Gresham Family Exodus

Originally posted on February 16, 2015, by cruisingrunner

Getting sick is a good way to ruin a training plan or a vacation. Well, it’s not like I’m really training or anything, but I have been running a lot lately, and now I’m not. I’ve been derailed by a cold. That sounds lame, so let me elaborate. I will typically run through head congestion, in fact I PR’d at the Carlsbad Half Marathon once with a head cold. But this current cold is a lot more than head congestion. It’s in my chest. Deep in my chest. Breathing hurts a lot of the time, so running is out of the question. It started about a week ago, and I am long over the flu like headache and the body aches and the chills, but the congestion persists.

So, when I am finally able to run again, whenever that may be, I will be starting from square one again. At least it’s not in the middle of a training plan, though, because that can be really disappointing.

But to make matters really bad, I’m sick in the middle of a holiday. You may be thinking something like, “well, your whole life is a holiday now…,” which reminds me that I need to write a post about how cruising is not always a holiday, but in the mean time just think about this as a holiday from my normal holiday. We left Exodus at a marina in Opua and we are on a road trip to see the rest of New Zealand. And I’m sick. And not just me. My husband and my youngest son are also sick, and we are seriously slowing down what should be this marvelously epic road trip. Our plan has been to tent camp, but feeling as bad as we all did when we pulled into the Great Lake Holiday Park in Taupo we rented a “deluxe cabin” instead. We have beds, a half bath, a small fridge, a small table with four chairs, and a TV. We decided to stay until we feel well enough to press on and we are going on our third day here while barely even leaving the cabin.

Perhaps I need to return to the thought that, “cruising is not always a holiday.” When I wrote that, I was thinking of it in a negative way. Don’t get me wrong, cruising is a fantastic lifestyle, but it’s still life, and therefore by definition cannot always be a holiday. And while it’s a true sentiment that there are a lot of normal, mundane, life type things about cruising which make it different from a holiday, I have just touched on one very real positive aspect that make it better than the typical holiday. Flexibility. Our cruising lifestyle affords us flexibility. If this had happened during our 10 day vacation in Hawaii or our 7 day vacation in Grand Cayman, for example, it would have been extremely disappointing. In contrast, our current road trip has no set end date. We are thinking it will be about four weeks, but if it ends up being 4 weeks and four days because we got sick and had to pause for awhile, it is mostly inconsequential.

When I get around to writing that post about how cruising is not always a holiday, I will need to remember to make it comprehensive and include positives as well. Right now, we are sick in Taupo, but as soon as we are ready, the “Exodus Road Trip New Zealand 2015” adventure will continue. And I’m sure it will still be epic.

Originally posted on February 14, 2015, by cruisingrunner

Two days before my 43rd birthday, we went to the Adrenalin Forest en route from Tauranga to Rotorua. It’s basically a ropes course with six progressively more challenging levels. The first course is about 3 meters high at most, and the sixth course gets you way up into the trees at over 15 meters high. Luckily, none of us has any issues with heights. You complete as many levels as you can in the three-hour time limit, and you can stop at any time if you feel you’ve been significantly challenged. Of course, if you stop in the middle of a course and need to be “rescued” then you are done for the day and, as far as I’m concerned, have a huge shame to live with. Early in the course, the thought of having to be rescued never entered my mind, but in the middle of the fifth level it was the sheer desire to NOT have to be rescued that got me through a few of the harder challenges. But I’ve jumped ahead.

Brenden, my youngest son (12 yrs), was excited to try it, and luckily he just squeaked above the 1.45 meter height requirement to be able to attempt all six levels. Alex (13 yrs) was obviously plenty tall enough but wasn’t too sure he wanted to do it. We insisted. Tim and I were just happy to be doing something active and fun with the boys that wasn’t a hike, because they’ve gotten quite sick of hikes, which makes hikes not too fun for the rest of us either.

The first three levels were a breeze, and I popped off to the boys about how we were for sure going to be able to do all six levels in the time limit, no problem. We were having so much fun. Then came the forth level.

