Seven years ago I walked the Camino, a 500 mile pilgrimage across northern rural Spain, for the first time. I walked it with my then boyfriend. We were on a year long holiday around the world. The Camino seemed like a great way to see Spain. 

The Cruz de Ferro marks one of the highest points on The Way. Traditionally you bring a stone from home and place it at the base of the cross, leaving with it your troubles, sadness, and worries.

Over half-way into our walk, we reached Rabanal, one of the last towns before the Cruz de Ferro. I tossed and turned all through the night, wondering what I would leave behind. In the early hours of the morning, I had an epiphany. If I left a grievance behind, I would have to come back every year to absolve whatever else had come up in my life. I had been listening to a lot of Alanis Morissette, and her song thank u had been on heavy replay. I decided instead of pain/sorrow/anger, I would leave something that I would carry with me from that day forward: gratitude. 

I wrote a note - 

We passed through Foncebadon, a once abandoned town, now with a thriving hippy albergue decked out with prayer flags and offering homemade granola. We stopped for breakfast, charmed by the quaintness of the albergue and the remoteness of the tiny pueblo. 

Less than an hour later, we arrived at the famed cross. It looked like a rubbish dump. Bits of ribbon and remnants of flags, t-shirts, rags, letters and notes, Jesus cards, and candy wrappers littered the base. A tourist bus pulled up. We decided to keep walking. 

Our guidebook had mentioned a point about a kilometer on from the cross that was the true highest point of the Camino. It was off the path a little way, and marked by a large cairn. We reached the cairn. No one was there except for us. I mailed my note to the universe through a crack in the cairn. 

My gratitude prayer became my mantra. Each line meant different things to me at different times in the following years. I often wrote out all the things and people I was grateful for. All the things I was glad I knew. It became a personal meditation. 

Two years ago, I returned to El Camino. It had kept calling me in the intervening five years. I frequently dreamt about it. Waiting for my visa to move to the US and be with my new love, I quit my job in London, packed my backpack, and once again donned my walking boots. My whole world had changed since I had last walked most of the width of northern Spain. My heart had been broken, but I had healed and moved on. I had moved to London, gone to drama school, fallen in love, and I was about to move to America. I thought about Alanis and how her music had been with me through it all. 

I made a friend along the way. We ended up walking the rest of the way together. In Rabanal, I once again thought about what I would leave at the cross, or at my cairn. I realized I still wanted to leave behind, and bring with me, gratitude.

We reached Foncebadon. A new albergue had sprung up. We stopped to use the facilities. As we were leaving the pueblo, I decided to pop into the “old” albergue to see if it had retained its hippy vibe. The layout had changed, but they were still offering granola and herbal tea. I noticed music was playing. 

Of all the songs that exist in the world, of all the songs that could have been playing in that moment, as I happened to be passing through unannounced, the one song playing on the radio, I absolutely kid you not, was Alanis Morrissette’s thank u. I burst into tears. 

The Cruz de Ferro had been tidied up. It felt less touristy somehow. I stood and watched as a woman quietly prayed and sobbed at the base. The cairn took a little hunting. We found it. Still sitting perched on top of the mountain as it had been five years ago. And for how many years before that. I spoke my prayer this time. Thank you for letting me be here. 

Now it is two years later, and today is the anniversary of walking through Foncebadon, hearing thank u, reaching the Cruz de Ferro, and re-visiting the cairn. 

My world view has completely changed again in those intervening two years. I’m married. I’m living in New York. I have survived leukemia. I no longer believe in “the universe”. I no longer believe in karma or fairness (though I still think we should be nice to each other, because the alternative is just awful). My gratitude prayer no longer holds resonance in the way that it did. I still believe in musicals. 

There have been days in the past year when I have not felt lucky to be alive. I have wished that I had refused treatment. I have wished that I could just fall asleep and never wake up again. I have felt trapped, angry, sad, frustrated, and everything in between. 

I have also felt deeply loved. Deeply held. Deeply supported. It is an awful cliche, but there is no denying it: cancer, particularly in the brutal form of leukemia, is life changing. It has taken my life away. It has given me a whole new one.

El Camino no longer calls me. But a new journey is about to start. I just don’t know what it is yet.

Late Friday afternoon 
In Brooklyn 
The sky, bright blue
With a sun 
Still hours from sleep 
Along Stratford Road  
Arab, Jewish, Latino
Children play on the sidewalk
Skip and yell and laugh 

Push younger siblings in prams
Draw chalk pictures and lines 
Into the cement 
People walk their dogs
Run with
Headphones plugged in
Feet pounding
In the runner’s shuffle 
Pa! Pa! Pa! Pa! 

Cars blare music
Setting the mood for Friday night 
A child cries, comforted by its mother because it fell off its scooter 
A fire truck races, horn blaring
Lights flashing 
At the edge of the park
Three small boys perch in the gazebo
Plotting mischief 
Dad is busy at the grill
Mom chats with neighbors
A woman sits reading in dappled sunlight 
She sits in close proximity to her parked car
Where she has left her phone, wallet and handbag 
She has told her husband she is working late

Further down 
A family sits eating pizza
The large box obscures the child
As you walk past
You see him munching on a cheese slice 

At the baseball field
The men’s games are in progress 

A little girl
Three or four, 
Wearing pink floral leggings under a baby blue dress
A purple scarf over her long dark braids
Walks by with her mother 
The girl giggles for no apparent reason 
The mother gives her a look
They keep walking

In the other direction
A mother and her little boy
Three or four
Walk by 
            Don’t touch it honey 
            People should really pick up their own dog’s poop
                    It’s not Harry’s poop?
                    HARRY’S POOP! 

