Posts Tagged ‘Mohonk Mountain House’

After slogging through 2001 jumps this morning with my trusty Tanita, the final workout tally for the year is…195!

It’s five short of my goal, but I think I can live with that. When I whipped out my iPhone calculator, 195 divided by 52 weeks is 3.75, which is no chump change, right? Especially since there were entire weeks (like our so-much-fun-I-wish-I-could-live-there trip to Disney) and mini-jaunts to Hershey Park and Mohonk Mountain House, during which I didn’t even pretend to exercise.

Actually, I hiked big-time at Mohonk, so I guess that counts.

And here’s another reason why I don’t feel even remotely bummed about not hitting my target: According to my precious fitness log, I worked out 138 times in 2009. I’m a complete math moron, but even I know that 195 is a lot bigger than 138.

Besides, this fitness thing is never-ending. Like starts-up-again-tomorrow never-ending. In fact, happily, Hubby has decided he wants to do P90X with me, so he just ordered the whole kit and caboodle – the DVDs, chin-up bar, resistance bands, yada yada yada – last night. (Maybe he’ll start his own “Dadover” blog for us? Hint hint…)

But tonight, I’m just gonna kick up my heels within the safe confines of our home. Our down-the-hall neighbors are coming over with their two Wee Lasses, so combined with ours, we’ll be a merry band of seven toasting the New Year with multiple bottles of Champs and plenty of Cotton Candy Dippin’ Dots. Yippee skippee!

Since it’s technically still Labor Day, I debated “laboring” by writing this blog post. But since, over the long weekend, I practiced some of the stuff I’m always preaching, I thought it would be nice to share the results of my self-inflicted challenge with my Momover-ettes.

Here’s the deal: We were heading to Mohonk Mountain House, which, apart from the primo spa, is pretty darn rustic. As in no-televisions-in-the-room kinda rustic. So right there, you know you’re in for a different kind of kid-centric vacation. Then, I wanted to up the ante by leaving my iPhone at home, thus eliminating my connection to email. Turns out the new cat-sitter wanted to be able to text me after each visit with our kitties Thunder and Lightning, so I had no choice but to tuck my cell in my bag. Grrrr…

But guess what? That’s all I did – responded to a few text messages. Over and out. No covert checking of email, no quickie phone chats with pals, nada. And as the days unfolded, the strangest thing happened: I had less desire to “connect” than more. Since I scanned The New York Times and the Post every morning, I didn’t wholly embrace the total news fast I recommend in this article. But I was still considerably less dialed-in than I typically am.

So how did I fill my down time when the Wee Lass was happily ensconced in the super-fun Kids’ Club? I played tennis and golf with Hubby, took loooong hikes with Hubby and lounged around in the mineral hot tub with Hubby. I even hung out in the library with Hubby and read an ancient novel from like the Seventies called The Prince of Tides. I was really getting into it by evening three, so much so that I seriously considered stealing it. But then I thought I’d take a chance that it was still in print and available on Amazon. (And it is, obvi, or I wouldn’t be able to link to it here…)

All in all, it was such a fab mommy time-out: I cut myself off from civilization, communed with nature and somehow manage to stop myself from embarrassing my family by stealing a ratty old paperback from the library of Mohonk Mountain House. I need to have many more weekends exactly like the one that just passed.

So we head for the awesomely family-friendly Mohonk Mountain House in the morning, and I am counting the nano-seconds until I scamper into that SUV. Even though I now live across the Hudson River from Gotham, it’s in my field of vision 24/7 and Mama needs a little break from all the steel and skyscraper action.

The thing about Mohonk that I really love is that it’s equal parts rustic and glam. Not glam-glam, mind you. But there’s a pretty gorge spa that is the perfect place for a mom (or at least this mom) to nip off to and hide from a Hubby and a Wee Lass. Last year, to reward myself for handing in the manuscript for my Momover book in a timely manner, I splashed-out on an “Ageless Aging Enzyme Facial” and an “Aroma-Massage,” which, as the name implies, thrusts several unspeakably lovely aromatherapy oils into the spotlight. (I believe in aromatherapy, big-time. To learn more about it, check out the most recent Mama Guru…)

This year, I haven’t quite decided what I’m doing spa-wise, but I’m definitely doing something. I figure I’ll just take a gander at the menu when we check in, and see what speaks to me. I’ve been feeling mystical lately, so I might just partake in a Reiki treatment. And the owner of Mohonk is a big meditator (she’s even written a great little how-to book on it), so I may pop by a class and get my Zen on.

But mostly, I’m sure I’ll be eating s’mores and paddle-boating on Lake Mohonk with the Little Lady, playing golf and tennis with Hubby (he’s about 1000 times better in both sports, but really, really nice about it…) and hiking my big fat ass off. Lots of hiking is in my immediate future, so much that I might actually even christen a cute pair of Vasque boots I bought several years ago and have yet to wear. A while back, I interviewed Jessica Iclisoy, the super-smart founder of California Baby, and she told me that she swears by Vasque for her daily treks through the canyons around her Beverly Hills home. Bingo – equal parts rustic and glam.

I think I’ve mentioned that I’m a bit of a klutz? And that because of said klutziness, I’ve been known to sport a bruise or two?

Well in addition to slowing waaaaaaay down as I go about my daily activities (which prevents those gnarly corner-of-the-coffee-table dings) and really focusing while I’m running (so I don’t go splat in the street), I’m just generally being far more aware of my physical surroundings. I figure that unless you’re hugging your wee ones, or (happily, hopefully) rolling in the hay with your hubby or partner, life really shouldn’t be a contact sport. While you can’t drop a force field around yourself, you can definitely keep the big-league bruisers at bay.

It’s August 1, so that means at least another month of gallivanting in a slimsuit. Actually, since we’re heading to the awesomely family-friendly Mohonk Mountain House for a Labor Day mini-break, it’s more like six weeks.

Thus, I need to stay vigilant on the ouchie front. To do so, I’ve been literally pretending I’m a leg model. You should have seen me at the town pool yesterday, carefully navigating the bumper-to-bumper beach chairs and tip-toeing around like I was Gisele, or some other insanely gorgeous creature with gams insured by Lloyd’s of London for a cool million.

And guess what? It’s working. Between the faux-parts-model bit, the endless exercise and the pretty-feet routine, my legs are looking good. It’s such a confidence-booster that I may have to keep it up come fall.