I knew I was in trouble when my biceps were spent after just getting up the ladder to the first platform. It was a chain link ladder, so particularly stable. Climbing it on it’s own wouldn’t have been a problem, but climbing it while clipping and unclipping the carabiners while hanging on the whole time was definitely a problem. I had to stop and collect myself at the first platform, but then I pressed on. There were two or three challenges on that forth level that I thought were hard. In particular, there was a “Tarzan Swing” where you had to swing on ropes between platforms that they themselves were hanging by ropes. There was also one where you had to step through stirrups hanging by ropes. It wasn’t just fun anymore, it was a challenge. But that’s what it’s supposed to be, right? The boys all ran ahead right away to start the fifth level, but I took some time, ate a sandwich, and rested my tired biceps and shoulders.

When I was ready for the fifth level, I ended up behind a couple of teenage girls, and they were worried I would want to pass them and offered for me to go ahead. That’s right. In my forties, but still look like I kick ass. I laughed and told them not to worry about me, I’m not in any hurry. They are locals and live nearby, so they’ve been here before, but this was their first time trying the fifth level. I told them we were in it together then. The fifth level wasn’t really much harder than the fourth, but I barely made it through it. There was a challenge where you had to climb across four vertical hanging nets, and I had trouble hanging on so I would wrap my arms around the cable meant for clipping on in order to rest. I have bruises on the insides of my upper arms as evidence. The boys were already on the sixth level as I was struggling through the fifth, and Brenden called to me about how hard it is. Meanwhile I was pep talking myself through the fifth level. It reminded me of the final miles of a grueling half marathon that I wasn’t very prepared for. I am strong. I can do this. I knew this would be my last level.

The boys finished the sixth level, and they had that sense of accomplishment I felt after finishing the fifth, so I knew it must have been hard. I told them that when considering the differences in our upper body strength to weight ratios, my fifth level was the same as their sixth level so really we did the same thing. They weren’t buying it.

I run a lot right? Those muscles are used to being worked, and even when I take a break for awhile I’m rarely very sore afterwards. This took muscle soreness to a whole new level for me. Every tiny muscle in my upper body hurt for DAYS afterwards. Feeling sore in your forties is not like feeling sore in your twenties. In your twenties it feels invigorating and healthy. In your forties you just want to down the ibuprofen.

I felt my age. But it felt good, because I did it. The mom of those teenage girls I mentioned, who couldn’t have been much older than me and looked in decent shape, was merely a bystander. I did it, and the boys loved it that I did it. They loved it that they completed one more level than me, to be sure, but they loved that I did it. I felt my age, but it really did feel good.

Originally posted on February 7, 2015, by cruisingrunner

I love competition, and that love has always partly manifested itself in a love for sport. Seriously, I used to be a huge sports fan. Especially baseball (Go Dodgers!) but also American football and, more recently, ice hockey. Inevitably, though, my interest started waning in the months after leaving home, mostly because of lack of access. Life without TV and internet makes it hard even to follow standings let alone watch any games. So, I moved on. My interests shifted to other things out of necessity.

Last year we watched the NFC Championship when we were in Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico, mostly because we had family in town and their team was in the game. But we skipped the Superbowl without even thinking about it. And then we watched some of the Stanley Cup finals in Moorea, mostly because The Kings were in it and Andrew, our older son, was visiting. That’s about the extent of our sports viewing in the two years since we left home. Until last Monday. Superbowl Monday. Since we are in New Zealand and on the other side of the date line, the Superbowl was on a Monday. And clearly there wasn’t all the hype here like there would be at home, but there was a tavern that would be showing the game, and a few of our American friends were planning to go. When I heard about it, I was disinterested. “Who’s even in the game?” I had to ask. Maybe I would drop Tim off if he wanted to go, but I couldn’t see wasting a whole afternoon on something I was totally unplugged from now.

But on the day of the game, we were in Paihia taking passport photos to send to immigration to extend our visitor visas. The tavern was on the way back, and it was lunch time after all, so we figured we’d stop and eat, watch a little of the game, socialize with all of the Americans, and then bail. That’s not how it happened.

I LOVED watching the game. I didn’t care who won, but it was a great contest with lots of momentum shifts and spectacular plays. I couldn’t pull myself away. It was so much fun. We stayed for the whole game.

Afterwards I started thinking about how I had never realized how much I missed watching sports. Yes, my interests shifted out of necessity, but I never felt any inkling of regret. In fact, I never really even acknowledged to anyone, including myself, that there was something I had given up. It was like the interest just naturally slipped away. And this phenomenon applied to more than just sports. Which is a good thing, because if I had dwelt on everything I was giving up when we left home, I would probably have missed out on everything we were gaining.