I wake up around 1:30 to go to the bathroom, and I can barely get up. My whole body aches, even more than when I went to bed. I can hardly stand, let alone walk. I use my arms to push myself up. Things aren’t looking good. Oh well, I don’t dwell on it and go back to sleep.

Around six, I open my eyes again. The moment to make a decision is approaching. I consider taking the day off to rest and recover. That would mean a drastic change to my itinerary since I’m on a tight schedule to reach Santiago. I still have 70 km to go and only three days left. It all depends on how I feel when I get up, but I don’t have high hopes – just a few hours ago I could barely stand. I remember I bought new insoles and a cushion yesterday. Today is Sunday, and I think about how depressing it would be to stay in this town. I get up and still feel sore but, to my surprise, I can walk.

The German, already getting ready, makes a comment about how great he’ll walk today. That’s the last straw – my patience runs out, and I finish gathering my courage. It’s not a competition, but I’m not letting that German beat me. I get ready and, for the first time as a walking pilgrim, decide to use the luggage transport service between stages. I stuff everything into a plastic bag, tie it up, write the destination on the company’s envelope, and leave the 5-euro fee. Today is the longest stage of the Camino – 32 kilometers. A big difference considering I’ve been averaging 20 km per day so far. I’ll make it there today, even if I have to arrive in an ambulance.

I head to a café for breakfast. The service is a bit rough, but the food is exactly what I need. I set off and, while crossing the park where the Canadians had their plant buffet the day before, I run into the Spanish women. We walk together for a bit, and I tell them to go ahead, using the excuse that I’ll stay back to stretch. In reality, I try to keep up, but I can’t. I take a break and continue on. I walk slowly, admiring the landscape as everyone – children and elderly – gradually overtakes me.

After almost two hours, the Canadians catch up with me. They look motivated. We chat for a bit, and I tell them to go ahead. They mention they’ll look for a café to have breakfast. Further along, I strike up a conversation with an Italian couple. They tell me they live in Valencia and recommend some stretching exercises. Eventually, we reach a café where they decide to stop. It happens to be the same café where Aurélie and Fred are, so I go inside as well. I find the Danish girl sitting at a table. We chat, not knowing it would be our last encounter, and then I join the Canadians.

I try the famous Tarta de Santiago for the first time, and time flies as we talk about recurring dreams and their meanings.

We’ve been sitting so long that my body stiffens, and I struggle to stand up. We continue walking together. The journey feels easier with conversation. We stop a couple of times for Fred to take photos with his analog camera. Aurélie mentions her hip is hurting. It’s noon, and the sun is blazing. We cross a stone bridge and arrive in Melide, the town marking the halfway point of the stage. I suggest we have lunch at a restaurant famous for its pulpo a feira, a Galician specialty. The last few steps to the pulpería, under the scorching sun and with no shade, feel endless. Finally, we arrive and order some beers while we wait for the food.

I’ve never been a big fan of seafood, but the octopus is exquisite. I was starving.

After eating, we continue, heavier from the break. There are still four hours to go. The exit from the town is uphill, and the sun feels even stronger. Aurélie’s hip hurts more, and Fred offers to carry both backpacks. We walk slowly. We enter a forested path and reach a café where they decide to rest. To avoid losing momentum, I keep going alone.

I put on some music and pick up the pace. I pass a group of school kids and end up alone again. It’s hot. I reach a small village, find a water spout, and soak my head. I keep walking alongside a road until a woman steps out of her house and tells me I’m not on the right path. She points me in the right direction, and I return to the trail.

I pass by a church and then enter a forest path. I walk slowly but steadily. Suddenly, a woman overtakes me with a strong stride. To break the ice, I ask her where she’s from and where she started the Camino. She says her name is Lora, and she’s from San Diego. She started in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, on the French border.

I get the impression she doesn’t want to talk much, and I understand. After a while, she stops to rest, and I say goodbye, taking it as a sign for us to continue separately.

The trail starts to slope uphill. I walk slowly, trying not to stop. A few minutes later, I see Lora again as she catches up and asks about my Camino. I tell her my story, and suddenly she bursts out laughing. She seems interested, so I start sharing more details, and she laughs even harder.

She asks how I’ve made it this far and tells me I’m the least prepared person she’s met on the Camino. She says she’s tired of overly prepared people who thought of everything and criticize every little thing. We instantly connect. She tells me she’s 48, and I, incredulous, joke that California water must be amazing.

The hills feel easier with laughter, and with less than an hour to go, we find a bar with a sign promising that a beer will give us “the strength” for the final stretch. We sit down. From the patio, we can see Arzúa, the day’s destination. It looks close, but there’s still a downhill followed by a steep climb.

I make an inhuman effort to get up from the chair, as my legs can’t take much more. Lora laughs and cheers me on. We set off. We move quickly downhill, despite the strain on our knees with each step. The uphill is a different story. We walk slowly until we finally reach a village. Lora, thrilled, thinking we’ve arrived in Arzúa, suggests exchanging numbers. I give her mine, but as we keep walking, she realizes we haven’t arrived yet. I tell her we still have about 30 minutes to go and joke about her being too hopeful.

Eventually, we reach Arzúa, and we each head to our hostels. I throw my clothes in the washer and take a shower. I see that my blister has healed. I’m hungry, so I head to a Turkish restaurant for a kebab. In the distance, I see Lora and her group happily strolling through town.

Tonight is San Juan, and there are bagpipers playing in the streets. Smoke fills the air, and fireworks occasionally light up the sky.