Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Fat Lady on a Treadmill - Boca Raton

Trying to keep to a workout schedule while on the road is not easy. Adjusting to the coast to coast time change, travel fatigue, and a cold have slowed me down. Our first full day here in Florida we took a little road trip to Key Largo where we found a cute little seafood restaurant on the water for lunch and a well needed break from the rental car. Watching pelicans and listening to what was quaintly referred to as jazz was relaxing. We both ordered the coconut encrusted Mahi sandwich which was delicious, but not especially calorie friendly. Nothing we’ve had to eat since we arrived has been calorie friendly, but hey, it’s a vacation – sort of.

We got off to a late start on our road trip due to a bout of time change induced over sleeping. Translated that means if we’d been in California, we would have been up rather early for a Sunday, but on Florida time, we slept in. So, cutting short our original plan to drive all the way to Key West we returned to the hotel in the late afternoon and went to the hotel pit. They like to call it a Fitness Center, one of three scattered around the vast grounds. Lord knows, we needed to burn off a few calories.

You never know what to expect of a hotel pit, but somehow I knew this one would be up to my expectations and I wasn’t disappointed. Housed in a Spanish style building just past the manicured croquet lawn from our room, it is an imposing sight. There are two paths that will take us to this cleverly disguised den of torture. One is a Spanish tiled covered walkway lined with wicker chairs with bright cushions where sports enthusiasts can watch the action on the croquet lawn. The other is a raised wooden walkway skirting a giant Kapok tree with roots like giant spiked dragon tails reaching out in all directions. I’m not sure if the walkway is designed to protect the tree from humans, or the other way around. We actually had one of these in our yard in San Diego years ago and cut it down for fear of our children coming to harm from it.

Having navigated the grounds and made it to the pit I began to question my sanity. Why, I ask myself, am I doing this? I do not want to do this. I want to lie in my nice soft bed and just be still for a few hours. We’ve been on planes, trains and automobiles for the last two days, and the thought of movement, of any kind, is less than appealing. Hubby, oblivious to my inner debate, opened the door and ushered me in. Well damn. I was there and by lack of protest had consented to participate.

The place was surprisingly nice, if not a bit cramped. They have as many racks and treadmills as the pit back home, but alas, no high-rise stair thing-a-ma-jiggies. Being a Sunday afternoon the hotel was in transition. Many people were leaving, and a whole new crop were coming in, thus the low turnout at the pit. We had plenty of torture devices to choose from. Hubby opted for a run on a treadmill – need I remind you that I do not run – and I chose a half rack, identical to the one I habitually choose in my home pit.

There was little to see, less to comment on. There were a few people running and a few on the racks. None were doing anything unusual or appeared the least bit eccentric. What a bummer. Where were all the interesting people? Did we leave them all behind in L.A.? Perhaps they were at one of the other pits available to the hotel guests. Were we wrong to choose the one closest to our room? I must admit I was more than a little disappointed by this turn of events. The hotel is the kind of place where people sail up in their multimillion dollar yachts in November, dock them outside and check in for the winter. Breakfast for two is close to a hundred dollars. Was I expecting eccentric people? You bet.

Thanks to acres of mirrored walls I could see everyone in the place, including the ones in the adjacent weight room. Other than one C+5 woman in her designer label workout gear rolling around on the floor with a ball, there was little to comment on. I know, how can that be, you ask? I too was amazed. I was at least hoping for a hunk of a tennis instructor to come through the place, maybe even Steve or Andre, the guys listed as class instructors for the idly rich and bored. Perhaps I should sign up for one of their classes later in the week. I checked the list of available classes and decided against that scenario. Even though Steve and Andre may be wonders to behold, I can’t work up any enthusiasm for classes called Aerobic Burn, or Cardio Crunch and that begin around 7a.m., which my body still believes is 4a.m.. Apparently the idly rich and bored get up early. Who knew?

I did my time on the half rack, content that I’d done something besides sit on my back side and shovel food down my throat, which is what I plan to do for the next few days. Don’t judge me. I think there may be something to this idly rich thing and I’m willing to give it a try. If I get bored Steve and Andre will be there to help me through.

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