Let's Get Physical (Physical)

Good Grief. Nay, Holy Shit - I really thought that tonight was my last night with you dear readers. I knew that Boot Camp would be hard but seriously? Seriously. This was nothing like I'd imagined it would be. Maybe that's because I failed to imagine it ahead of time at all - just wrapped up work, drove myself over to Wash Park (I can call it that 'cause I live here now), and sauntered up to the group of overly fit people waiting for Boot Camp to start.

Those uber-healthy peeps shoulda tipped me off. Shoulda sent me packing, home to the couch. They did give me pause, I'm not gonna lie, but I was In It to Win It. Go big or go home. Etc. Etc. Etc. So I stayed, signed my waiver, and got into a circle to stretch.

So far, so good. I like stretching. I can still breathe, generally speaking, while stretching. But then came the running (ok, ok, it was jogging, whatev). Just a quick jog down to the closest stop sign and back. Easy peasy. Unless you haven't moved your butt in 7 (!) years. Unless the only running you've done is to catch the A-train. Strike one for Boot Camp - they start the session with running. Who DOES that?

Then a little warming up - some kicking and punching and windmills. Easy stuff. Elementary PE stuff. Once I caught my breath from the death jog, I was back in the swing... jumping and jacking happily along. I even impressed my own self with a few push ups and one very impressive kept-up-with-the-group-length plank hold.

"OK, we're gonna split into the Low Impact Group and the High Impact Group, grab your water bottles and head out"... Um, yeah, it was practically Sophie's Choice out there, right? Off we went, the Low Impact (Lazy) Group, for what I assumed would be a few more sit ups and toe touches. I mean, hadn't we already run AND done push ups AND squats for-the-love-of-God?!

This is where they dying part begins. Kimmy (I can't remember her real name, prolly from a lack of oxygen to the brain) had a lovely little course set up for us. Tidy rows of cheerful orange cones, evenly and cleverly spaced out for maximum torture. As she explained her sinister plan for the cones, she had us squatting the whole time. That's right, even during the parts where she was telling us what came next, we were already doing some insane thing or another. A sampling of what we were doing while "waiting" our turn for the torture course - standing lunges, squats for 30 seconds at a time while tapping one foot out to the side, plank holds, plank holds while rocking back & forth on our toes, those crazy push ups where you kick your legs out to the sides between each drop (grrrrr), just to name a few. She never ran out of new things to make us do.

I don't know how YOU define waiting but this was all news to me. Thanks bunches for all that creativity, Kimmy.

Eventually it was my turn to tackle the cones. Shuffle sideways through the first set, sprint to the next one, do 10 Burpees, shuffle to the next cone, do 10 push ups, shuffle, jumping jacks, shuffle, sit ups, then back to the group that's "waiting their turn" and it was right back into the effing squats. Aaaaaargh. I couldn't let my mind wander to what the High Impact Group was up to... probably code for pedicures and martinis. Ugh.

OK, I was still relatively lucid at this point, barely, but still. Now we grabbed a partner. Fabulous. My partner was easily in her early sixties, barely moving, and still making me look like an asshole. For 60 seconds at a stretch, Kimmy had one of us running or lunging (please note -- I first typed that as Lunching -- telling, no?) or running backward or high stepping or whatever the hell other crazy way to run back & forth between cones while the other one of us was on the ground doing leg lifts or sit ups or push ups. Again, the partner who was "waiting" for their turn didn't exactly get a vacation, albeit they did get to be on the ground in one way or another. For my part, my ground time was spent mostly gasping for air and trying not to barf on my first day. Occasionally Kimmy would ask "How you doing Cari" to which I would cheerfully respond, "Awesome! Never Better!!!!!!!" Liar.

I'm so traumatized by what came next that I can't even outline it for you. Suffice it to say it was 30 seconds of madness involving running/lunging (I did it again!)/kicking spliced with 30 seconds of some sort of on-the-ground insanity involving levitating in some fashion with nothing but the waning strength of your wobbly, mutinous arms to help keep you upright. I said to my aged partner that I was sure she was going to be the last person ever to see me alive... she shrugged it off and proceeded to lap me in the walking lunges. As a group we did 8 variations on this theme before finally collapsing at one end of those fucking orange cones and then crawling to our water bottles for some relief.

