End of the Road (Trip)

You're just over half way through the road trip. Tiring of museums, road side attractions, waterfalls. "Why am I so tired if I have been sitting all day?" someone is sure to ask, the question repeated as if it is a new thought throughout the trip. The passengers repeat their stories, unwilling to stop when you say "You told me that already." You study the map. Do we keep to the planned route? Cut the trip short? Take the more direct, less picturesque road home. At one stop the relative who promised a party of cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, lays out some snacks on the kitchen counter, yet never fixes dinner. You pull out the ice chest and make sandwiches for those hungry cousins around the kitchen table, using up the rest of the fruit before you have to drive home through the strict California inspection station.

One day of skipping exercise morphs into two days. I spend a whole day reading. Justification? I deserve it. Sedintary activities begin to take priority over stretching, strength, aerobics. I replace a glass of water with a soda. I stop for fast food, unwilling to put together a list, shop, cook, it's too hot, I'm too hungry, too tired, too rushed. I sit down in front of the computer to look up more recipes, but play computer games instead, shooting the balls at the frog, telling myself Scrabble will keep my brain in shape.

The last day you opt for the marathon drive home. Group agreement - we will do it even if we have to nap. You phone home to let the house sitter know you are on your way, you don't want to surprise her in the night. You recline the seat and pad it with blankets, making a bed of sorts for the passenger to sleep, then you are all so wound up with the thought of being home no one uses it to sleep. You find yourself pushing the speed limit, driving much too fast, and resort to cruise control to avoid a ticket. As the road signs tick down the miles, each one closer to home, you breath a sigh of relief, almost there, trip nearly over.

I try different things to motivate myself to get back on track. I write out lists for each day, maybe if these promises to myself are in writing I will be more apt to comply, to push myself into the motions which I know will make me feel better. I think about all the ways that doing these things will help me, projecting into the future, hikes I want to take, clothes I want to wear, death I want to avoid. Even these grim thoughts do not push me back into what I need to do.

Pulling into the driveway, even in the after midnight dark, your eyes cannot help but flash around the yard, checking plants which didn't get enough water, sidewalks unswept, status of your home. You are still somewhat wired so you unpack the car, rather than head straight to bed, patting the dog, checking the chickens, showering, then slipping in between the smooth cool sheets, relaxing, trip over, home at last.

I realize I don't need grim thoughts, I don't need to punish myself, I just need to ride this out. The miles will soon be behind me, just as in the road trip I took. A detour, that is all this was, I can get back on the road at any time. It will happen. I have faith.

Road Trip Continued

You switch drivers often so everyone gets a chance to look at the views, new places to see. The landscape, the road signs, what folks in this part of the country keep in their yards, the animals, baby lambs, colts, big bulls, the plethora of drive through coffee shacks, all these things draw the attention of the group. You start collecting the names of the coffee shacks “Latte Da”, “Get Wired”, “Pony Expresso”. You are amused by the “Jesus” sign which is hanging just below the “Special Sale: Discounts” sign, imagining that this would be a good day to convert if you could get Jesus at such a bargain price. You are torn between how many times you can allow the car to stop for pictures, the landscape, seascape, rushing rivers, towering mountains call for further inspections, vs. the travel time being slowed considerably and that schedule to keep to, friends or relatives awaiting your arrival.

I tried to alternate the exercise schedule each day, but realize too much variation will just lead to sore muscles without any gain. I start off motivated, reaching my daily goal of thirty minutes every morning. When I look at my list of other things which need to happen this summer - weeds to pulls, house to be painted, chicken pen to be cleaned, carpets to be shampooed, months worth of bookkeeping to catch up on, new business to start exploring, I am too tired each day. So the next day I decide to do some of my work first, and exercise later. The work exhausts me and I skip the bike, the kayak, the treadmill, even the stretching, justifying to myself if the work made me this tired, it is exercise too.

The car starts to seem small. Bags and boxes not as organized, someone doesn’t put the food back into the ice chest carefully, cheese puffed up like a bloated seal, floating in the melted ice on the bottom of the cooler, sharp knife missing now, how do we cut the tomatoes for the picnic lunch? Talk turns from tales of trips gone by and memories of adventures to personal and political issues. Voices change from smooth, slow low notes, to high pitched accusations and disagreements. When you are tired, no one volunteers to drive, the rest stop bathrooms for a full day are terrible pit toilets, no water available for washing your hands.

