Oct 15, 2025 12:52 AM
Somewhere along the dusty road of the Italian Camino, about 10 kilometres past “my feet hurt” and just before “I’m questioning all my life choices”, I startled a cluster of wild cats. There were so many of them, darting in every direction, that I barely caught a flash of fur before they disappeared into the hazelnut groves like ghosts.
Oct 12, 2025 1:21 AM
Walking the Camino in Italy, I was often reminded how vulnerable you feel when your words don’t quite land. In quiet villages along the daily route, I would ask for directions or order a meal, only to be met with puzzled looks when my English collided with unfamiliar ears and my very limited Italian landed short. Yet somehow, with gestures, patience, and a willingness to laugh at myself, meaning still emerged.
Oct 7, 2025 9:53 PM
Day three of the Camino was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The rain fell in relentless sheets, soaking me to the bone and seeping into every layer of clothing until I was chilled to my core. Every uphill climb felt like a battle against gravity itself; each step burned my legs and stole my breath, yet I pressed on.
Oct 4, 2025 4:45PM
Six days. One hundred and forty-one kilometers. Ten kilograms strapped to my back. My hips ached, my knees clicked like castanets, and my toes resembled something closer to a horror film prop than actual feet. The Camino was relentless, long, straight stretches that felt like a practical joke, hills that appeared out of nowhere like villains in a video game, and evenings where my body begged for a spa day but settled for a bunk bed and a lukewarm shower.
Even the basics were laughable. Showers stung so much I wondered if they were designed as some kind of medieval penance. Meals were fine, but after kilometre 100 I’d have happily sold my backpack for a decent coffee. And somehow, despite eating half my snacks before lunch each day, my bag only seemed to get heavier. Still, I kept walking. Not because I enjoyed it (let’s be honest), but because I’d made a commitment. And, as I discovered, sheer stubbornness can take you surprisingly far.
It reminded me of leadership. Carrying responsibility can feel every bit as heavy as that backpack, only there’s no option to leave it on the side of the trail and pretend you “forgot” it. The days are long, challenges pile up, and sometimes you’re not entirely sure if you’re still heading in the right direction. And while the Camino hands you blisters, leadership tends to hand you criticism, equally painful, but harder to tape up with Band-Aids.
What I learned is that endurance isn’t about pretending it’s easy. It’s about learning how to pace yourself, when to pause (and no, that’s not quitting), and how to keep sight of the bigger picture. Pilgrims often ask why on earth am I walking again? usually while staring up another hill. Leaders have to ask why am I leading? hopefully with less frustration, but the same principle applies.
The truth is, both journeys hurt. Blisters, emails, complaints, deadlines—pick your poison. But when they’re connected to purpose, they become more than just pain; they become progress. Every sore joint, every uphill grind, every “why did I sign up for this?” moment proved that discomfort isn’t failure, it’s part of the process.
So yes, the Camino taught me that progress is rarely comfortable, leadership even less so. But with clarity, a dose of courage, and the occasional ability to laugh at yourself (especially when hobbling around with feet that look like balloon animals), the hardest paths often turn out to be the ones that shape you most. Leadership, like the Camino, isn’t about speed, it’s about finishing with your purpose intact, even if you’re limping a little by the end.
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