Behind the Albergue Door: Inspiration Agony Adventure on the Camino de Santiago

something like that, is to knot the laces part of the way up so they can be pulled tight at the top (“tight like a tiger” she would say, inexplicably) but remain loose and relatively comfortable at the bottom (like my dad’s pants in his wedding photos).
    Problem:
    Neck
    The debate rages on as to whether my backpack is to blame for not fitting tightly enough against the top of my back or, as Laynni suspected, my neck g ets sore because of the way I walk.
    “What do you mean by that?” I asked. “How do I walk?”
    “I don’t know”, she replied, “just kind of weird”.
    Solution:
    I continued to experiment with different packing configurations in my backpack – a little more weight to the middle, a little less to the bottom, sleeping bag up top, turn the mesh bags sideways, etc. – remained vigilant about keeping the top straps tight and did my best to encourage my neck muscles to hurry up and get stronger. And after a week or so it only ever became an issue at the tail end of an especially long day. Chalk it up to the power of positive thinking, and as a lesson in treating your body like a responsible adult.
    Problem:
    Mouth
    Specifically, a bevy of cuts traversing the roof of my mouth like wa gon trails across the old west, but surrounded by yellowing teeth instead of dead buffalo. The unpleasant result of eating several hard old bocadillo buns each day. Sharper than a vasectomist’s scalpel or Jewish wit, these chunks of hardened flour and carbs ravaged my tender mouth anew every four hours or so.
    Solution:
    I began taking really small, tentative bites, bracing myself and squeezing my eyes tightly shut in anticipation of the painful jolt of newly pierced mouth skin. And swallowing the last several bites whole. I also found it helped to tenderize the bocadillos with my fist for a few minutes first, or sometimes flip a few coins to a local child to have him walk around barefoot on them for a while first.
    Problem:
    Overwhelming fatigue
    This happened occasionally for the obvious reasons, and once in particular because I realized that the face of my watch had fallen off (it’s a technology thing, you wouldn’t understand) and was pretty sure it happened about half a kilometre back (based on that being when I caught it on the strap of my backpack while trying to put it on and ended up spinning in circles like a dog chasing its tail, the only difference being that I was swearing the whole time). So while Laynni waited, grateful for the rest after having already hiked for six hours that day, I let ego supersede logic (just like the time I took a cycle of performance enhancing drugs right before going to a poker tournament) and jogged all the way there, found the rest of my watch, and jogged all the way back. Fifteen minutes later my folly truly kicked in and I nearly had to be carried into the albergue, and not just because the stairs were almost too far apart for the length of my legs.
    Solution:
    No more running, ever.
    Problem:
    Hair Loss
    And I don’t mean the hair on my head, which is misleading, I suppose, just as it was when I emerged from the bathroom in in Arzua and announced to the room that “I found something in the shower you guys have to see”. Once we got past their initial reluctance I was able to astound one and all by showing off the perfectly oval patch of hairless skin on my thigh. Not exactly what some of the women and one Australian man had been hoping to see, but fascinating nonetheless. After discarding theories about miniature alien crop circles and ellipsis-worm outbreaks we eventually deduced that this strange anomaly was the result of carrying our camera in the same pocket of my pants every day.
    Solution:
    We quit hiking, upped my Vitamin C dosage, gave up eating chorizo, left Spain, and started carrying the camera in a bag. The patch has since filled in just as fluffy and luxuriant as ever.
    Problem:
    Nausea
    This affliction hampered Laynni all the way from Astorga to Villafranca del Bierzo (roughly three days). It didn´t appear to be anything serious, like tuberculosis, or a leaky colon, but was nonetheless accompanied by a small fever, aching joints, fatigue and general bitchiness.
    Solution:
    Rest (as much as possible while still hiking 25 kilometres per day), vitamins, a hot whisky and Neo-Citron concoction and plenty of angry glaring. So far, so groggy.
    Problem:
    Strained Calf
    A recurring issue Laynni has been dealing with on and off for the past few years,