest walk yet, and despite the physical challenges of covering so many kilometers, the freedom to walk with few distractions or responsibilities felt like self-care in its most natural form.

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Laura Santi is an MFA candidate at the University of British Columbia. Her work has appeared in Business Insider. Having spent the past six years living and traveling abroad, she thrives off of solo travel adventures and exploring new places. She can be found on Instagram @thecandidconnection.

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