Just another day in Paradise
8:31 PM |
3 comments
Like students lamenting the end of summer vacation and the return to the familiar routine of hall passes and early mornings, I too find myself missing what I made into my brief summer vacation.
In ten days, I went from Whitehorse to Ottawa to (a couple delayed flights and missed connections and airport anger later) Turks and Caicos and back again.
I went with the fam on a dive trip to an all-inclusive resort. I usually feel guilty and uncomfortable about the idea of all-inclusive beach resorts in third world countries because, as my 12th grade world issues teacher said, “You’re going to these places where The Man has taken the most beautiful beaches away from the people, made resorts, and staffed them with the poor people they robbed, and then there you are stuffing your face and living a life of luxury in front of them, rubbing it in their faces.”
Indeed, I felt such things when I went to a resort in Jamaica, which required a tour bus ride through shanty roadside towns dotted with tin shacks and desperation.
This time, Turks and Caicos let me enjoy the beauty of a tropical paradise guilt-free, as the island has no real “natives,” just a bunch of rich people buying up oceanfront property for their own summer jaunts.
I went, I dove, I tanned, I snorkeled and I ate splendidly. I describe it simply, because the living was that: simple and easy, just like the Porgy and Bess song says summertime is supposed to be.
The best memory I take from the trip is being 80 feet deep, looking over my left shoulder at the coral reef on the underwater cliff beside me, and instead finding myself eye to eye with a sea turtle. We had a moment, mere inches apart, nodded each other off and shared understanding (I like to think, anyway). I couldn’t stop myself from smiling euphorically, which unfortunately brought me back to reality as the smile lines on my face allowed copious amounts of sea water to enter my scuba mask. Small price to pay.
The food was excellent, with fresh fish, jerk chicken and tropical fruits a part of near every dining experience. It was almost too easy to overlook the quality and beauty of the food presented, as it was all “free”, and provided in abundance. But recent readings have taught me to value to slow appreciation of food’s taste and quality (Elizabeth ilbert's Eat Pray Love).
Upon my return from the Turks part of the trip, I reunited with Ottawa friends to do the thing a twentysomething carpe diem girl should do in such a place: I laughed, hugged, smiled and donned purple lamme spandex pants to 80s night at Barrymores night club for a night of drinks, retro dance moves and laughs. I rode the OC transpo, and was almost overcome with homesickness, finding beauty in all the familiarity around me.
But then I thought, “I can’t stay here,” and was comforted knowing there was always Ottawa to return to, but I am on a real life adventure in the Yukon.
So I packed my stinky scuba stuff and still damp beach wear home to my man and me new kitten, Goober. Here I am, back to work as the town’s students pack their pencil and books to go back to school, and we all wish for one more day of summer.
I hate this. But don't let me stop.
12:13 PM |
7 comments
These days it starts out with trepidation, resentment that I am putting myself through it again today. Within a block or two the familiar ache in my shins creeps its way from ankle to knee and I feel I am wearing too thick a T-Shirt. My lips feel chapped, even though I applied Vaseline before I left the house. Dread.
I try and pump myself up by envisioning the toned soccer-playing character in the Traveling Pants movie, the lean legs of the girl in Two-A-Days and the awesome behind of Miss Jessica Simpson in Dukes of Hazzard. That works for a bit. I focus on the path in front of me, not looking up for fear of the daunting view of how far I’ve left to go. I belly breathe to avoid stomach cramps, though on days as hot as today, the eventual side stitch creeps across my belly near the end.
I feel the blood rising to my face, reddening it. I feel my back becoming moist. I stop paying attention to the songs playing on my iPod. I fight the mental war of being convinced it’s too hard. I reach the half-way point, slow my breathing and stretch my hips.
I make mental landmarks. I’ll walk between the footbridge and highway. I’ll sprint between the fire station and the dog park. I count my steps until I forget what number I’m at. I slow down and center my hips because I’m going too fast, I just want to be finished. When I can see my house and the sprint is done my lungs are burning. I am breathing too hard to walk just yet so I slow down my jog. I feel like I’ll explode otherwise. My reward is my stretching today. I feel the cool grass as I stretch my worn shins and calves. I breathe deep into the stretches I’ve earned.
I drink water like it’s been a month. I ice my shins, my ankles, my heels. I massage my feet and avoid the blisters that have formed on the balls of my feet. I take my shirt off as soon as I can and throw my socks off, distancing myself from the hard work they’ve just held.
My breathing slows down in the shower, the cool water on my face doesn’t stop flowing. My legs settle down, the soap washes away the sweat left on my shoulders.
I’ll wash, rinse, repeat it all again tomorrow. Training for the 10k finishes May 26.
I try and pump myself up by envisioning the toned soccer-playing character in the Traveling Pants movie, the lean legs of the girl in Two-A-Days and the awesome behind of Miss Jessica Simpson in Dukes of Hazzard. That works for a bit. I focus on the path in front of me, not looking up for fear of the daunting view of how far I’ve left to go. I belly breathe to avoid stomach cramps, though on days as hot as today, the eventual side stitch creeps across my belly near the end.
I feel the blood rising to my face, reddening it. I feel my back becoming moist. I stop paying attention to the songs playing on my iPod. I fight the mental war of being convinced it’s too hard. I reach the half-way point, slow my breathing and stretch my hips.
I make mental landmarks. I’ll walk between the footbridge and highway. I’ll sprint between the fire station and the dog park. I count my steps until I forget what number I’m at. I slow down and center my hips because I’m going too fast, I just want to be finished. When I can see my house and the sprint is done my lungs are burning. I am breathing too hard to walk just yet so I slow down my jog. I feel like I’ll explode otherwise. My reward is my stretching today. I feel the cool grass as I stretch my worn shins and calves. I breathe deep into the stretches I’ve earned.
I drink water like it’s been a month. I ice my shins, my ankles, my heels. I massage my feet and avoid the blisters that have formed on the balls of my feet. I take my shirt off as soon as I can and throw my socks off, distancing myself from the hard work they’ve just held.
My breathing slows down in the shower, the cool water on my face doesn’t stop flowing. My legs settle down, the soap washes away the sweat left on my shoulders.
I’ll wash, rinse, repeat it all again tomorrow. Training for the 10k finishes May 26.