I worked my way through the healthy food list alphabetically. The first three recipes are tasty, artichokes in lemon butter, stir fry broccoli, beets with tarragon. My family is so happy that I am cooking for them, there are no left overs. I take my time at the farmer’s market, browsing every stall, listening to conversations about freshness, taste, compatibility. I use the internet generously, looking for foods which incorporate the various things I have bought - arugula and asparagus, beets and bok choy, cabbage and carrots, I decide that mind over matter is important in my approach to cooking - I have never liked to cook, I have a terrible sense of how tastes should compliment each other. If I stick religiously to the recipe that someone else has created, the food should taste good.

Finally there is a small break in the trip, you are going to stay with this great aunt for a few days, take a break from the miles that roll past each day, sleep in a bed for more than one night. After an evening of talking, a morning telling tales while sipping endless cups of coffee, your leg starts to jiggle, you pace a little, the trip is calling, and you all pile in the car anyway, to sight see the small town, go to lunch, top off the gas tank in preparation for the next departure. You cannot escape the road.

I spend a few hours finding the recipe, shopping for the right ingredients, chopping, sauteing, mixing. Placing the bowls on the table, serving the plates, taking the anticipatory bite (somehow I can never bring myself to taste the food when I am cooking, a strange personality trait), and (drum roll)...the food is NASTY. The bok choy sits in my mouth with a strange flavor which makes it hard for me to even chew and swallow. Turning to the cabbage salad, the crunch is nice, but the flavors do not appeal, and seem to clash with the unusual bok choy. Poking a fork around for a piece of the diced chicken, even this has absorbed something very unappealing. When I tell the family “This is nasty”, they shrug and say “Tastes all right to me”, finishing the piles on their plates. I clean up the many pots and pans, bowls and plates, then pour myself a bowl of cereal, topped with berries. At least I am staying true to the alphabet.

Road Trip

Excitement about planning the trip. You look at the maps and plan the route. Call friends along the way to tell them you might drop in, Google reviews on hotels, check prices. The departure date gets closer, you decide which clothes you will pack, go to the library for a good audio book, freeze water jugs for the ice chest. The day is here at last. You are prepared for this trip. When you are all in the car everybody whoops and seat dances, we are on our way at last!

Excitement about the decision to make the healthy changes in my life. I order books on Amazon, 150 Healthiest Foods, The End to Overeating. I call my doctor and make an appointment for baseline blood work, check that cholesterol, Vitamin D level etc. I Google recipes, check out when and where farmer’s markets are set up in my area. I design charts to track my stretching, aerobics and strength activities, vegetable intake, water consumed. The day is here at last, I am prepared for these changes.

First day of the trip. The car is packed so full it is hard to find things when you stop, just where did you put those extra sunglasses? Where did that cooling breeze go? Who could have predicted the triple digit temperatures? That hike you planned along the way isn’t as much fun as you thought, hot and dusty.

I jump on the recumbent bike, headphones and ipod ready. Adjust the ipod to a lively, favorite song and start pedaling. I spend a few minutes trying to remember how to program this machine, it’s been a long time since I used it. Ten minutes in and my knee starts to complain. Wait! This is supposed to be the exercise which is knee friendly.

You push on through passed the dinner hour, don’t want to stop for a hotel too early, let’s get as many miles as we can under our belt so we can relax on our drive tomorrow. Check the list printed off the internet, best hotel deal coming up in the next town. You are pretty tired, it’s late, time to stop. What is that weird spray of water around all the lights? BUGS! Millions of little bugs surround every light, gather around the doorway of the hotel. “Sorry”, the blond girl behind the desk says, “No rooms. Big event at the speedway, no rooms in the next town either.” With some cell phone work you find a room in the hotel which you realize is the one with the bad reviews when you Googled it. Hot and tired, you snatch it up.


