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After becoming a widow unexpectedly at the age of 38, I was lost. As I drowned in sorrow and self-pity, a Facebook friend posted, “Anyone interested in hiking the Camino de Santiago with me? Bonus points if you speak Spanish.” I hesitantly answered the call. After a year of planning, I found myself on a plane to Spain. We only had 14 days available to take off from our respective lives, so rather than hiking the entire Camino Frances, my friend and I began our walk in Leon, Spain, approximately 300km from the finish in Santiago de Compostela. Despite being a marathoner, I was woefully undertrained; it was hard for me to log miles while working two jobs. Consequently, I was not physically prepared to average 25km a day for the 12 days we walked. I had horrific blisters on both of my feet by the middle of day two. Mid-morning on day 3, as we hiked from Astorga to Foncebadon, I had to concede my swollen feet had the upper hand, removed my boots, and climbed a mountain in flip flops as fellow peregrinos -- pilgrims who hike The Way -- marveled at the angry blisters on my feet. That day, while emotionally taxing due to pain, proved to be one of the best days of my Camino as other peregrinos offered advice and medical aid to help me along my path. Hiking the Camino is an excellent way to find both camaraderie and solitude. On our fourth morning, we came upon the Cruz de Ferro. If you saw the movie The Way, starring Martin Sheen and Emilio Estevez, you are familiar with this giant cross where peregrinos typically leave behind a stone they carried during their Camino. It is a surprisingly emotional experience to be at the foot of the Cruz de Ferro, seeing the large pile of stones, and waiting your turn to climb up to touch the cross and leave behind your burden. I left a stone my late husband had picked up during our vacation in Alaska. I cried as I stood there. As an agnostic, it wasn’t a religious experience for me. Instead, the act of leaving that stone ended up being a symbolic way for me to leave behind some of my hurt, anger, and fear that had consumed me since I lost my husband of 16 years. I left the stone and some tears, but I gained peace and an inner strength I had never possessed before. My blisters continued to interfere with my Camino, but I pushed on, trying to see the beauty in my surroundings rather than focusing on my poor feet. By day 8, I was in serious pain. My companion and I deemed it best to have me take a taxi rather than log more miles. That day had us traveling from Triacastel to Sarria, a city with actual stores for me to find new shoes. I had never utilized a taxi before. It sounds ludicrous but taking a taxi by myself in a country where I barely spoke the language was beyond terrifying. I sobbed as I ate breakfast. I was so scared of being alone in Spain knowing I had to find a way to communicate to a stranger that I needed to get to a sporting goods store. But I did it! I even managed to converse with the driver with my broken Spanish during the drive. Taking that taxi in Spain has proved to be the most significant pivotal event in my life since becoming a widow. That scary-to-me action empowered me. After returning to the States, I drew on that newfound self-confidence, packed up my life, and drove from Nashville, TN, to Anchorage, AK, to build a new life. No Camino, no Alaska, it’s that simple. My Camino helped me discover who I could be as a single woman. It directly resulted in my amazing new life: in Alaska, I found love with my new husband and baby. All because painful blisters forced me to do something scary. That wasn’t the goal of my Camino, but it is a welcome result.