73: The Pain of Walking

If I spent as much time writing about the pain as I did thinking about it, this would get to be a very boring read. It was a constant companion for much of the trip. But on this day, it was particularly bad. I had strawberry-sized blisters on both of my feet, and although I had punctured them repeatedly, they just kept coming. I wondered if maybe my puncturing them caused an extra irritation which made them worse.

Laredo was still over a few hills, but already I was cursing with every step. I sounded a bit like Homer Simpson when he falls down, for example, a flight of stairs.

"GAA! OOOh! OW! SONOFA! EEE!"

For hours.

I could only think of the pain. Was the pain worthwhile? I mean, that's a pretty deep question, and probably applicable to just about any situation in life. Maybe it is the one question that, consciously or subconsciously, determines every choice we make.

Is the pain worthwhile?

I looked at Matthieu, walking a good distance ahead of me, and I remembered Patagonia. When I was trekking in Patagonia with my friend Bryan, it was a similar scenario: him disappearing off in front of me while I was cursing and groaning under the pain and weariness.

And yet, the memory of the pain had subsided somehow. How did that happen? I know that I had been extremely unhappy during those hikes, but the memory of the pain is not vivid at all. What is vivid are the landscapes and the feeling of freedom.

How does this happen? What selection process takes place? I've heard people talk about "repressing" or "suppressing" our negative memories, but is that what is going on here? Or does beauty really outweigh pain, only that it requires some time for the process?

I tried to imagine remembering today's walk in the future. I wondered if I'd remember the scenery and forget the pain.

I couldn't imagine it very well. The pain was searing. It dominated my thinking. I couldn't really focus on much else.