FREE FALLING...or maybe not

I just returned from seven days in a world different from my usual life. In that world, I lost track of time and days as I laughed and loved with my family on vacation.  I needed to see my family and catch up on some lost time. And we did just that. We told stories and created a lot more family stories that will be told and most likely embellished in future family gatherings.  

We headed further south to Orange Beach, Alabama this past Friday.  For six days, the condo doors greeted a total of 16 people. Some stayed longer than others but all of us shared the common bond of being lost in laughter and fun.  We danced and cooked. We ate and drank...then drank a little bit more, especially the day of our para sailing adventure.

Floating around in the bay known as Old River on the second afternoon, Andrew, Ed and I decided we were going para sailing. We greeted my cousin Jimmy later that day with the information that he would be going with us.  The three of us were excited. Jimmy, however, asked for adult diapers or possibly some anti-anxiety meds.  Yet as the day got closer, Jimmy got braver and I got a little more worried. Andrew only made my fears worse as he talked about how you could see for miles because you were at least 100 feet in the air.  He would happily make this whoosh sound and quickly push his hand up to indicate how fast you were propelled up.The mental visual of a piece of fabric jerking me up 100 feet in mere seconds made me just a tad bit more worried.  Maybe I should go with Jimmy for the diaper fitting I thought. 

I tried to console myself by asking what I always thought, "You get a signal to give to the boat if you want to come down right?" 

"Nope, " my cousin Andrew said smiling. He was enjoying picking on my fear and my animated personality only encouraged him more. 

What I didn't tell anyone, although probably evident in my face, was that I was wondering if a perfectly healthy 32-year-old belle could have a heart attack and die from panic.  A ridiculous worry, I know,  but all of a sudden this activity wasn't sounding so good. Sitting on the beach with a cold, fruity drink melting in my hand sounded a lot better. After all, hadn't I come down to relax and be lazy? Unfortunately, I had talked the big, tough talk with the guys so if they weren't backing out then I wasn't either.

The para sailing adventure day arrived. We were doing our morning routine of sitting outside drinking coffee watching the beach and the occasional porpoise sighting when we saw the first para sailor take flight.  I was so grateful to witness one before I whooshed myself up into the sky.  I was relieved to see the ascension into the air was not too fast. No whooshing sound heard.  However, she was wildly kicking her legs as the parachute lifted her up.  At the distance that I watched from, I couldn't tell if her wild flailing was out of fear or if she was just doing her morning bicycle exercises. Either way, the jerky body movement wasn't terribly comforting.

Watching her, Andrew confirmed he was just joking about being catapulted into the sky...sort of.  Ed comforted me by telling me it wasn't really 100 feet.  I chose to believe my sweet boyfriend even though he had never been para sailing himself. Andrew, who had been before, compared the height to a six story building.  I thought I can do that - I have been on the sixth floor of a building before.

"Well maybe more like a 7 story building or possibly an 8....", Andrew who just didn't want to give up the fun torture kept adding more every chance he got.  An hour later we were up to a potential height of at least 9 stories. 

Ignoring my fear, I made my mind up to go so I started the necessary para sailing preparations which included the mandatory mimosa. A mimosa by the pool can ease anxiety and cure a lot of ailments. However, the mimosas didn't work as quickly as I needed.  Therefore as the time got closer, I begin to relish the potential last moments with my family as the reality of what I was about to do hit.  Maybe I am being a little dramatic but you need to understand my level of fear!

Did you know that you can see sharks and all kinds of sea creatures from the air?  Sounds cool. But what if, just what if, that little rope snaps and you go diving into that pretty blue ocean to join your new shark friends?  Not so cool. Oh and yes that little rope can break because Andrew's favorite para sailing story revolves around the rope breaking. Ten years ago the rope snapped causing the para sailor to take off on the not-so-joy ride of his life. Or at least on a ride across the highway into a condominium building. Thankfully the free sailor lived but I didn't want to find out if I had the same level of maneuvering skills if  my rope snapped.  However, Andrew assured me every time he told the story that it was perfectly safe. Nothing bad ever happens...except that one time. Oh...but you do have to sign a release.

Sharks, breaking ropes, panic attacks, unattractive adult diapers....I was trying to remember why I had ever wanted to do this para sailing thing.  I am not an adrenaline seeker. I have no desire to go sky diving. I like how my boyfriend puts it, "Why jump out of a perfectly good airplane?"  I don't like roller coasters and I would never entertain the idea of jumping off a cliff tied to a rubber band that would hopefully snap me back up in the very last second.  But para sailing above water had always seemed safe and fun.   I thought it would be like water tubing but in the air.  All my nice thoughts were fine in my head until I actually faced the flying activity. 