"OK, let's head back over." Naturally Kimmy meant "Let's jog back over" but at this point I was counting the many tiny & adorable birds that were circling in my vision so I walked, slowly, back to where the group was gathering for some "oblique work", sucking the life out of my water bottle the whole way and willing myself not to pass out. Even my 60+ partner found the strength to leave me behind and jog/limp back over to the group. Thanks a lot. Some partnership. She'll get hers. She'll get it when I expose that she was wearing a diaper - I know this because I had the pleasure of holding her ankles and looking up her shorts for a few minutes of kicking my legs up into the air while she pushed them back down. 60+, incontinent, and still breathing. Bitch.

A few more impossible moments involving defying gravity and "engaging our core" and the end was finally in sight. We circled up and stretched while the show offs talked about their bike ride through Moab this weekend. The rest of us touched our toes in silence. I can only assume that the others were also praying for it all to be over soon.

I only seriously considered walking away 12 times. I was only on the verge of tears twice. I promise you that I mean it when I say that I thought I was going to fall over/pass out/barf/die no less than 23 times in that one hour, but I'm glad that I stuck it out and am absolutely thrilled that I lived to tell the tale.

Kimmy and I walked toward the cars together. I promised her that I'd be back. She congratulated me on showing up. And then she jogged off into the sunset -- clearly energized by her workout and yet wanting more. Not wiped out nor exhausted nor unsure if she was steady enough to drive home like someone who'll remain nameless. As I fumbled the keys with my unsteady hands and thanked Evan for his comfy, comfy seats and delightful air conditioning, I decided not to hate Kimmy for it. She was good to me today after all. Just the right balance of "you're doin' great" and yet graciously looking away when I was flailing and quitting and trying not to die. If I can walk tomorrow I'll go back. If not... well, then I'm calling in sore to work and they're just gonna have to be OK with that.

The last time I did anything even remotely like exercise. Honolulu Marathon.

.

Rocky Mountain High

Colorado, how do I love thee? Seriously, let me count the ways.

Let me start with the mountains - have you seen these crazy mountains? I can't stop admiring them. Nearly rear-ended someone today while I was staring off into the distance at the sun setting over the Rockies. I wonder if this will wear off? Hope not.

Then there is the very considerate layout of the streets in Denver - numbered Avenues and named Streets that, get this, go in alphabetical order. How thoughtful, how simple, how much easier it is to find your damn way around. A small thing, I'll admit, but a lovely detail all the same.

Surely I've mentioned the camping. The ease with which we can toss everything in the car and head out just an hour or so away to Pawnee Campground, or to Camp Dick (no joke!) for some s'mores, campfires, beer in cans, and sweet, sweet girl time. Somehow everything tastes better and every story is more hilarious or touching when surrounded by trees, sitting under the stars. I know that that won't wear off.

This is a really short list... am super sleepy and unable to finish the thought tonight. But I do love you so far Colorado, thank you for waiting so long for me to take the leap. I can't wait to see what else you have to show me and to teach me...
.

Daydream Believer

Today is Dia de la Madre in Costa Rica; Mother's Day. And, while I don't get to send corny cards or make last minute, under-the-wire phone calls to my own Mom anymore, I couldn't help but be reminded of a certain sweet, sweet, lovely post that my friend and faraway hermana, Mariluz, wrote last year on this special day. Please read and enjoy -- http://masalamom.blogspot.com/2008/08/15-de-agosto.html

I talk a lot about my chosen family. In Mariluz's case, she chose us and, even after a full year in the insanity that was the Wheat household, she chose to stay in touch. I guess what doesn't kill you... :-) Sharing a room, and a high school, and a beatup VW Rabbit with her for a year was just about the last time that I remember gladly sharing anything with anyone. She was, and is, smart, funny, up for just about anything. All qualities that I adore and aspire to.

