I'll throw out one more Camino story on walking the Camino over the age of 60.
When I walked, back in 1988, there were a lot less pilgrims on the
Camino Frances, so you got to know, or at least recognize, the people that were walking about your pace and would see them every so often, either on the path or at the refugios.
Somewhere shortly after Puente Reina, I found myself walking with two older French women, I'd guess they were both in their 60's, possibly older. One was very petite, and seemed to be struggling with the whole endeavor, while the other was more hale and hearty and was the cheerleader between the two. They didn't speak English or Spanish and I don't speak French- we smiled a lot. I did learn the word
mange (eat) in French, so when we would invariably arrive at the same refugio (there was generally only one per town in those days) whoever arrived later would ask the other
mange?, which loosely translated to, "Where does one eat around here?" I shared a lot of basement stays with those women.
I suppose we were about as opposite as we could get: they, the white haired, lightly backpacked, older European females in tennis shoes; me, the solitary, scraggly haired and bearded young Americano with the huge frame backpack and full bore hiking boots (I told you I'm no gram weenie :lol: ). Whenever I think of the Camino, their image always springs to mind.
The French women and I hopscotched along until Ponferrada, where I could see that 1) the smaller of the two women was not going to make it- her feet were a mess, her body was wracked and you could see the defeat in her face and 2) the two women were quite at odds with each other. The larger woman was continuing to urge her companion onward but the smaller woman had stopped listening. She had had enough.
I continued on, saddened by the loss of some regular, though silent, companions. I kept my pace and didn't run into them in any of the subsequent refugios.
Finally, I made it into Santiago. Having toured the church, the plaza and being told to "come back tomorrow" for my Compostela, I made my way to the refugio, which I vaguely remember as being in a school or college somewhere downtown. I made my way up to the third floor bunk room and there, sitting on one of the bunks in the midst of many empty bunks, were my French co-caminoistas! They had made it to Santiago ahead of me! The smaller woman, in particular, saw me and had a smile on her face that was resplendent and simply filled the room- I'll never forget that face or that moment. She jabbered at me excitedly in French, knowing full well I had no idea of what she was saying, although the feeling in her words came through- she had made it. I never did get their names.
So, over 60? I've got to say, go for it!
(TMI for Sil: I've always enjoyed and respected older women- I ended up marrying a wonderful woman 10 years my senior. -John)