One o'clock approached signaling one hour until take off and bravery kicked in....or maybe it was just the mimosas finally working.  I decided that I would just do it and I was going to love it.  So I was ready and completely psyched about it.  We piled into the car and drove to the Flora Bama to take off but not before the necessary pre-flight "milkshake." The people around this area call their milkshakes Bushwhackers for some reason. We had one of the local milkshakes and by the time we walked out on the beach, I was ready to go.  We had several of our new found Flora Bama friends standing along the walk cheering us on and building the excitement.  I felt like an astronaut walking to the ship for our mission.  All four of us walking down the walk in a slow, stoic pace as our supporters cheered us on. Well maybe they were just a bunch of drunks yelling but if you listened just right it sounded like an adoring crowd. Then we reached the end of the walk as the cheers faded in the background and approached the para sailing window to find it.....closed.

What??? All that worry and excitement and fear and cheering and they were closed?!?!  I had spent all day gearing up for my amazing trip that would result in an equally amazing story that would be embellished over the next ten years and they were closed?!?!  We found the guy that worked there but all he could do that day was rent us jet skis. They only offered para sailing a few days of the week due to slow business. The business down the street was closed that day because the water conditions were not ideal.  So para sailing was not an option.

We rented the jet skis and had a great time but all were disappointed about missing out on the para sailing adventure.  I am ready to go for next time which could be as soon as August.  Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), I did find out the real details from the guy renting us the jet skis.  The facts include that they don't send you up 100 feet. They actually send you up more like 400 feet.  Far scarier! But  you don't have to endure fear of death from a panic attack very long.  I originally was told that you stay up about 30 minutes but you really only stay up 8 minutes.  I can deal with anything 8 minutes. To make me feel even better, I read somewhere that the age minimum is five. Surely if they will send a five-year-old up in the air, I can handle it. Guess I will get to find out in August because I will be ready...just let me have one of those local milkshakes first...


                                                       THE PARA-SAILING CREW


Andrew, Experienced Para-Sailor



Ed, My Co-Captain and My Love

Jimmy, Fellow Para-Worrier

Me

Beach Bound!

Shortly after my first winter-complaining post, my sweet and thoughtful boyfriend gave me a silver necklace with a tiny silver flip flop pendant hanging on it.  He told me it was to remind me that summer would again return and to cheer me up until it did.  My little necklace did make me smile a lot.  Then another set of winter blues set in causing me to write yet another blog about my summer dreaming.  Boyfriend then reminded me I had already wrote one blog on that topic....I guess I was really suffering from snow suffocation by that point.  This morning I was thinking about what I should blog on this week when I came up with the perfect idea - I could write about all the fun things I plan on doing this summer!  Half way through mentally writing the blog in my head, I thought something seemed familiar. Then I remembered that I had already blogged on the summer topic and my plans for summer twice before.  Either I am getting very absent minded lately or I am really, really excited about summer.

I love all four seasons but this particular winter seemed to last longer than ever with our last 37 degree morning just being this past Monday. I have never in my life witnessed 30 something degrees on May 16th. I just don't know how our Yankee cousins do it. Maybe that is why there is such a thing as Southern Hospitality - it is a lot easier to be friendly to all kinds of strangers when you aren't FREEZING! Northerners aren't unfriendly at all - they are just COLD!

I say all this to say I am BEACH BOUND tomorrow which means summer is officially getting kicked off. My plan?  To play summer up for all it's worth so that when the seasons start to change in a few months, I will be ready to embrace colder temps all over again.  Until then, I will spare you any more blogs on my summer plans because now summer is here and the plans are in action!  I will see you wherever there is water y'all!

Trauma in the Tanning Salon

*I wrote this blog a couple of years ago during my attempted spray tan during spring break.  I decided to cross post the blog here after several requests.  Since my experience, I have yet to attempt the spray tan death chamber again.

I had wanted to get a professional spray tan ever since I heard the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders only use the fake stuff. Then every season of Dancing with the Stars, the host always jokes about the gallons of spray tan they go through for the show. Satisfied with the dark healthy tan that this “tan in a can” provided for these people, I decided I wanted to get one too!

This morning I excitedly drove myself over to the tanning salon that had been recommended as the best place in town to get a spray tan. As I drove, I mentally went through my wardrobe trying to decide which outfit would expose enough skin to show my new dark look. My excitement somewhat faded into intimidation as I entered the tanning salon because I was afraid my ivory skin would be super pale in comparison to all the dark women who inhabit the place. Okay, I admit to call my skin ivory at the moment is really flattering myself, my skin is actually a version of pale known as “just got out of the hospital pasty.” I wonder if that comes in a wall paint color? Good name for a color, huh?