(just a sample of the tornado the two of us always were..)

It brings me such peace to hear Mariluz's account of my Mom - "Mom Marie" as she calls her. I'm aware of the tendency to canonize the ones we've loved and lost too soon, so I'm wary of remembering my Mom as this flawless, all-amazing-all-the-time woman. And then, invariably, someone will come along and tell a similar story. Oft repeated are stories of times when she, plain and simple, paid someone attention. Her ability to tune everyone and everything else out, to focus on whatever was important to YOU at the moment, was astounding. She noticed unspoken things and always remembered to act on the little details that made the most impact. (The Monkey Mold anyone??)

Perhaps her most lasting impression though was how she made us each feel, especially as kids and teenagers. She taught at my Jr.Hi (que horror!) and therefore came into contact with and influenced all of my friends and classmates (even if only to catch them chewing gum in her library...). Years later, upon hearing of her death, my friend Wendy put it best -- "Your Mom believed in me at times when I felt no one did."

That's exactly it. Whatever her faults in life, whatever choices or sacrifices Mom may have made that I didn't understand or agree with... she always, always believed in me at times when I felt no one did.

Full stop.

Feliz Dia de la Madre Mom - I miss you and I love you and I'm doing my very best to remember all the many layers to you. Bear with me as I tend to focus on the bits that made you a veritable super-hero, I'm just trying to keep up.

Get Out The Map

Trapped. I'm feeling a little bit trapped.

You see, I've spoiled myself (and have been spoiled by others) for the past year and a half and have been, as those Indigo Girls would say "...still trying to live half a life on the road...". Truth be told, as you can see here, I've spent well more than half my life on the road lately and loved every minute of it. Somehow the math on the freelancing and the finances just worked itself out and it was a rare case of having both the time and the money to cut loose.

Now I'm settling into the new "job", learning my way around Denver without GoogleMaps, and really loving seeing the mountains twice a day during my commute. What I'm not loving is this idea that I won't be taking any big trips this year. I know, I know - see: spoiled, above. I've gotten very used to swapping my apartment, popping off to see beloved friends, and generally not being expected to get up, get dressed, and be anywhere in particular for long periods at a stretch.

A year ago this week I was banging my cabeza against my own terrible Spanish and making my way to teensy, remote Cabuya, Costa Rica. The only plan was to find a comfy hammock, teach a little English, read voraciously and work on my skin cancer for 6 weeks straight. What I wouldn't give...

But that's not the kind of big trip that I'll miss during this upcoming year of self-imposed poverty and a regular work schedule. Costa Rica, Amsterdam, Barcelona, San Sebastian, the DR, Rome -- those were all ventures I undertook alone, for a variety of reasons. What I'll miss is sitting with Libby, Amy, Chris & Brian on a terrace, hanging over a cliff in Denia, overlooking the Mediterranean and thinking it completely normal to have Bailey's in our coffee every morning and at least a bottle each of red wine every night. I'll miss stuffing a dozen grapes in our gullets at midnight on New Year's Eve. I'll miss us all on lounge chairs, all reading Bill Bryson. Shit, I'll even miss learning new and (not)interesting facts about bats.

I'll miss sailing, swimming and kayaking the "Postcard Blue" waters of St. Thomas with Lisa, Karen & Denae, and washing it all down with lobster and a cold bottle of Carib. Since I'm telling the truth - I'll even miss the sunburn that came with that last one. I'll also miss all the couch sitting that I got to do, from Texas to California, New York to Arizona, Colorado and the Keys... it was such a joy to not have to rush off and to absorb as much as I could of everyone's lives of late.

What to do? Woe is me. I can tell that I won't get much sympathy from this crowd. But I can also tell that The Campaign is already working, a little. The Campaign to lure y'all to the Rockies this year so that we can still enjoy our time together, without having to wait so damn long to see each others' faces. The mountains are gorgeous. The air is clear. There's no beach but then again, we've been there and done that. I can barely believe all the pretty... c'mon, you're not done spoiling me yet, are you?

