Spinning: As the snow flies I take the ride inside.

“Oh man…it’s snowing,” Marla says with a combination of sadness and disgust.

As we walk to the gym, I look at the sky.  It has a melancholy grey about it and the ground is harder than usual beneath my feet.  It seems a long time since last Sunday when it was warmer and the sky was a happy sunshiny blue. It was the type of day where winter seemed like it might pass us by. As we rode our bikes out to Leslie Spit, we strategized about the how we’d ride all winter if there was no snow this year.  

Just as I am about to get lost even further in the memory of last Sunday, a gust of cold wind slaps us in the face with a dose of reality.   It reminds me of how we both somehow instinctively knew that our winter riding dream was just that…a dream, and why we are up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning to attend spinning class.

The Sunday morning class at my gym is unique...and getting up early is a must...if you aren't in line by 7:45 you won't get a spot when it starts at 8:15. 

Spinning, if not lead by the right person, can by very boring.  But this class is designed by Paul. He is a rock n’ roll mix master, road cyclist and genuine guy with a great sense of humour.  He’s the kind of person that can make you believe you are having fun…even when you are biking uphill for 20 minutes. Paul is one of a kind, and even though he would never admit it, I am willing to bet he has developed quite a following at the gyms where he works around the city. 




Marla and I get there in good time.  We head into the studio and choose our bikes.  I am adjusting the seat on mine when I hear a broad English accent, "Well, what do we have here? Mary! Nice to have you back."  I give Paul a big hug and try to sneak a peek at his playlist as he sets up his bike.

Born in London in the shadow of White Hart Lane, Paul was the kid who took his transistor radio to bed and listened to music until late into the night.  His love of music is part of his instruction style and soundtracks for classes are filled with tunes that cross decades of popularity.  One can expect to hear the Beatles, Neil Young, Nine Inch Nails, Pink Floyd, Beastie Boys, Metallica and U2, just to name a few. 

As we are standing there chatting, I tell him I have been out riding my bike most weekends and that I am back so that I can keep my aerobic level up over the winter. "You are going to have to work to your full potential in every interval to keep your edge." he says smiling.  

One of those people who, unlike me, is prepared to brave any sort of weather, Paul rides his bike everywhere he goes--all year round.  His devotion to cycling forms his philosophy for spinning. Classes are designed to replicate a one hour outdoor ride with lots of hills.  He concentrates less on sprinting, like some instructors, and more on building cardio and muscular endurance through climbing.  

Our class begins, Paul tells us that our first interval will be a nine minute hill.  There are a few groans, which prompts him to utter what has now become his tag line...“pain today…nice looking legs tomorrow."


For the next hour, we encounter rolling hills,  adjust the resistance to simulate a steep hill and thankfully have a five minute flat aerobic interval.   All of this is done at maximum energy level and intensity.  Paul doesn't allow us to back off until the 60 minutes have elapsed.

After class is over, Marla and I walk back up the hill towards our building.  Although I am wishing I could be outside riding my bike, it's nice to have the whole day ahead of me to do things.  As we walk on,  I also can’t help but think of the weather and how my Mom always says “it’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow some good.” Spinning with Paul is more than just an exercise class, it's an entertaining social event that I can look forward to over the winter.  Plus a new season brings new opportunities. Putting my bike away will be sad, but I have a whole list of winter activities planned...many of which require snow.     

Never quit, 

Mary


Coming up:  I connect with an old friend and run for a good cause.   

Cave Tubing in Belize

"Sunscreen...check. Bug Spray...check. Water shoes...check. Sunglasses...on my head."

With our cruise ship floating outside of Belize City, we are waiting for the number of our tender boat to be called to take us into port.  I am amusing my obsessive-compulsive self by checking my backpack for probably the 10th time since I packed it.

Today some our group are going zip lining. All of our group are going cave tubing. The zip liners seem pretty confident, but what I haven't really told anyone is that I am terrified of caves and enclosed spaces. Since I haven't had my 10:00 am beer yet, I am a little nervous.

They call our number and we board the tender boat to Belize City. It's an incredibly beautiful day. When we arrive we meet our excursion group and get on the bus which will take us through the city and about an hour inland to the rain forest and caves.

Our excursion company for the day is called cave-tubing.com. As we travel along they shout out facts about Belize and tell jokes over a crackling microphone.    I find myself seated beside one the guides, Fabian.   He smiles at me and we start to talk about Belize and Canada and the some the dangers inherent in consuming too much of the cashew wine our excursion leader is handing out.




He tells me about the multicultural make-up of Belize. "We have people of African, South Asian, Chinese, British, Mayan and Spanish origin here," he says.  "I am British, Spanish and Mayan." I take a good look at him.   He is handsome, with olive skin, structured features, dark eyes and long black lashes. We compare notes on our lives and our countries for the next hour.

Eventually we are dropped off at an activity complex built in the rain forest.  The zip lining site is located among a canopy of palms, allspice and cashew nut trees.  While Mr. Wiser's, Mr. Maui and Ritzy are zipping through the trees, the Snorkels, Sheri and I have pre-tubing beer.

