The idea that Clive and I would do the "Palomas Challenge" 40 kilometre walk started as a bantering tableside suggestion (which I readily agreed to -- if I could take on *Torreon* I could do anything, right?) The idea quickly snowballed into a hearty discussion about proper foot wear and snacks for a walk of that magnitude. The suggestion came out Saturday night at dinner, and the very next morning we set off! Our route, I was told, would take us from Clive & Sue's house, down to and around the Zahara lake, then turn upwards near el pueblo de Zahara for a slow ascent to the Puerto de las Palomas before heading downhill through Grazalema and back to the house.

In the cool morning air we kicked ourselves into gear and put our trainer-clad feet to tarmac by 9 o'clock. Not fully comprehending what lay ahead of me (38 more kilometres) I skipped and jumped  down the road to the junction where we would veer off towards the lake. All the while I snapped pictures and cooed at baby sheep. Clive suggested I pace myself, and I only had to be told once.

We continued on through late morning air around the lake, which, against the mountainous backdrop, held me mesmerized many times during our trek. As the coolness of the morning faded and warmth from the sun slowed our steps (just a tad), the shimmering blue waters seemed inviting. I was tempted to find a kayak and paddle off. Strangely enough, though, no one came up and said, "Take my kayak and save yourself from 25 more kilometres of walking", so on we went toward Zahara.

When we reached the bottom of Zahara we stopped for a snack. I noticed the cracking view over the lake to the olive studded Twin Peaks and grinned; at the beginning they seemed magnificently large, but we had been steadily increasing in elevation and from that vantage point they looked a bit less scary. When we stood up after our snacks on a road barrier I had an unpleasant taste of what was to come. My feet stung as they hit the tarmac, and I hopped around to make the pain going away which of course didn't help. The stinging soon subsided (or I soon ignored it) and on we went.

As we slowly ascended the mountain, and it slowly assaulted my feet, we passed gorgeous almond blossoms and old Spanish men in overalls tending to their endless olive groves. We talked about the car race that once a year followed the same route we were on and I decided I preferred the leisurely pace we had, even if it stung a bit. There were certainly enough bends on our path to make me dizzy if we had taken the route via car, and around each corner the road still went up. It was around this point when I came to my senses and realized two things: a) how far we still had to walk and b) that we had to walk it. As in many people, this sort of realization can either lift or kill your spirit. I chose the former, although I wasn't without my grouchy stints.

Around 2:30 Sue & Sam caught up with us in the car. Sue found a place not far ahead to park and we soon had a splendid picnic lunch on the side of the mountain. Sue had also brought a change of shoes for me, which was really appreciated. My trainers (running shoes) had lasted through 7 months of tremendous sightseeing and running around, but the tread had worn down and the mountainous adventures proved to be a bit much for them. Once the last crumbs of lunch were picked clean and  more juice was gulped we set off, me in a fresh pair of hiking boots and Clive pushing Sam in his buggy. As I stood up I remembered what had happened near Zahara so I did my best not to jump around when the pain hit. We waved bye to Sue, who was driving to the top to wait for Sam there.

The sun was heading towards the other side of the mountain after lunch and this allowed for more gazing across the lake without the sun in our eyes. In the partial shade we pushed steadily uphill  with Clive getting carried away a couple times pushing Sam's buggy. To be honest I had to ask him to slow down more than once -- there was no way I was running to catch up. I knew by that time what a marathon consisted of and just how much each drop of energy counted. I was getting to the point where pain was the most frequently used word in my vocabulary. Phrases such as "I found a new pain here" and "the pain in my legs/feet/hips is getting worse" popped up in the absence of more significant thoughts. Still, we held high spirits and we continued to make our way to the top.

It's worth mentioning what kind of mental state you put yourself into by walking on a flat surface all day. I noticed that as we neared the top I was getting a bit... loopy. Perhaps I was simply a strange person in an even stranger situation, but I found that with each step I was torn between laughing and crying (I did a bit of both, but all in the best of spirits). I was wondering why I would push myself to tread this ridiculous route, but I also kept amazing myself with each step I took. I could see the road we had taken earlier in the day and I was incredibly impressed at how far we had gone. At the time these ideas were simplified to the extreme, and I was reduced by fatigue to mostly saying, "Oh wow".

After some truly daunting slopes and lots of twists and turns, our uphill journey came to an end. Clive talked to Sue while I high fived the Puerto de las Palomas sign which stated our elevation at 1357 meters. After a couple of pictures we were back on track, this time headed down the other side of the mountain. Walking down the mountain instead of up created some not so pleasant new sensations in my shins (jabs jabs and more sharp jabs), and I was sure that the temperature in my boots was at least boiling point.  Keeping in mind that it was "all downhill from here" (except for the part that wasn't), we carried on to Grazalema. There we had tea and coffee, as well as one last run in with the sharp stinging pains that accompanied the process of sitting down & standing up.

Heading out of Grazalema and down to the house was the most physically demanding stretch of road we faced. The sky was pink and purple as we hit the village limits, which meant the daylight was ending without us. A worrying thought, but I was hardly aware of it. I had turned off most thoughts that didn't include the word pain, although it was actually kind of funny (or slightly deranged, now that I think of it). Our confident strides had worn down to unbecoming waddles and we cracked jokes to pass time. We must have looked as tired and terrible as we felt, because at one point we had a Spanish couple in a sporty red car pull up and ask us if we were okay. All I could do was give them the thumbs up and laugh; Clive said thanks and waved them on.

We finished the Palomas Challenge at seven o'clock that evening, 10 hours after we had set out. It felt like a lifetime. As I made my way through the last few steps of my journey from the doorway to the couch, I heaved a sigh of relief. Once again I had pushed myself much further than I had thought possible, and while the strain on my body wasn't without repercussions (aches, pains, and soreness abounding for four days) I was proud of myself and felt undeniably alive.

TrackBack URI for this entry

Name

Email

Website

Comment

smaller | bigger

Write the displayed characters

Add Comment