And the Cat Came Back (just wouldn't stay away)

I talk a lot about getting lost, and for the most part I never mean that as a bad thing. If I weren't so lost, I wouldn't have the chance to meet & enjoy all the loves in my life -- scattered about though y'all are. Was recently reminded (thanks Michele) of a time when someone else was lost... sadly though, he didn't stay that way for long.

Lisa & I had just moved back to Tucson from New Orleans and she had somehow hoodwinked, no - cajoled, no - begged me to hold onto her demon cat, Bailey, for a time. Author's note - this cat is not my friend, we do not see eye to eye, and yes Robyne, he probably *did* try to kill you in your sleep that time you stayed over.

At any rate. I'd just moved into a crappy duplex in Tucson, had probably been there two or three days when Bailey jumped ship. Couldn't find him anywhere. Secretly, my money's still on Sit, it's highly likely that she helped him escape... she never did like to share. With no good way to explain Bailey's absence to Lisa, it was time to fess up and to organize a search party.

And hilarity ensues...

Michele, Lisa & I, geniuses that we were, started our search that very night, at night. We drove the neighborhood slowly, very slowly, the two of them hanging out the windows with wimpy household flashlights calling out "Bay, Baaaaaay, Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaailey". Carefully winding our way up and down each street, we noticed another car that was also slowly cruising along, doubling back and passing us a few times. Great. This outta turn out well.

Defeated by our ridiculously useless search methods, we headed back to the apartment. No sooner had we pulled in, then a police car crept into the driveway and parked at a distance. "I'm gonna let him know we're just looking for the cat," I offered and started to walk back to the patrol car. Seems like the right move, right? Assure the police that, despite our flashlights, creepy slow driving, and otherwise odd behavior in the dead of night, that we were just fretting pet owners looking for a runaway.

"Step away from the car," boomed a voice over the PA. Now, pay attention people, 'cause the rest of this happened reeeeeeally quickly. The flood light flashed on, square in my face, the officer jumped out of the car and, I swear, drew his gun (that bit might be an exaggeration, I don't remember, but it makes for a better version of the story so do forgive...). "Hands up!" "Um," stunned, I squeaked out "we're just looking for our cat". Cue two other squad cars squealing into the drive, kicking up dust and waking the neighbors and, this part I'm not making up, a HELICOPTER flying low and loud overhead, its floodlight trained on Lisa who was sitting on the trunk of my car with her mouth so agape that her chin was in her lap.

What in the...

After a few moments of complete confusion, a few gazillion officers now on site, (did I mention it was well after midnight and I'd only moved in a few days before... those neighbors never did recover), a brief run-in with the canine unit that had mysteriously also appeared and an impressive amount of bladder control on my part, we started to get things straightened out.

The car that had passed us a few times mid-search party was an unmarked police car. He ran my plates ('cause I guess in Tucson it's not normal to cruise around at midnight with flashlights poking into the bushes, whatev) and my car came up as a stolen vehicle in Louisiana. Ahhhhhhhh - right. That's because *I* reported it stolen six months earlier when the fabulous NOPD towed it, denied having towed it, took my stolen vehicle report, let me get a check from my insurance company and then mailed me a letter saying that if I didn't come get my car from the impound lot that they would sell it and submit the proceeds to the Police Activities League... Good Lord. After all that, I don't suppose that I should have expected them to nix that stolen vehicle report once I discovered that THEY were the ones who'd stolen it...

So, after much explanation, including digging out the original vehicle title from a still-packed box in the living room and calling to wake my parents to verify the registration info (was still registered at their AZ address) -- the party bird finally killed the spotlight and went off to bust college kids on Speedway. The rest of the officers stopped waking my new neighbors to ask what they knew about us, and we were left trying to talk the canine unit into using their highly-trained, overly-qualified German Shepard to find the cat. "What if he sniffs the litter box, will that help?"

The remaining officer left to clean up the mess told us that the call that had gone out was something just shy of an APB. The combination of the out-of-state stolen car and the suspicious nighttime-flashlight behavior had TPD all in lather. She said that a lieutenant had been pulled out of bed for it... we were kind of a big deal it seemed.

