Day 21 - Calzadilla de la Cueza to Reliegos (53km)

Savage. Harsh. Brutal. Get out your thesaurus and choose your synonym. I’m beyond caring. Today I walked 53km. It seemed a good idea at the time when Rob suggested some days ago that we walk a 'marathon' at some point on the relative flat of the Meseta. He ultimately couldn’t do it but the seed had been planted in my brain and had taken root. So this morning I set off at 6.15 in the half light to walk the 42km a marathon would entail while in the distance rain showers drifted across a grey horizon. Eventually they caught up with me but the occasional drop of rain and an overcast sky seemed well suited to my plans for the day. Mid morning I breakfasted in Sagahun (where Gale and the girls planned to end their day today) and then pressed on.

Before long I was on the main part of today's route, the path of an old Roman road that took me to the 42km point after which I had hoped to find a place to stop. But it was clear from everything I had seen to this point that there was unlikely to be anything on this track until the next village some kilometres away. I was tired, and the need to continue forced on me by circumstance, sapped my will making things harder than usual. Added to that, this typically Roman road went on long and straight, mile on mile, into a nondescript scrubby wasteland. There were no distant visual references to give a sense of progress while underfoot the track was covered in large pebbles that punished the feet when trodden on, even in boots. Rather than a challenging by-product of my day the discomfort and seeming endlessness of this stretch started to become the focus. With a dispirited mind exaggerating the weariness of my body the walk had become a mental as well as physical challenge. I was losing my rhythm and losing focus of mind; it was as if there were a disconnect between the body and the brain - working against each other rather than together - that required mental effort to bridge. I was trying hard to force myself into yesterday’s mindset, taking pleasure and distraction in my surroundings, but this just emphasised the nothingness and lack of apparent progress and led to poor footing on the track and discomfort on my already tired feet. So I would focus on my footing only to find my mind drawn to my feet and how sore they were and an even worse sense of progress measured by each unsteady step. And against all this the knowledge that I was still far from a bed and getting slower and that despite my efforts that bed just did not appear to be getting nearer.

The afternoon dragged on with slow progress and everything seeming to take forever. And then I encountered Harold. Harold was a German resting by the track, the only other person I had seen on the route. He too was suffering. We swapped a few words before making a silent agreement to accompany each other. Few more words were exchanged but the rhythmic crunch on gravel of two pairs of feet and the silent companionship was enough to buoy us both up a little.

We eventually reached the tiny village of Reliegos and made for the municipal albergue where I lay on my bed for some time before forcing myself to shower and to go and eat (the Elvis Bar, themed graffiti inside and out and a particular style of music...). It was then an early night for me to let the healing power of sleep do its work on my body and mind.

Reliegos - at last....