March 15th, 2012
Another otherworldly morning poolside. Phoenix appears to be in a heat wave. I'm riding it. Toasting both sides on a lounge chair. A good-looking pool boy drops by near lunch time. He delivers taco chips, fresh salsa and water. He looks vaguely familiar. In fact, I think he is the same pool boy that has been following me around for the last 30 years. I think I will take him home with me.
Bootcamp begins in the mid-afternoon. I really want a nap. No chance. We head for the Papago Park in search of The Hole in the Rock in the red rock buttes. The kids hike up. We climb through the holes. This is like a walk in Stanley Park. It will not do. We head to another section of the park for "easy" mountain biking. A least, the pool-boy husband says it will be easy. Ha, he's not riding it! If it is mountain biking with my 16 year old as a guide, we are in trouble. We lose the trail and the oldest son conveniently takes me off-trail, up and down steep embankments. This was not the "easy" trail we planned on. My 8 year old is plum tuckered out. The temperature is 29 degrees. He's pushing his mountain bike repeatedly up washes. I'm pushing mine, too. We finally get back on the right trail and my oldest apologizes. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm really sorry." "That's okay, hon'," I reply, "we all get lost." I can see right behind his eyes and know he feels bad. We finally make it back to the van 45 minutes later. The 8 year old is as red as the rocks and he is done. Now, however, it is time to do the loop
again. Yes,
again. We have been trading bikes. Only three of us can go at a time. It is the 13 year old's turn to join his mom. I offer the bike to my pool-boy husband but he declines. "No, honey, he wants to ride with you." This is true. He has waited for his turn with mom. This time we ride the trail in reverse so we don't get lost. We finish in 15 minutes. It is hot but not gruelling like the first time.
Before we leave, we drive to the Desert Botanical Gardens to walk among the cacti in the fading light. I change out of my short shorts into respectable shorts but I'm still covered in red dust, sweaty and have helmet hair. My 16 year old says, "Mom, fifty percent of the people here are dressed better than you. They don't look so shabby." This is good. He takes me off trail in the Phoenix heat wave and now compliments me on my attire. Son #2 says, "That's not nice." "Hold it," says my beloved pool-boy. "Look around you. He's telling the truth." I love my family but I may not take my pool-boy husband home with me after all. And to punish my 16 year old, I make him do weights with me in the evening. If this is bootcamp, I'm making the minutes count. Serves him right.