Still, of course, once the dust settled and everyone went home, no Bailey.

No joke though, the next morning he was sitting on the hood of my car, waiting to be let back inside. Undoubtedly he called the cops himself, just to see what would happen...

Runaround Sue

A year ago this week I was a'packin' and a'preppin' for my fantabulously relaxing Costa Rican adventure. What I wouldn't give to be saying the same thing right now. As a tiny nod to that words-fail-me-it-was-so-effing-amazing trip (and because I'm too lazy to come up with anything new right now), here's one of the true highlights. From an email some of you may have seen on August 24th, 2008 (some editing tonight for the nitpicky among you):

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
... all I can say is this - at least it wasn't ME today that needed the morning after pill on a Sunday in a teensy beach town in a wee Catholic country in Central America.

On my bumpy bus ride today back from Sta Teresa (my hands down new favorite place of all time - if you never see me again, I'll be at Casa Zen, send my regards to Broadway) I sat near a girl from Switzerland who, 3 minutes into the ride, revealed that she'd had sex last night and that the condom had broken - uh, huh. She was on her way to the "big town" of Cobano (the only bank and the only farmacia for miles and miles) with high hopes of one tiny but powerful pill, just in case. Ahhhhhh - the Swiss, they're so flexible, so open minded, so unassuming. She was trying her best not to freak out and needed to confess to someone, anyone really. Lucky me. I believe she said something like "I have to tell someone so I guess it is you...".

Turns out, she also doesn't speak a single word of Spanish so - for those that are tracking this, my latest Spanish immersion attempt - let me know if this counts as passing The Bar.

Not being morally or Karmically able to leave her to her own devices, and with at least 45 minutes to spare before my connecting bus home, I went with her to the clinico medico and explained, to a shortly thereafter mortified doctor, todo sin ingles mind you, that my new friend had "been with a man last night and that the condom broke". Aye yay yay. Amid the snickers from the old men hanging out in the cool of the clinic, he shusshed me and ushered us into his office for further botched Spanglish and much gesticulating.

No such thing as the morning after pill in Costa Rica (Catholics, they're so stubborn!) and no other great options. Here's where the language gets really fun - she ended up with a prescription for birth control pills, a highly accelerated & regimented schedule for taking them by the handful over the next couple of days, and some sort of pelvic exam in which I actually played nurse by scrubbing in and assisting with things like petroleum jelly and handing over the speculum - WHAT???

God bless her, she was a trooper and only broke one of my fingers as he "cleaned her insides" - Double What??? I'm pretty sure she'll survive, baby-less for now. I'm also convinced that she'll take the doctor's only words in English to heart "No more sex". His only other instructions for us -- 1) that we were never there, 2) that he absolutely NEVER told her to take more than 1 birth control pill a day, and 3) that we both be more careful in the future.

You're an angel I told him.
He told her to buy me a beer...

And off we went to the corner bar, for many beers and much forgetting as we each waited for our buses; mine "home" to Cabuya for school tomorrow and hers back to Sta Teresa for some surfing and bouts of highly hormone induced nausea.

Bueno Suerte with that, Lilly from Switzerland. My other hope, besides no baby, is that she can one day tell the story with a laugh. Seriously, how much adventure had she counted on during her month-long surfing stint in Costa Rica? Sweet Lilly.

Like I said... at least it wasn't me that needed the morning after pill today. Whew. My new Costa Rican husband will be very sad to hear that he's not getting any :-)

(not) On The Road Again

Settling in... am trying and trying to settle in. I owe an un-repay-able debt to Jenny & Garry for loaning me space in their home. Without that, and them, I wouldn't be able to pull off this move to Denver. I'm writing now from my new basement home. We did some rearranging and unpacking today and it's starting to shape up. And, honestly, though I joke about the ridiculousness of being 36, essentially unemployed and living in someone else's basement... this is gonna work out just fine. Just fine I tell you.

Which makes me think back on all the places I've camped out in this past year or so since leaving my job in NYC. I've got a long list of people to thank, so should prolly get started. Here, more or less in order since April 2008...

