Surf’s Up: Part 2

My next few times surfing after Hawaii I realized what a fluke my first experience had been.  In San Diego, Costa Rica and Mexico the ocean kicked my ass much harder than it had in Hawaii.  The water was colder.  The beaches were rockier.  My body immediately broke out into surf rash whenever I looked at a board.  And the waves were not as easy to catch.

But, I kept at it.  Like a true addict I turned a blind eye to the signs that I was hurting myself.  I laughed off my arms that were so sore I couldn’t lift them to brush my hair.  I slathered on aloe vera and Neosporin to my surf rash, pretending my body didn’t look like I had taken a cheese grater to it.  And I was secretly proud of all the bumps and bruises making me look like a 7-year old girl at the end of summer.

Every wave I actually caught washed away the pain.

And, it wasn’t just the thrill of the ride I craved.  I relished the whole ritual.  Waking up before dawn, and waxing my board.  Carrying it down to the beach, my feet tortured by the pebbled roads.  Paddling out in the dark, silent water.  Watching the sunrise over the horizon.  Straddling the board and gently rocking as I watched the first class surfers cutting across the sea.  Spotting the occasional turtle or dolphin.  And, yes, riding the few waves I managed to catch.

Surfing taught me patience.  And living in the moment.  And that the wave missed is just as beautiful as the wave caught.  And that anything worth doing is worth working hard for.

Surfing taught me that I am strong, and can be graceful, and have great determination.  It reminded me to look around, catch my breath, and just go for it.

That’s me…standing up…and surfing!

Temazcal

Guest post by Rebekah Marcano (|| http://www.facebook.com/lazytrainer ||)

My good friend Cindy (also known as Cynthia), invited me on a fantasy island, magical, dream, spa vacation in Riviera Maya, Mexico at a very luxurious hotel: Maroma. The moment we stepped onto the property, we were greeted with fresh mojitos, music playing in the dining room, the ocean just footsteps from our duplex suite named “Cuarenta”.

Our daily routine was simple. We lounged on beds on the beach as we ate guacamole, contemplated life, read books and soaked up the sun. We got facials, four hand massages, took yoga classes, pilates, and ran on the beach! Occasionally we would leave Maroma on excursions like swimming with dolphins, kayaking, swimming through caves, swinging from trees on ropes and landing in waterfalls!

We even drove one day to see the Mayan ruins in Ixtapa!

Life was bliss. Looking through the spa menu, we thought we might try a “temazcal”, a health and spiritual ritual to cleanse the mind, body and spirit using a cement dome-like sweat lodge and volcanic rocks.

It was our only “to do” for the day. So when our wonderful waiters asked if we would like to sample tequila after breakfast, explaining some were aged this way and others that way, we thought, “Sure, why not?” Or maybe we asked them about the tequila, and why there were so many and how they were different.  Not sure of the order, but we started sampling tequila after breakfast.

I could actually taste how they were different. Some were spicier. Smoother. Some burned your throat more. Others went down like water. We sipped soda water in between tastings. And when the room started spinning as I stood on a chair in the very quiet, peaceful, highend boutique-y, exclusive gated resort at 11:00 in the morning, I realized…tequila is NOT wine. And you do not have tequila tastings.

After dropping my phone in the toilet and “falling asleep” on the floor, I woke up debating if I should still attend the Temazcal spa ritual. “Well it is heated, so it should get the toxins out like a sauna,” Cindy and I rationalized.

Stumbling over to the little hot box, we were greeted by many other guests. Somehow we were going to all fit in this tiny triangle hut.

We squished inside as the leader added burning coals to the center, making the tent hotter and hotter. She chanted and sang. Added more coals. This tent was really, really HOT. And it was getting hotter. But it felt good. She passed around a bucket of water to dump over ourselves, drums to play, and fruit to rub over our bodies. We chanted. We sang.

At first I was timid, only whispering the words. Then I could feel them in my throat, then in my belly. Suddenly I wasn’t afraid of what others would think of my voice and the words sort of took over my body and I could shout them – scream them! Even though I didn’t know what the words meant, I felt what they meant. I could feel the words’ feelings and power. I LOVE WORDS! I LOVE THE OCEAN! I LOVE LIFE!

And suddenly I wasn’t drunk anymore! I cried tears of joy and felt a sense of oneness with the universe, and a love for all around me. I was just so happy. Blissful. Euphoric. I was a blank slate ready to paint my life as the portrait I wanted…

Or maybe I was still drunk. Either way, this was pretty cool.

Could tequila plus a Temazcal lead the path to some sort of spiritual enlightenment? I really believe it was a special combination!  Perhaps the waiters were in on the magical ritual, and the tequila was just what we needed to complete the mind-body-spirit! One things for sure: Maroma was a magical place!