In no time the zip-liners are back and we are kitted out with tubes and life jackets. So begins an entertaining but agonizing 20 minute hike over a rock path in thinly soled water shoes.   There's lots of laughter as we amble along, and lots of people, including myself, looking to find a dirt path that is easier on the feet. Finally, after twice wading through the river, we reach the mouth of the caves.

"Come over here mama and papa, you are the anchors."  Our guide Jamie is talking to Brad and Angelina Snorkel.  He is arranging us in one long line of tubes.   "Hold on to Papa's feet,"  he says to Angelina.

When we finally all have our life jackets on and have the feet of the person behind us in a death grip,  we are pushed out into the stream.   Incredibly, Jamie starts towing us, swimming the back stroke and giving us the information about the caves.  

These caves were referred to as "hell" by the Mayan's," he says. "It was where the dead congregated."

In spite of what sounds like at rather ominous location and my claustrophobia, I am feeling pretty good.  The ceilings are actually quite high and there is lots of room to move and breathe.  In fact, I am able to relax enough to fully appreciate what I am looking at. I see stalactite's dripping water and hanging down from the top of the cave like giant fangs.  We float by a waterfall which is followed by shelves of stalagmites rising up to form scenes that our guide describes to us.

"If you look to the left you will see Bob Marley standing next to the Virgin Mary. This is the only place in the world where the two come together in such a public way," he chuckles.   I can't help but laugh to myself as well, thinking of how this coupling of  icons is somewhat symbolic of the unique combination influences in my own life.

Although Jamie is largely steering us, there are moments when the ride is unpredictable and we bump off the side of the caves or have to lift our butts way up in shallow parts of the river.  In the end, we exit the caves and come out into the sun.  Looking back at the dark hole in the cliff face it does seem like we have just been through another dimension of existence.

We float down the river and eventually end up at the point where we started our hike. After a snack and more beer, we board the bus. As we make our way back to the ship I sit with Fabian again.   He asks me how I have enjoyed Belize.




"I love it here," I say.   "Today was fabulous, there is absolutely no question I'll be back again."

Never quit,

Mary

Coming up next:  Home from vacation, I put my bike away for the winter and head back to spinning class.

 

Sometimes You Just Have To Take A Week Off

It's Tuesday morning and all I can hear is the sound of the ocean pounding against the beach as a Kenny Chesney tune keeps turning around in my head.

"So I'll sit right here and have another beer in Mexico..."

My cowboy hat is down over my eyes and there is nobody on the beach but myself and the East Coasters I am travelling with. Altogether we are a group of eight. We are cruising on the Carnival Legend to celebrate our friend Sheri's milestone birthday.

Today's shore excursion is courtesy of  my music business godfather Mr.Wiser. The only man, other than my father, who ever took the time to teach me anything. As a result of a life of travel and tour managing, he knows a "place" in every town. This reggae bar on the beach, where we are all by ourselves and the beer is $2.50 a bottle, is his spot on Cozumel. I couldn't have imagined anything better.

It's a funny 10:00 am break for me. I make this observation to one of my travelling companions, Angelina Snorkel.

"The beer's going down nicely," I say. "If I am in my office, I usually have a handful of nuts around now."

"Well today you are travelling with them instead," she says with a smile.





Laughing, I push my hat back up and survey the scene. The whole group isn't present. My cruise roommate Becky is back at the ship with Sheri and they are having spa day. I am missing them. But gathered around on deck chairs and at wooden table is our excursion group. There is Mr. Wiser, Me, Mr. Maui and Ritzy as well as Brad and Angelina Snorkel. It's a very fun bunch.


Time passes under the Mexican sun. There's not a cloud in the sky and its hot, hot, hot. One beer leads to another and pretty soon I need to cool off. A few of us are already in the water and I decide to head in too.

This is a rugged beach with a bit an undertow and rocks underfoot. But the combination of the warm turquoise water against the black rock and white sand make it picture perfect.


Once in the water, I cool down. I lick my lips to find that old familiar taste of salt. My mind races. It's a beautiful moment where past memory and current experience converge and translate into instant happiness.

After bobbing up and down in the water with Mr. Maui and the Snorkels, Brad shows me the sandiest path out. I make it to the beach without incident.

"It's a good day when the only thing you have to worry about is cutting your foot on a rock." I think to myself.



Around 2:00 pm we decide to take a break from the sun.
Following the highway, we pass beaches, a tequila plantation and road side stalls. We eventually end up the main city. It's a world of extreme heat and motor scooters.

Families are picking up children in school uniforms and helmets. We pass a grandmother driving a with a little boy, no more than three years old, standing on the floor board of the scooter...his head just peeking up over the handle bars. Groups of young boys in white crested polo shirts and grey trousers play chicken with cars as they try and cross the road.

We move out of the "real" part of  town and back towards the cruise ship terminal. It's now a world of duty free liquor and vendors with giant sombreros, t-shirts, shot glasses and a roaming mariachi band.

I board the ship with Mr. Maui and Ritzy. We are all a little bit pink from our first venture into the sun. It's been a good day...a great day really...not one I will soon forget. It's a perfect start to a week long adventure that involves a lot of living in the moment and worrying about nothing.

Never quit,

Mary

Next up: cave tubing adventures in our next port of call: Belize