The painters finished.
On Friday. But for the first time since they started, days, weeks…months ago, I wasn’t there to awkwardly tip-toe between their ladders, choose the exact time they were painting in the hallway to take a shower, or make the mistake of exercising, eating or breathing in front of them–all mistakes where I deserved a snide comment about my lifestyle.
I was in Miami. Soaking up the sunshine.
Actually I was in the car, for nine hours, driving to Miami.
When John was on deployment I got lonely, so I emailed my best friend from college (the same friend whose wedding we went to this summer and visited in Chicago), to catch up and vent about Navy life. Which turned into an elaborate plan to take a trip to the Canyon Ranch resort in Miami Beach.
She found the deal on Rue La La (best shopping app out there) and we booked our trip for June, right before her bachelorette party in Vegas. A few weeks before the trip, the company I was a contractor for told me they were going to have to lay me off. That job was always in jeopardy, lay-offs were a constant threat, so I wasn’t surprised. Or upset. They just didn’t have the money for me or my coworker anymore.
On one hand, I was actually kind of pleased. Knowing John and I were moving, I wouldn’t have to quit. But, (at the time) I was also hoping I could work a little longer to have a little more savings before we moved (to wherever we were moving, whenever John got home).
So I panicked, and we postponed the trip.
For September 20th. Right before the deal would expire.
Back in May, I had no idea where we would be living in September. But I got lucky, and instead of having to take a boat from Hawaii or sled from Minneapolis (this is how I always picture Minneapolis, all seasons), I got to drive from South Carolina.
I left around 5:30 am Friday after toasting a bagel for John and making sure his lunch was packed. I stuffed a bag of work out clothes in the back, an ice chest with fruit, wine, cheese, hummus, chocolate and Coco Café, and a Trader Joes bag of nuts and quinoa chips.
The first two hours I loved it. The sun was coming up over the low country, thick southern wispy-tree forests framed the two lane road. The land would open and to the left you could see the endless Atlantic. To the right, rolling green countryside. I sped along in light traffic, watching the morning light color the sky, thinking, I could get used to this.
And then I realized I still had 7 more hours to go.
Back in San Diego, John bought me a GPS so we could make it to Charleston. I have always been very competitive with the GPS. When it says it will take me 9 hours, I have to beat it. Which makes frivolous stopping out of the question.
The GPS said I would arrive at 2:30. I was elated. My friend was flying in early morning, so when I got there we could catch a few workout classes before dinner, then make it to bed early, so we could get up for the first work out session on Saturday.
I texted her and let her know my ETA. She started planning our workouts.
A few hours later, two gas station stops, a Starbucks and McDonald’s Ice Tea stop, I was down to 2:16.
I was winning.
Then I hit the toll roads. And Friday traffic.
I didn’t arrive in Miami Beach until 3pm. Too late for our 3pm workout. I had a horrible headache, was hungry and annoyed with the traffic and toll booths. Thank goodness John had packed me a ‘survival kit’ with cash (and chapstick, tic tacs and a cute little note), or I would have had to stop at an ATM and wouldn’t have made it until well after 3.
I checked in to get my key, and we made our way up to our room.
We walked in the door, down a long hall and into a gorgeous apartment style hotel room, with a full kitchen, living room, two TVs, a bathroom the size of my old apartment and two queen beds.
Ok. Maybe nine hours didn’t seem so long.
The weekend was exactly what I needed when John was on deployment. And even more what I needed now that I’m living three thousand miles away from all my friends and family, don’t know a single person in Charleston except for John, the realtor, and now the check out lady at Marshall’s where I’ve been daily, buying jars and candles. And the painters.
The resort is gorgeous. Set in downtown Miami Beach, Canyon Ranch is just one of Miami’s huge hotel resorts built on the sand. The hotel had three pools, a full spa, a huge rock climbing wall, work out center, endless exercise studios, juice bar, outdoor bar, café, restaurant, salon. And it was filled with people (mostly groups of girls) exactly like my friend and I. All workout clothes. Healthy food. Healthy drinks (even their cocktails are ‘healthy’). Exercise obsessed.
