Steps of Struggle and Strength: My First Four Days on the Camino Le Puy

Embarking on the Camino Le Puy, I thought I had a pretty good handle on this whole pilgrimage thing. After all, I’d already tackled the Camino Portuguese and a few stretches of the Camino Frances. How much harder could it be? Well, let’s just say that by the end of Day 2, I was seriously questioning my life choices.

Prelude:  Le Puy-en-Velay

Let me start by saying that this little town blew me away.  Le Puy-en-Velay is renowned for its stunning Cathédrale Notre-Dame du Puy, a masterpiece perched on volcanic rock that has served as a beacon for pilgrims for over a millennium. This cathedral is home to the revered Black Madonna, attracting visitors seeking spiritual solace and architectural marvels. Local pilgrimages to Le Puy are why this town became a significant starting point for the Camino de Santiago.  Coincidentally, we were there for Assumption Day, where people come to Le Puy from around the world to meditate and participate in this grand annual celebration given in honor of the Virgin Mary.

Day 1: A Gentle Start—A Prelude to Pain

Our journey kicked off at the crack of dawn, leaving the comfort of our gîte in Le Puy at 6 AM.  We took the requisite pictures and began the climb out of the city, which was a solid warm-up, nothing too intense—just enough to remind me that I was on a pilgrimage, not a leisurely stroll through the park. The morning air was fresh, and there was a sense of excitement as we set out on the trail.

We encountered a family traveling with a donkey, which instantly became the highlight of the morning. Seeing four kids ranging from 8 months to 10 years old, the youngest strapped to their mom’s back put a smile on my face. Not one iPad…  What an experience.  If they could manage this journey with a donkey and a baby in tow, surely I could handle whatever the trail threw at me.

About four miles in, we stopped for coffee and met Liege, a fellow pilgrim from Australia. She was friendly in a very Australian way.  Little did I know she would soon become my comrade-in-arms as the trail got tougher.

Shortly after, the rhythm of our walking led to a deep conversation with Rick.  I’ve been working on developing Camino Cornerstones and the Step & Leap program, and this moment provided the perfect backdrop for some meaningful brainstorming. I’ve been grappling with a significant challenge—how to help people prepare for the emotional abyss, that post-Camino depression cycle, without causing anxiety about it. 

Our conversation returned to the concept of “productive struggle,” something I believe in deeply. For those unfamiliar, productive struggle refers to facing and working through challenges that ultimately lead to growth and improvement. A Camino isn’t easy; it challenges you physically and mentally each day. You become acutely aware of how your body adapts quickly to the physical struggle.  But with practice, the same thing happens in your mind. If practiced, the struggle of the Camino can also pave the roads of self-awareness, mindfulness, and reflection.

We eventually settled on an approach that uses this concept throughout the pilgrimage. The plan is to give travelers daily prompts—questions and reflections that serve as mental tools. These prompts will encourage pilgrims to engage with their journey on a deeper level, thinking through and reflecting on their experiences. By tackling these daily mental challenges, the idea is that they’ll be better equipped to recognize and address any tough times that might come after the Camino.  This approach will make a real difference for people navigating life after their Camino.

By the time we reached Saint Privat Allier, we were ready for showers. Our lodging was not yet open, so we settled for kicking back with a beer. But our new Aussie friend arrived, and one became five as we talked, reminisced, and laughed together. Dinner was duck breast au vin, and it was the perfect ending to a relatively easy day. Little did I know what Day 2 had in store for us.

Day 2: A Test of Endurance and a Lesson in Humility

Day 2 started innocently enough, but it quickly became one of the most challenging days I’ve ever experienced on any Camino. The day’s stats were impressive—and by impressive, I mean terrifying: 13.3 miles walked, with 2,400 feet of vertical gain. To put that into perspective, 1,500 feet of that gain happened in just three miles. If you’re wondering what that felt like, the answer is brutal.  

Rick took a 15-minute head start, leaving me to walk with Liege. While waiting for her to check out, I received terrible news about a friend back home.  The owner of the Gîte noticed my concern, and although he speaks very little English, he came over to check on me.  He understood “cancer,” and I understood “envoyer de l'énergie positive.”  Another example of the compassion within the Camino…  This man welcomes pilgrims into his home and tirelessly cooks dinner.  Who better to send positive energy to someone he’s never met?

Heading out… The first four miles involved a 1,000-foot descent over two miles, which was as hard on the knees and feet as you might imagine. Navigating that steep drop together, Liege and I bonded over the sheer ridiculousness of what we were doing.  This downhill section far exceeded the difficulty we had experienced on other Caminos.

Before we started climbing back up, we caught up with Rick, but we needed a coffee, and he continued.  What appeared before us? Another family traveling by donkey.  This family of five hired Eros, the donkey for their trip. An omen?

We set out after a quick snack and tackled the ascent together. It was a relentless, punishing climb that pushed us to our limits. Huffing and puffing, we came to a beautiful chapel cut into the cliff's side before the switchbacks started.  The Sainte-Madeleine Chapel represents both a physical and spiritual milestone for pilgrims on the Le Puy route of the Camino de Santiago. It is one of the many religious sites that punctuate the journey, offering a place for quiet reflection, prayer, and rest. The chapel’s remote and elevated position can be seen as a metaphor for the spiritual heights pilgrims seek to attain on their journey.

While it may not be as grand as some of the larger cathedrals and churches along the way, its simplicity and breathtaking natural surroundings make it a memorable part of the journey. 