I decide to kayak and do some leg exercises in the water, maybe these won’t be so hard on the knee. Thirty minutes later I have located the kayak paddles and the combination to the lock, but not the nice little seat back which makes paddling more comfortable. Grabbing a big towel, suit up and head off down the hill to the lake. (Yes, I am lucky enough to live on a lake, it’s fantastic and decadent.) Arriving at the kayak, I realize it has been sitting out all winter and is very dirty, covered with leaves and ants. I haul it into the lake and try to wash it off by tipping it over, sloshing it around in the water and rubbing it with my hands, but I finally have to dedicate my towel to scrubbing it off. Kayak relatively clean at last, I hop in, adjust my headphones and paddle off to deep water.


You wake up early, no one slept well, but that is to be expected the first night out. Loaded in the car, excitement builds. On the road again. The morning drive is stunning, you have now passed the boring California flatland drive of Hwy 5, and are climbing toward Lake Shasta, craggy Grand Tetons visible in the distance. The lack of sleep catches up, and you switch drivers early, nice to be able to rotate frequently. The rest stop has a view of the lake, clean bathrooms and some picnic tables. After a few minutes outside the air conditioned car, you are all sweating, even though it is still early morning. Drive on through the mountains. You stop for lunch at a nice rest stop by a river, and now it is really hot. Studying the map, the alternate route along the coastline, although it adds two hundred miles, is looking quite desirable. After a brief flash of guilt, this route bypasses some friends you had hoped to visit, you make a group decision that you are all much too hot, a cooler route would be the best choice.

I make it out to my favorite swimming spot, basking in the glorious morning and, for the hundredth time, wondering why I always forget how much I love it out on the lake. My back hurts a little, really have to find that comfortable little seat for tomorrow. I pull the kayak up on shore, using a neighbor’s concrete boat ramp, which provides a way for me to get into the water without slupping through mud and with the minimum of slimy weeds tickling my legs, making my heart beat fast with thoughts of lake sharks and sea monsters. I have always been a “dive in quick” sort of person, no creeping into cold water for me, or I will turn around and change my mind. Knee deep, hands in the tight inverted V, I plunge in. Aggggg! The water is so cold my lungs are paralyzed, arms can’t paddle, legs frozen in place. I hold onto the little paddle board and shudder in a breathe. I can do this! I kick out and my body adjusts to the water, either that or I am so numb with frostbite that I just don’t feel it anymore.

Some fixes

Thank you for comments!!!! There seems to be some trouble reading the format, but not everyone has the problem, so I am wondering why? Not being very techie myself, I am working on fixing the cropped or stretched issues some folks have mentioned (although others can read it fine?) I am currently on a road trip, so will work on this as time permits. xx Robin

Healthy Living Retreat for Women

The timing of the retreat was perfect. We had checked our finances, and with a lot of planning and cutting back, I could quit my job. Well... the timing for the retreat was perfect, the timing for quitting my job, not so perfect. With the economy tanking and a son starting college, money is tight. But I knew we could do it, so I gave notice (months in advance, I work on a yearly contract).

I didn’t know exactly what to expect at the retreat, however, my friend and her daughter had attended several times, and she assured me I would love it. Stanford School of Medicine offers this alumni retreat every year, with topics changing with the times.

The best thing about the weekend for me was the pace. Attend a somewhat technical or serious lecture, then move on to something light and physical. I learned about women’s health issues, chemicals in household products, obesity, sugar, and cancer prevention. I learned how to stretch, strength train with resistance tubing, and power sleep. I kayaked, hiked and ate the most wonderful healthy/gourmet meals ever.

I met and talked with many amazing women. These were educated women, some retired, some still working, some about to set off on careers. These were the liberated women who had come into their own during the 1960’s and ’70’s, as well as young women struggling with establishing themselves in the current difficult economic and elusive job situation environment. There was the shared experience of finding jobs, raising families, losing jobs, changing jobs, launching children, caring for aging parents, divorce, friendships...the list goes on and on. What an amazing event this was.

But now I am home. Now I have to do something with all this information. At the retreat there was instruction in developing an action plan. Sound advice for setting priorities, not trying to change too much at once, choosing realistic goals.

I decided my first three goals would be as follows:

1 - Reduce the number of chemicals in the household.

2 - Change the type of food we had in the house and were eating.

3 - Set up a daily exercise plan, which would be motivating and, most important, which I would actually follow through on.

And so, I was off and running, inspired by the alumni of Stanford and women who had made successful changes in their lives.