We did a kick-your-ass boxing class Friday night, then a Hawtha yoga restorative class-so I could recover from the drive and my friend could recover from the three other classes she’d taken while I was still en route. At one point the teacher had us using a mat, two blocks, a strap, three blankets, a roll up pillow and a chair. It was very acrobatic.
We decided to stay at the resort the entire weekend instead of seeing Miami. Dinner at the hotel restaurant was four courses, jambalaya, tuna taquito, udon noodles and crème Brule. We paid a hefty corking fee of 25$ for the wine that I brought, and were back in the room and asleep before 10.
Saturday we woke up early to an already hot and humid morning. We joined a group of three other girls and one guy, who the teacher called Fred, but whose name was actually Chris, and did a beach boot camp in the sand. Although we were the two most motivated, we got in trouble by the teacher for not hydrating enough. He thought we were trying to show off. Actually we had already hydrated, and caffeinated, with our favorite drink, Coco Café–a coconut water latte. He forced us to drink what was left in the bottle. Warm coconut latte is not exactly the most refreshing choice during a boot camp.
After our boot camp warm-up, we did another boxing class. Both of us had never taken one before that weekend, and were blown away. Boxing is HARD. We were the only two in the class that were drenched, panting, gritting our teeth, pushing for just one more punch. The other girls just glistened, tapping the bag with perfect kicks and cross arms.
Since we were only there for one full day, we decided to try as many different things as possible. So a ‘buff ballet booty’ dance class with a little Fosse thrown in in the middle was next, then a Body Blade class where you shake this long stick that looks like a helicopter propeller to tone your arms. At that point I was about to die of hunger. And my friend kept asking me if I really wanted to do the cycling circuits.
We skipped it, ate hummus and cheese in the room and went to the spa for a massage.
The resort has a feature called ‘Aquavana.’ It’s a series of water therapies that focus on your senses. After our massage, we headed into the spa to try the much talked about Aquavana. The series had things like ‘Caribbean monsoon’ showers, with birds howling in the background, a ‘Caribbean’ scent and warm ‘rain.’ Then there was the Igloo Room, where the temperature dropped below my comfort level, but my friend made me stay inside until we had pressed all the different scented buttons and my lips were blue. Always trying to get our moneys worth. My favorite water therapy was actually a warm stone chair in a cursive ‘V’ shape. I fell asleep in it until we had to try the herbal sauna, regular sauna, Jacuzzi and foot bath.
Completely relaxed, we decided to head to the bar at the outdoor pool. Our bags full of free apples from the spa room, we were packing up for the walk and I realized I had lost my custom labeled Canyon Ranch water bottle. Maybe I left it at the bar before our massage, I asked my friend?
We got down there and our bartender immediately said, ‘here comes trouble.’ Hmm…we looked at each other, confused. Um, sir, I asked, did I leave my water bottle here?
Yes and I threw it away, he said.
Ha? Ha? Can I just have it back? I said, annoyed.
No, I actually threw it away.
That angered us. He explained that he didn’t have a hazmat suit to get it out of the trash. And then he said he was a Patriots fan.
My blood boiling, we ordered a couple glasses of Champaign, calmed down and caught up, on all of the perils of home ownership (they just bought a gorgeous condo in Chicago), on her newlywed status, stories from college and all the funny things that our boys do.
A little tipsy, we stayed at the bar until it closed at dusk and headed back up to the room to order room service. The flatbread pizza and artichoke fries were phenomenal. And low calorie (one of the selling points of the resort). We inhaled our food, then laughed and gossiped until our 10pm bedtime.
The next day I dropped her off at the Ft. Lauderdale airport, and headed back on the road. Nine hours later, a Dunkin Donuts stop, McDonald’s Ice Tea stop, two gas station adventures, I finally got back home.
The best thing about leaving this weekend was coming back. Not just to newly painted walls, or the right color walls, but I actually kind of felt like I was coming HOME.
I made a pizza, opened a beer and caught John up on the weekend. I felt so relaxed, happy to have been with a friend all weekend, happy to be home.
And then the Giants got destroyed in one of the worst blowouts I’ve seen since I’ve been a fan.
This was the only picture I took all weekend. But you get the gist.
MoJo Adventures 