Training Mind as Well as Body

When I was at Depot training for the RCMP one of our training requirements was being subjected to tear gas.  Before the main event we had to go for a run to ensure we were good and sweaty.  The tear gas stings more that way...sadistic bastards.  We were then led into the "gas chamber" three or four at a time where we had to do some jumping jacks while wearing our gas masks to get our breathing elevated...sadistic bastards.  When instructed, we individually removed our masks and attempted to state our names or answer any other question posed by our drill sergeant through the intercom.  Some people gagged out a semi-response before bolting, others just went straight for the door.  The rest of the troop who hadn't gone in yet, stood behind the glass and laughed, nervously waiting their turn.

In the days leading up to the gassing, my troop mates were getting more and more paranoid.  Everyone, that is, but me.  I couldn't figure out why they were all freaking out about it.  I mean, how bad could it be?  You take off your mask, state your name, try not to breathe too deeply, then go out the door.  Piece of cake.  To what did I owe my nonchalant attitude?  Not a bloody thing, apparently.  I can't remember if I managed to choke out anything more than "gaaaah" before making a run for it.  There were people outside to take care of us as we staggered out the door; troop mates held troop mates who were bent over oozing mucus and saliva, coughing and hacking.  As everyone started to recover, the general consensus of the troop was, "Hey, that wasn't so bad!"  Everyone, that is, but me.  Were these people nuts?  How bad was it? Try the most excruciatingly painful experience of my life, that's how bad.  (Of course, that was before I experienced child birth...no wait...it was worse than that.)

So what, if anything, does this have to do with the Camino?  Days 1 and 2 in the Pyrenees, that's what.  The two days that can take people out of the game.  Because even Emilio Estevez, in his movie The Way, (**SPOILER ALERT**) bought it on the hike over the Pyrenees -- that dreaded section where you climb to 1450 m before descending to Roncesvalles at 950 m.  It's all about the mindset.  I have to lose my nonchalant "piece of cake" attitude. 'Cause I sure don't want a repeat of the gassing experience.  I have to tell myself it will be tough.  I have to tell myself it will be gruelling.  I have to tell myself no amount of training will prepare me for it.   

I have to get myself so psyched out that when I finish that section I'll be able to say, "Hey, that wasn't so bad!"


Book Review:  Every year I attend my local Arts Council book sale...and every year I donate back half the books I bought the year before.  This year I picked up 13 books for the grand sum of $6.00 -- it  would still be a deal at twice the price.  And it's like a treasure hunt looking for books by authors I like to collect.  Like Michael Connelly.  I started reading Connelly somewhere in the middle of the Harry Bosch novels.  The great thing about a Connelly series is you don't have to read them from the start or in order, even though the characters build over time and some of them cross over between his different series.  This year I was lucky to latch onto a copy of The Poet, an oldie from 1996 but one I'd been wanting to read.  The main character is Jack McEvoy, a reporter, writing about police suicides after his police officer brother apparently eats his own gun.  As with all Connelly novels, the story is strong and the writing is good.  What more do you need for a compelling read?  Except I get a little tired of how quickly his male characters bed the female ones.