I was relieved when I walked in and saw the girl standing in front of me in line was whiter than me! Her skin came from the color variety “just got out of the hospital after being in ICU pasty.” I don’t think that paint color is available in most major retail stores yet. As I stood in line, I looked at all the girls running in and out of the tanning booths and realized this was kind of fun (can you tell I am such a tanning salon first timer???). All of the girls did not look over tanned and most look like they were approaching the tanning process in a healthy manner. I have been against cancer coffin tanning in the past because I wanted to protect my skin from wrinkles and cancer but maybe, I thought to myself, a few times would not hurt. I told myself I need to lighten up and not worry so much - these girls weren’t worried.

I had almost decided to start tanning beyond the self-tanner when in to the salon comes two walking advertisements on why NOT to tan! As they walked behind the counter, I realized the man and woman were the owners. The woman had wrinkles deep enough to hide small children in them and she wore a sun visor. Which why was she even bothering to wear a sun visor now? It was obviously too late to worry about sun exposure! The man (I assume to be her husband) also had a deep, dark tan as well as scars where skin cancer had been cut off. I realized by the way this over tanned couple acted that they had to be in their 50s but had the skin of really wrinkled 90-year-olds. I panicked for them - if they have still 40 more years to go before 90, how bad is their skin going to get???

Really the appearance of them was not good for their business. They really should hide in the back room to avoid scaring customers. I mean it is the equivalent of a cigarette ad having models with oxygen tanks instead of beautiful people partying on the beach.

After I signed a liability release form for real tanning not spray, (I guess I had to have one on file if I ever wanted to lie in the wrinkle box) the attendant walked me down the hall. She explained how to stand with my arms like a hanging scarecrow and legs spread apart like a starfish. She gave me a shower cap and told me to slather my hands and feet with white heavy cream. Before she left, she explained that the jets would spray me left to right on the front then I would turn around and they would do my back. Simple enough, right?

She left and I slathered my hands and feet in white cream as I tried to not think about how many girls had used the same tub of white cream before me. I hope they were all clean! I open the door to the shower type stall and get slightly nervous. The stall is black and has air holes at the top which makes me feel claustrophobic. Friends have told me to close my eyes and hold my breath. I knew to expect a cold mist that would last a few seconds. I noticed I was too short for the top jet to do my face. Oh well.

I locate the glowing green on button and position myself for the spray as I had been instructed. I closed my eyes and took a breath then pushed the green button. Nothing happened. I cautiously opened my eyes and looked at the button - still glowing. I position myself and pushed the button again. Nothing. “Great,” I thought, “I am not going to get my ultra dark tan today - the machine is broken!” Well my desire for my dark exotic look gave me an extra surge of determination and I started jamming away at that annoying green button. I tried to turn it, I held it down, and I poked excessively at it all while totally forgetting to keep myself position like a demented scarecrow. Then I heard a low roar start so I hurry to my position, close my eyes, and hold my breath.

The spray came on with a freezing blast that made me lose my breath and forget to keep my mouth shut. I then opened my eyes to see what was going on. BIG MISTAKE! Brown thick looking gas was filling my little stall now looking more like a gas chamber because it was taking all of my air! What about those air holes??? I started to panic and by then I was running around that little stall trying to find a place to breathe. Yeah instead of looking like a scare crow I am sure I looked like a frighten baby bird because I kept flapping my arms around as I ran around that stall trying to keep the tanning mist down so I could breathe.

Finally, I needed air so I grabbed the stall door open and gasped for air but nooooo - the mist had started to fill the room! The machine stopped which was my signal to turn if I had been standing as originally instructed. I braved up and closed the door trying to salvage half of this tanning experience. I started with my back to the jets and planned on turning around once I got use to it. The jets started again and that brown mist filled my gas chamber again. I couldn’t hold my breath long enough so I opened the door again and stuck my head out for air but only got a mouthful of tanning solution. The tanning spray stopped and I realized my back had been thoroughly sprayed but my front side was almost perfectly dry - uh oh.

Uh oh was right - I stepped out of the stall to face a mirror where I was still pale on the front but now had very dark brown liquid dripping down my back. Underneath the drips I could see a pretty brown color but it did not compliment my pale front side. I did not want to be multicolored! So I grabbed a towel and immediately started rubbing away (what not to do). Then put on my clothes and ran out of the salon to my car without looking at anyone. I had to get home and shower (again what not to do) to get a normal color again. As I was driving home, I noticed a nice brown color on my arm in the form of a splotch. Great, I first went through the torture chamber and now I look like I have some strange skin disease with brown splotches.

I got home and exfoliated a great deal - now I am pale with irritated skin but good news - not splotchy! If I have scared you about the traumas of spray tanning then you shouldn’t be going anyway. Spray tanning is not for those who like to breathe! I am sticking to the bottle from now on or maybe buy one of those airbrush things. Really though why can’t pale just be in?