It's been a while since my last blog entry. I've been too busy training for my trip to Morocco! (Ahem, and helping all of my Washingtonian's stay fit and healthy during and after '08 election mania).
At long last, I'm taking a vacation of my own. My friend Jen and I are off to Morocco for a little R & R - Sol style, which means we'll be spending our time getting a few layers of skin scrubbed off in women-only hammams in Fez (that's Moroccan for 'turkish bath'), eating scrumptious lamb kebabs and cous cous in place of turkey and stuffing in Marrakech, and last but not least, hiking Mt. Toubkal, the 14,000+ft peak in the High Atlas range.
I'll be taking along my newest and favorite piece of gear, the SPOT Satellite Messenger. This GPS-sized unit acts as an emergency beacon when necessary and allows others to view your location online. If you are a person who likes to get into the wild I highly recommend this little gem. CLICK HERE to track our progress on a Google Map.
This entry is dedicated to the hecklers who mocked me with private emails and texts, taunting me for being a tough backcountry guide who can run around the desert for 5 days with a heavy pack but can't manage to hold a 23-pound paddle board overhead without wimpering.
I found my vindication in November's Outside magazine article about Salt Lake City's Gym Jones, where tough-as-nails competitors go to train their heads as well as their bodies. If you haven't heard of Gym Jones, you are not worthy, so forget about it. I like to think I have the mindset for their brand of training, but the truth is that I don't think I'm woman enough to test that theory, so I'll be satisfied to get a sneak peak inside the doors when I go home for the holidays. If they'll have me.
I digress. I smiled in triumph at page 137, where I read about a killer shoulder routine called "30-30s."
In the words of Nick Heil, "Parker giggled maniacally as she handed me two 20-pound dumbbells. She told me to raise them to my shoulders and push them above my head as many times as I could in 30 seconds. Then I had to hold the weights up, arms locked, for 30 more seconds, and repeat until I'd finished four one-minute sets without a rest. By the last set, I could manage only a few reps, my arms noodling while I emitted a snorting sound, like a warthog. At the end, I fell into the grass, soaking wet."
I am tough! The walk from the lower parking lot across from Angler's Inn to 'the beach' of the Potomac took at least 7 minutes, and I carried that paddle board overhead the entire time in both directions. No wonder my deltoids were on fire! I hereby challenge my hecklers to go home tonight and try the 30-30 workout. When you're done, come back and tell us all about your noodly arms. If you can type, that is.
I did a little research on my Mt. Toubkal, Morocco hike this weekend. Four key words lept from the page: "ice axe, crampons, and fatalities." It turns out that my little 14,000 footer is going to require some mountaineering skill too! I'm so scared! Ahem. I mean, I'm so excited! I never thought I'd be learning how to use an ice axe and crampons in the Atlas Mountains, of all places. If I'd really wanted to add these skills to my toolbox I could have could have done so in the comfort of my backyard in Utah.
It's time to kick the training into high gear. I think I'd better get to the climbing gym, and tell my trainer, Shane, that it's time for more of those killer pull-ups!
So much for all of the work I've been doing on my body alignment. I was beginning to think I'd added an inch to my height, but now I must be a full two inches shorter. It's the day after my stand-up paddleboarding excursion and I feel like the cartoon character who got hammered into the ground over and over until he was completely flat.
I forgot to mention that in order to get the paddleboard in the water one must first portage the 9 foot, 23 pound beast on one's head from the parking lot to the river. I wondered which was worse, the screaming fire of fatique in my shoulders or the creaking compression in my neck. I think my headache and sore neck clue me in to the right answer.
Clearly I am not cut out for carrying buckets of water on my head, but a paddleboard? How do the kayakers make it look so easy?
It's finally official - I joined the Potomac Board Rats! Start calling me Monkey Webb, if you please.
Suggs took me up the Potomac this time - the river that is, no longer am I allowed on flat water lakes. It is November, afterall, so why not squeeze myself into my old triathlon racing wetsuit (it fits a lot tighter now than it did 6 years ago when I was in racing form, go figure) and brave the 50 degree water?
I started my way up the river full of trepidation, uttering only mono-syllabolic responses to Suggs inquiries of how I was feeling on the board. The water levels were incredibly clear and getting lower by the day, so paddling over submerged boulders with the sky and colored leaves reflecting in the water was making me dizzy. I turned my focus to the horizon but found at the first set of rapids that once the water started to churn my vision became much narrower. There was no reflection in white water and that little wave at the top of Maryland Chute sure looked like a giant funnel to me.
I managed to stay on the board for quite some time until the hydraulic in one section tossed me and I plummeted into the cold wet deep. My paddleboard was hung up in an eddy while I got sucked downsteam and had to kick pretty hard to get back up to it. I was in the water for less than a minute but my hands were numb by the time I managed to pull myself back onto the board. That fall was enough to bring me to my knees going back down the Chute. But I'm not ashamed - I am a Board Rat!
What do you think of when you hear the word massage? The word may conjur a sexy connotation for some, while others envision sheer torture by a 400 pound member of the same - or opposite, there's no gender bias here folks - sex (UGH!). Whichever it is, I recommend adding massage to your regimen of holistic body treatments.
Just like any specialty, there is an assortment to suit your style: hot stone, therapeutic, swedish, deep tissue, lomi lomi, thai, and the list goes on. As Ray commented on my Rolfing blog earlier, there is also 'Heather-ing' (insert the name of your massage therapist here) a style peculiar to certain therapists who resort to the elbow to release stubborn knots from the muscles. If you don't mind sweating bullets, 'Heather-ing' might be for you. If not, I suggest sticking with one of the more conventional methods.
Right now I'm working out 5 or 6 days a week. Without a few massages a month my body would begin to look and feel like a tightrope. I've been able to bounce back quicker and keep a more sculpted look to my muscles with the help of Moimusa, my gifted masseuse. He's a former pro triathlete, a pilates instructor, and soon-to-be athletic trainer, so the man knows his stuff. His approach is one of healing, aided by the earthy aroma of burning ipswich root and soulful sounds of sultry female vocalists.
Just like Personal Trainers, there are all kinds of Massage Therapists running around. If you're looking for a therapist who specializes in the American fare, I suggest checking their credentials for the National Certification Board for Therapeutic Massage and Bodywork stamp of approval.
It's been a while since my last blog entry. I've been too busy training for my trip to Morocco! (Ahem, and helping all of my Washingtonian's stay fit and healthy during and after '08 election mania). 