Eighty-eight stone steps cut into the path, and we continued our ascent.  We soon caught up to Rick, who was struggling with an overweight pack (no commentary on anything else weight-related as I, too, live in a glass house).  Our Aussie friend left Rick and me in the dust, as did dozens of other pilgrims, as we slowly made our way up. Just when I thought we were in the clear, we reached the top and were greeted by a herd of cows that politely insisted we step aside. After the cows passed, the trail leveled out, and we walked along the ridge, grateful for the reprieve.

The final descent into Sauges felt like it would never end, but the sense of accomplishment was overwhelming when we finally arrived. Day 2 had been a beast, but we had made it.  We went through the evening routine of showering, laundering, drinking, and eating (all three of us chose the “piece of meat” with mushroom sauce). 

Reflections on the Journey So Far

These first two days on the Camino Le Puy have been a rollercoaster of emotions—excitement, exhaustion, pride, and a healthy dose of humility. Every Camino has its unique challenges, and this one is no exception. But through the tough climbs and the steep descents, I’ve been reminded of why I keep coming back to the Camino. It’s about the people you meet.  On your first Camino, you don’t realize until the end that these people become family.  Will Liege become family?  What about one of the others I encountered?  It’s also about the obstacles you overcome and the moments of beauty that make the struggle worth it.  In only two days, it feels like these obstacles, both mental and physical, are leading me in the right direction.

As I look ahead to the rest of the journey, I’m both nervous and excited. If these first two days indicate, plenty more challenges will come. I know that each step, no matter how difficult, will be part of an adventure I’ll never forget with a lifelong friend in Rick and new family members yet to be discovered.  I am also reminded that, unlike my friend back home, I opted into this struggle that pales compared to hers.

Day 3: A Long Day's Journey Into Pain

When I set out on Day 3, I knew it would be a long one—around 21 miles, to be exact. The high mileage was a conscious decision on my part. Physically, it takes four to five days for your body to adapt to the daily routine of working hard. We train this way, but you cannot emulate the real thing.  I figured by Day 3, we would be getting into the grind of the Camino, and what better way to embrace that than by pushing our bodies a bit further? After all, what’s a pilgrimage without a little suffering, right?

The terrain and scenery, thankfully, were on our side. The landscape was beautiful, with rolling hills and picturesque countryside seen in postcards and Instagram feeds. The walk was delightful, or at least it would have been if my feet weren’t in absolute agony. My walking partner, Rick, and our new friend from Australia decided to have their bags transported ahead to lighten their load. I, on the other hand, stubbornly chose to carry mine. Well, most of mine—Rick generously offered to stow my “heavy” laptop in his bag, which now felt like a small victory.

But that victory was short-lived. As the day wore on, my feet began to protest more and more. The pain slowed me down considerably, turning what could have been a pleasant walk into a slow, grueling trudge. By the time we reached Saint-Alban-sur-Limagnole, I was physically and mentally exhausted. It was clear that pushing myself this hard wasn’t just testing my endurance but also forcing me to confront my limitations.

Day 4: Letting Go

Waking up on Day 4, it was evident that my blistered feet needed a break. So, I swallowed my pride and arranged to have my backpack transported along with Rick’s and Liege’s. It felt strange at first, almost like I was cheating. After all, the backpack represents your entire life on the Camino—everything you own and need to survive. Without it, I felt oddly naked, as if I was missing an essential part of the pilgrimage experience.

But then I started to think about it differently. Pilgrims have relied on pack animals, like Eros, the donkey, for as long as pilgrimages have existed. Is transporting my pack the modern version of that? After a bit of reflection and a glance at my feet, I overcame my initial guilt. I soon found myself enjoying the walk much more without the weight on my shoulders—literally.

As we climbed up a steep section of the trail, I realized something important: the weight of the pack was merely a rounding error compared to my overall body weight. That got me thinking about all the “poor” choices I’ve made over the years that led to my current weight. It’s easy to see how every little decision adds up over time, much like the gradual accumulation of weight in a backpack. The Camino, interestingly, keeps you on a clear path. There are fences and signs to guide you, making it hard to get lost. But we don’t have those same guideposts for our decisions in life. Accountability, personal and social, becomes paramount when you’re trying to change yourself.  It’s something that I will need to keep reflecting on as I continue my journey and help others on theirs.

Day 4 was intentionally designed to be short, an active recovery day after the near-marathon of Day 3. We ended our walk before noon, just in time to stumble upon a Sunday flea market in the charming little town of Aumont-Aubrac. It was the perfect way to spend the rest of the day—wandering through the stalls, soaking up the local atmosphere, and giving my feet a much-needed break.

The day came to a close with some Camino magic.  A friend from Camino Frances, Alex, messaged me.  Although he’s from Paris, he and his family were visiting relatives in a nearby town.  They met us for dinner and reminded me that I was not only the first person he had met on his Camino but also the last person he had seen before stepping on his train home and me on my train to Madrid.  Alex is part of my Camino family, and now I’ve met his beautiful wife and three children.  My French isn’t good, but I might have agreed to host his high-school-aged son for a semester abroad.  Look out, young ladies at Coral Shores High School; a young man with a broad smile and a French accent might be coming your way.  

So, at the end of Day 4 of this Camino, I’m reminded that it’s not just about the physical journey. It’s also about the mental and emotional challenges that arise along the way. Each day brings new lessons, and while some are more painful than others, they’re all part of the process of growth and self-discovery.  Each day also brings hope.  Alex, Rick, and I talked about the magic of meeting people from all around the world.  We have so much more in common than the bad-news media and divisive politicians would have us believe.