Two girls on bicycles come tearing by 
The smaller girl yells
          LET’S RACE-3-2-1-GO! 

I realize
That for a whole half hour
I wasn’t even thinking about cancer. 

It is a truth 
Universally acknowledged
That a woman
In possession of a ticket to Cannes
Must wear high heeled shoes

It is a truth 
Universally acknowledged
That it was men
Who first wore heels
Symbols of position, power and prestige

It is a truth 
Universally acknowledged
That today
Heels maketh the woman
She may have the vote
She may be able to drive
She may be able to choose her profession
But her feet must look good in the process

Dr Helen Fisher: 
“Heels thrust out the buttocks
And arch the back
Into a natural mammalian courting,
Actually copulatory,
Pose.
Rats do it,
Sheep do it,
Lions do it, 
Dogs do it
(Even educated fleas do it…)
It is a naturally sexy posture that 
Men immediately see as 
Sexual Readiness"

But be careful ladies! 
Not too high 
In the workplace! 
One wants to be remembered 
For one’s brains 
Not as a slut!
But don’t be flat
You don’t want to appear 
(Contrary to what you have previously been told about how a lady ought to act)
Demure

Cinderella’s step-sisters
Lopped off heels and toes
To squeeze into 
Prince Charming’s proffered 
Louboutin
But of course 
The shoe could only fit one lady
And Cinder’s married the Prince and 
Lived happily ever after 
Presumably in heels 
She never had to walk the streets again 

Wearing heels frequently
Places excess pressure 
On the knees, puts the 
Hips and spine out of alignment
Can shorten the calf muscles
And at worst, can lead to 
Ankle, knee, and spinal damage 

It is a truth 
Universally acknowledged 
That a woman 
In possession of a ticket to Cannes
Must wear high heeled shoes
It is the proper way to dress 

When I was 8 or 9
We lived with our grandparents
Abuelo had a treadmill in his study
The machine was loud and clunky 
With a clangy bell timer
One day I decided I want to use it
I stepped on, set the timer for 15 minutes
And ran
Much to my own amazement
Without stopping
I was able to run the full 15 minutes
Running was something 
I could just do 

I remember running the 
School cross country 
Four laps of the school’s perimeter 
Starting and finishing on the school oval

When I was 12
I came 2nd and went to the 
District competition 
The track was through the 
Bush at the St Ives Showground 
The week before I’d had a serious flu
On race day I felt good
I remember the final moments of the race
I had a huge surge of energy 
Sprinted for the finish line
Another girl and I were neck-a-neck
She pulled ahead at the last moment
Taking the final regional position  
I think I felt proud I’d run a good race
If only I hadn’t been sick the week before! 

The following year
My first of year of high school
I made it to district again
We walked the track in preparation
I felt self-conscious around the
Taller, more lithe looking girls 
They were Runners
I was… not? 

I ran throughout high school
Never quite re-attaining my 12 year-old-self’s glory 
At some grown-ups insistence
I did Little Athletics for a bit 
“In case I changed my mind about running and wanted to try something else”
(Why couldn’t I just run?) 
I enjoyed it 
But still felt self-conscious around the other girls
I wasn’t quite right
Too slow
Too small
Not enough 

I ran less at uni
Pre-occupied with 
Classes and socializing 
During a bout of depression 
I finally went running again
While on a downhill slope 
A total stranger told me to 
Stop trying so hard
(Whoever you were, lady, fuck off). 

A horrible break-up 
Got me running again
I decided to run 
The City the Surf 
It was glorious
The following year I ran
The New Milford 8
It had none of the atmosphere of Sydney
The course was an utter bitch 
Drama school took over 

I started again on my birthday 
When I was in Fort Collins 
(At altitude)
With a brand new pair of trainers
And an app on my phone 

Back in London
I ran in Gladstone Park
I ran in Ruislip and fell in love with 
Running to the lido 
In the south of London I
Ran after work a few times a week 
Avoided the cold by walking the
Miles of underground tunnels 
Connecting the tube stations 

I ran in Fort Collins 
Built up to 10km 2-3 times a week
Looped around the lake
The cemetery 
The circumference of the park
Listening to audio books 
I ran in rain and snow and 
Under gorgeous bright blue skies

The polar vortex hit 
I tried using the treadmill at 
Local indoor pool
I hated it

A month later 
I started again 
Even short runs were painful 
I started running with a new friend
Night runs 
Trail runs 
Runs where we dreamed about mini houses 
I was winded easily 
And tired 
She would do handstands and encourage me to keep going 
Had the polar vortex frozen my fitness? 

Six weeks later
I was diagnosed with leukemia 
The infections on my legs
Combined with 
Debilitating chemo 
Meant I had to walk with a walking frame 
Hand-foot syndrome 
(a reaction to chemo)
Made it painful to even walk to the toilet 

The past few weeks
On my to hospital appointments 
I've seen people
Running
Along the East River
Counting breaths
Timing paces
Wearing stretchy pants and 
Lightweight jackets
I want to be one of them again
Those people who get up early and
Fit in a run before work
That delicious post-run feeling
When you’re full of endorphins
The runner’s high

This morning I watched the 
Brooklyn Half Marathon 
The course went right by our street 
There weren’t too many spectators
It felt safe to be out 

The sight of people running
The sound of feet along the pavement  
Spectators with cowbells cheer the runners on
You can do this! 
You got this!
Let’s go! 
Some of the runners cheer back
Yeah! 
Thank you for being here! 
Celebratory “WOO!!”s 
Triumphant high 5s as they pass 
The humanity of a running race 

I want to run again 
Imagine being that person
Who can run 15 minutes without stopping 
Imagine that it’s something
You can just do.