* Jim's Monastery - Holy Cross - holy gorgeous and peaceful and perfectly suited for kicking this adventure off.
* Nancy Jane's lovely little house in Houston - me, NJO, Monkey & Bunkey
* Avon (AWBC) walk staff hotel Houston
* Amsterdam Swap - gorgeous rooftop, huge CD collection and espresso maker
* Sara's place - AKA, my country house
* AWBC staff hotel DC
* Auntie BAH's new (old) condo near the beach in San Diego - both before & after renovations
* Denise's SD digs - mostly visiting her fabulously large preggars belly
* AWBC staff hotel Boston
* Lisa's - of course, over and over, I always come Home to Lisa's
* Josh's house with his soon to be new-bride in Tucson
* AWBC staff hotel Chicago
* Occasionally back to my own place in Hell's Kitchen
* Stowing away for the Overnight in Seattle
* Boulder & Denver w/ Joanna & Jenny -- scouting for the big move a year later?
* AWBC staff hotel Rocky Mountains
* San Diego again - this time to inspect the newest addition - Parker Krawitz
* AWBC staff hotel San Francisco
* Jenny F's for a short but very sweet stop
* Michelle B's to extend the SF stop, visit with Libby, and crash the cabin by the river in G'ville
* Amy's couch in NYC -- this comes with her delicioso cooking -- yum
* A shabby lil' side trip to the Ritz in St. Thomas - ahhhhhhhhhhh - BBCs & sunburns
* Quick pit stop in the Jerz to watch & dance & celebrate as Chris & Brian tied the knot
* Six week luuuuuuuuvliness Costa Rica bouncing back & forth from my sea side shack in Cabuya to my sea side haven in Mal Pais. Spent most of this in one hammock or another
* Culture shocked stint in LA enjoying the hospitality of Erica & Sawnia & Mac
* AWBC staff hotel LA
* More Denise, more Josh, more BAH, more Lisa, more Amy.
* AWBC staff hotel NYC
* Back to AZ for the little brother's nuptials - whoop!
* A blissful few weeks in NYC to play with the marathon kids and to catch up with all my abandoned East Coasters.
* AWBC staff hotel Charlotte
* Six months in LA which consisted of a supa-succesful run of house swaps:
-- Brentwood garden goodness
-- Santa Monica beach shack
-- Redondo Beach luxury concrete castle
-- Miracle Mile spanish bungalo
* Toss in some more Josh, Lisa, BAH stops for the holidays and what not
* Pop back up to Denver - Joanna & Jenny - long overdue visit with Ben
* Drive over to Parker (yes, Parker) for some girl time, swimming skunks and roach crushing
* Key West bunglao w/ Amy for a fantastic bike-riding, snorkeling, beach-going, helluvanamazing wedding for Libby & Carolyn
* Pismo Beach - birthday beaching it in the fog
* Some last minute Denise & BAH fun before leaving SoCal behind for good (riddance)
* Quick pass through Wickenburg -- it had been tooooooo long
* More Lisa, Josh & this time Tammie for good Tucson measure
* Quick check on my lonely little apartment in NYC
* Drop into Denver just for one last look - yep, gonna make the move
* Stowaway in Chicago for the Overnight
* Back to AZ - make the rounds in July (of course, *everyone* knows to visit AZ in July), including two trips to the mountains for some fresh pine air, cabin time and camping
* Albuquerque for a lil' job training and then...
* Finally landing here in Denver. In Jenny & Garry's basement for now, but I'm thinking in Denver for good.

Holy hell, that's a long list for 16 short months. As you can imagine, I'm pooped. And maybe a touch jet lagged. And I just want to unpack. Hopefully this explains to many exactly why I've been so scattered and so just not good at returning phone calls and the like.

I celebrated this week by buying full sized shampoo & conditioner. I realize that was risky-business given my recent track record, but it felt good to have even just that tiny bit of evidence of a long stay. Am looking forward to a good run. First I think I'll hide my suitcases though, just in case...