It’s funny how life is, as soon as you’re at an all-time high, it seems to slap you upside the head like Mohammad Ali in his prime. 

I was having a nightmare that Luc went through a door and into a room. I was following from behind, when suddenly a male friend of mine grabbed me and forcefully jerked me back into the room I was in. I yelled, “What are you doing?” 

He answered, “You can't go in there!” when suddenly there was a massive explosion. The room lit up like a towering inferno; my heart breaking into a million pieces. Cut to, me waking up to Luc's bad breath and giant finger poking me profusely; hovering over me like Jack Nicholson in ‘The Shining’ just after he breaks through the bathroom door—minus the smile.

The vulnerable and delightful husband I spoke about in my last blog post, in less than 8 hours, disappeared into the rich Spanish Pyrenees air. 

He started intensely pacing the room. “Honey, we have to go—come on, move. We need to stay on schedule,” he said not even looking in my direction; zero empathy to the lady who was swooning over him the last two days—after trekking twenty-five hard miles of Pyrenees mountain without uttering a complaint.

Schedule? What schedule? There is no schedule on the Camino de Santiago. At least for me there's not.

I stayed quiet for a little while. That was until I saw the husband I had yesterday completely leave his dark blue eyes—which many of his adoring fans think are brown. Only this morning, to me, they were shit brown.  

The long day of trekking seemed to not get any better. Luc complained once and awhile, but mostly seemed to be on some sort of weird mission. 

At one point he questioned the way I was holding my sticks and the way I wrapped the straps around my wrist. So, believe it or not, the pro hiker I have become late in life, thought I was doing something wrong. I switched over to Luc’s way only to slip two minutes later on the wet rocks below from the rain that was gracing us from above; catching myself with my right stick, badly twisting and spraining my wrist from the oddly wrapped strap.

Just before that, he got impatient with me when I wouldn’t step in front of two massive bulls on the trail (sadly dehorned) coming directly towards us. I mean, tomorrow we're trekking into the town that made "Running with the Bulls" famous: Pamplona. I felt great respect for the giant creatures, knowing this was their territory, not ours; how man may just be their enemy. So, I calmly waited for them to pass as Luc grew more and more impatient. At one point having to separate ourselves from the bulls behind a tree.

All of a sudden, two giggly female pilgrims walk up from behind and passed us. The bulls, as if getting out of the girls' way, got off the beaten path. Luc proceeded to spend five long and torturous minutes making fun of me. At that point I couldn't hear him. My body was already aching so badly I could barely put one foot in front of the other. 

When we finally got to our destination I was thrilled we had a bathtub. Luc took his shower first, and just as a I wobbled into the bathroom, Luc said, “Baby, don't take a bath—take a shower—it's great! Just turn the handle to the hottest setting and pull the knob to full blast— you'll love it." And what did I do? Just that. Of course, I did this before getting undressed. I received blasting and blistering hot water directly into my face, forcefully dousing me and the entire bathroom. I couldn't even get to the faucet to shut it off; Luc had to come to my rescue. 

Luc did, however, give me a huge compliment this morning. He said I looked like Lance Armstrong on steroids going uphill, but ended the day saying I looked like Tom Arnold in 'Running Wild with Bear Grylls' (sorry Tom, we love you). 

So now, as a I lay here getting a make-up foot massage from my baby, I ask myself: what did I learn today? And all I can come up with is, tomorrow's a new day. That's the beautiful thing about life—every single day, we get a do-over. Well that, and, don't listen to Luc. ;)