My wife and I are in training mode. We walk 10 or 12 miles, several times per week, practicing for our second Camino. We will walk across Spain soon, and we need to get in shape.

We get up early. And we start walking. We walk for most of the day. Until we’re covered in sweat and smell like the hindparts of a filthy goat.

And with each Camino training walk, I am remembering what I learned on our first Camino. Something all pilgrims eventually learn. It’s not the magic of the Camino that changes you. It’s the walking.

When I was a kid, walking was life. I walked everywhere. I walked through the woods. I walked miles of neighborhood to see my friends. I walked to the filling station. I walked to school.

But as I got older, I quit walking. Namely, because America is not built for walking. Not even a little. We are a nation of highways and overpasses, with few sidewalks. If you don’t believe me, try walking to Walmart and see if you survive.

In the last 10 years, pedestrian death rates have risen by 25 percent. The average American sits for 8.5 hours per day; 50 percent of all car trips in America are under three miles.

It’s a shame. Because the act of moving your legs does something to you. And I don’t mean it makes your butt smaller, although this happens, too.

As you walk, you feel your mind getting quieter. There’s less chatter up there. You become reflective. Relaxed. Your body and legs go on autopilot. Your soul begins to emerge. Although you THINK you’re walking, what you’re actually doing is praying.

We don’t know this, of course. We never knew what real prayer was. Growing up, we were taught to think that “prayer” meant clasping our hands, kneeling, and using a physical voice to ask the Celestial Santa Claus for things we want.

But that’s not prayer. Those are just words. Prayer doesn’t require words. Your needs are known before you even ask.

No, as you rack up the miles, you’re hardly even conscious of words. In fact, the verbal part of your cerebrum is silent. And, well, that’s kind of the point.

When your monkey brain gets out of the way, when your ADD-riddled mind shuts down, that’s when prayer begins.

Out on the Camino, you realize that prayer isn’t a conversation at all. There’s no talking involved. Prayer is more akin to sitting on the sofa with a loved one.

Have you ever curled up next to someone you love and watched television together? Or read books in silence? You’re not talking. Not thinking. You’re just together. No effort.

Maybe now and then you rest your head against this loved one. Maybe they lean over and give you a little kiss on the hair. Maybe you drift in and out of sleep, with your whole body pressed against theirs. Maybe this loved one is your parent. Or your spouse. Or your child.

You feel safe with them. And loved. Content simply to exist together for this brief moment in time. There is nothing grandiose about it. There is no yearning. No striving. No panicky begging. Just deep rest.

Well, that’s prayer. I accidentally found it last summer, on the Camino de Santiago. And if you can believe it, I found it by simply moving my feet.

That said, I will never attempt to walk to Walmart again.