Guerillas in the Mist

I've been letting off some steam.

Literally.

After more than 2 years of having gym membership I have finally figured out where 1) the sauna and steam room are, and 2) how to use them.

I'm not slow.

Truth be told, I was unable to use the gym for a good 18 months after my surgical mishap, and for the same reason I was stiff and sore after attempting a full day's work. So I decided to soldier on, and enlist the aid of the kids' boot camp to entertain my offspring while I stretch out and sweat.

I deposited my daughter with the personal trainer, parked my son in his wheelchair (his current form of transportation) and took myself off to the ladies' change room.

Finding a locker that actually locked was my first challenge, followed by trying to make the swap from warm comfy clothes to my swimwear of choice (a tankini, as the 'wet room' is unisex and we don't wanna scare anyone now do we) in the world's smallest cubicles. Seriously, would it kill 'em to remove one loo and make the others a little roomier?!

Deal done, I ventured into the steam room and pushed the button; "I can cope with 20 minutes" I tell myself and stepped inside.

Sliding onto the white tiles (again, literally) I wait for the onslaught of hot damp air, which when it kicks in, is every bit as hot and damp as promised. Within minutes I can't make out my own feet, and am finding it a little hard to breathe. But I'm loving it.

Seconds after that I have the distinctly unpleasant sensation of something dripping on my head.  I realise that the condensation on the ceiling is to blame and quietly freak out at the thought of what else may have accumulated up there before gravity brings it back to land...on me. I pop my little towel on my head to prevent any further absorption of god knows what, which also makes it hotter on top. All the better to detox with, no?

In the midst of all this perspiring and pondering I hear the sound of male voices. Can't see where they're coming from but I am hoping that they opt for the sauna instead. Even my modest tankini isn't modest enough, and despite the fact that I still can't see beyond my face in this mist I am not keen to share my space. No one looks their best in the steam room. I am now grateful that even the LEDs can't shed any light on the subject.

Another 10 minutes of this and I am desperate to a) breathe, b) see, and c) drink water that hasn't vaporised in the heat. So I carefully make my way to the door, stealthily slipping and sliding like a madwoman while blindly groping for the exit (again I'm thankful those guys wisely went with Door #2 or who knows what else I may have grasped in my haste to escape).

Outside, after a few delicious deep breaths of cool air, I make my next questionable decision, to try the Monsoon Shower: 10 powerful jets spraying water so cold it'd make an Eskimo think twice. I do my own personal version of the 'Hokey Pokey', and put my left hand in, pull my left hand out, with everything shaking all about. It's not until the spray slows to a trickle I am physically able to take the temperature. Then accidentally touch the button that starts the show all over again.

Belatedly I scan the room for security cameras, in case footage of my foolishness appears on someone's YouTube channel.

Relieved there will be no recordings I make my waterlogged way back to the Women's Room where I towel off best I can and put my street clothes back on. I make quick use of the complimentary hairdryers to blow my 'fro back into some semblance of sense (humidity and my hair do not play nicely together) and check I am not looking as frazzled as I feel before I go get the kids. Here I realise I am wearing but one earring. Must have come off when I removed my towelling head gear.  Am I talented, or what.

After a 45 minute workout my children are appropriately excited and exhausted and allow me to come home to the comfort of the couch and computer and a cuppa tea.

And quietly contemplate a better plan of attack for the next time I decide to let off steam.

Jx

©2012

Ice as Nice

Took the kids ice skating in the holidays.

With temperatures soaring into the 40s (that’s celcius for the overseas readers) indoor activities were in demand. And what better way to spend a hot summer’s day, than on ice.

We are lucky to live in such a fabulous part of the world that has both beaches and ice rinks just minutes from our door. But the bonus is you don’t have to worry about sunburn when you stay inside (frostbite is another matter entirely)!

I’d tried ice skating before, in the days BC (Before Children, that is) so I knew from firsthand experience how fun- and foolish- the pastime can be.

Quick wander down memory lane, if you’ll allow…

Since I had spent a great deal of my childhood on rollerskates, I was quietly confident that I could handle blades as well as wheels. So my friends and I paid the entry, and hit the ice.

And discovered it’s not quite the same after all.

After a few minutes doing my best impression of a toddler finding their feet, I was soon skating with the best of them, and even managed to go backwards (on purpose, as opposed to involuntarily as can happen from time to time) for a while.

We were even cocky enough to not just skate but started moving to the music blaring from the speakers spaced out around the rink (that had the amusing effect of being REALLY LOUD as you went past but not so much in between). And groove we did. Oh yeah, it wasn’t just the temperature that was super cool, just ask us.

Well after some solid skating time, and proud that I had managed to stay upright for the entire 2 hour session, I then lifted a foot to step off the ice for the safety of solid floor. That was my fatal mistake. See, out of the blue this little critter bolted out from nowhere straight into my legs, sending both me and he onto the frozen rink. He on top of me, to be precise.

What a pain in the icehole.

Thankfully it was my pride that suffered the most, and I half-crawled for the bar to pull me off the rink and back into shoes, much to the amusement of the expert skaters all set for the next session; Smarty Pants that they were (as opposed to cold, wet pants like me).

Because that image of me planted butt down on the ground has stayed with me long after the event, I was content to stay on the sidelines (and in shoes) when the next generation took to the ice with Vacation Care these school holidays just past. That was in spite of the fact that they had these Zimmer-frame type contraptions for the very beginners to hold onto.

Mind you, it was lucky that I did, because one little bloke did an action replay of my moment, only he went down as he was stepping onto the ice, and spent the rest of the session sitting, foot propped up, hot chocolate in hand.

The rest of the group passed casualty-free (except for a few decent blisters), and we only had to stop a couple of kids from eating the ice; only one of them belonging to me (*shudders*).

And unlike the first time I put myself on ice, my kids had their proud mother standing by with camera to capture the event on film (well, SD card, but you know what I mean). Got some great shots too- including one taken just as my daughter was about to fall, with her little feet going so fast trying to get grip on the ice rink, they’re actually blurred in the picture! Ah, good times, good times.

The bonus for me as a mum was that the effort of trying to stay upright and uninjured sure required some exertion, so by the time I took my two home again, they just didn’t have the energy or even the inclination to start the squabbling that had plagued so much of the holidays.

In fact, I’m thinking of signing them up for lessons.

Naturally, I’d have to go along with them, just to make sure all was well. Who knows, next time I’m brave enough to skate, I’ll spend the entire time on my feet!

Jx
©2010