defining moment in people’s lives that makes them decide to change their habits and routines and get fit. A health scare, a class reunion, a particularly unflattering picture—any of these things might do the trick. I was sick and tired of being overweight, but I had only ever made half-hearted attempts to change my sedentary, foodie ways. It wasn’t until I was on a white-water rafting trip in South America that I had the realization that gave me the motivation I needed to start the process of getting in shape.
A RIVER-RAFTING WAKE-UP CALL
It was in July 2002, and we were at the end of another gorgeous day on the mighty Cotahuasi River in central Peru. Mark, our fearless guide, was steering our raft. I was part of a group of fun-loving fellow adventure travelers, including a bunch of triathletes from northern California, a father–daughter pair, a river-loving husband-and-wife team, and Cea Higgins, a super-cool surfer and mother of two who became my rafting partner for the trip. I had come on this trip on my own searching for a little adventure and to get away from the relentless grind of science. We were all whizzing down the class-five river in the deepest canyon in the world surrounded by steep cliffs full of craggy gray rock formations. This trip was the latest in a series of adventure travel vacations that I had taken over the past few years, including a kayaking trip in Crete and another river-rafting trip down the Zambezi River in Zimbabwe the year before. I might have been living the life of a cloistered lab rat in New York City, but I made a point once a year to indulge the world traveler in me and let my hair down as far away from the hustle and bustle of New York City as I could. For me, white-water river rafting or kayaking in exotic places did the trick.
Even before we got on the river, this Peruvian adventure started with a six-hour bus trip from the airport at Arequipa, Peru, to the tiny town where we stayed overnight in a very rustic hotel before what was described to us as a “brutal” ten-hour hike on the actual Inca trail to where our boats were moored on the Cotahuasi River. I will never forget the ice-cold shower (adventure travel vacations don’t always come with hot water it seems) I took the morning before we all set out, mules in tow, on the hike. It was a bright and glorious day, and with our constant chitchatting as we got to know each other, even the long hike was over before we knew it. We were all tired by the end but were happy to have found our way to our floating caravan of rafts securely tied to the bank of the river. I remember thinking that the way those rafts were bouncing up and down on the water, it looked as if they were as eager as we were to finally explore the river.
Each evening after a long day of rafting, our guides chose a campsite somewhere on the banks of the river. Each night in camp, our first job was to get all the camping equipment and all our personal bags up from the supply rafts to the campsite. To do this, we formed a human “fire line” and handed each bag or piece of equipment from one person to the next until it reached camp. Our fire line sometimes went up a steep incline from the river’s edge.
It was that first night, standing somewhere in the middle of the line, that I received my personal, undisputed, loud and clear fitness wake-up call. Why? Because that night in the fire line was when I appreciated how truly pitiful my upper body strength was. At that time, I had several years of regular yoga under my belt that had shifted my totally inflexible body into a somewhat less inflexible body, but I had done virtually no strength or aerobic training and it showed. I now found myself the weakest link in our human chain. Not only was the sixteen-year-old girl there with her father much stronger than I was but there were sixty-five-plus-year-olds who blew me out of the water in terms of strength. Of course, my fellow river rafters never let the large
A RIVER-RAFTING WAKE-UP CALL
It was in July 2002, and we were at the end of another gorgeous day on the mighty Cotahuasi River in central Peru. Mark, our fearless guide, was steering our raft. I was part of a group of fun-loving fellow adventure travelers, including a bunch of triathletes from northern California, a father–daughter pair, a river-loving husband-and-wife team, and Cea Higgins, a super-cool surfer and mother of two who became my rafting partner for the trip. I had come on this trip on my own searching for a little adventure and to get away from the relentless grind of science. We were all whizzing down the class-five river in the deepest canyon in the world surrounded by steep cliffs full of craggy gray rock formations. This trip was the latest in a series of adventure travel vacations that I had taken over the past few years, including a kayaking trip in Crete and another river-rafting trip down the Zambezi River in Zimbabwe the year before. I might have been living the life of a cloistered lab rat in New York City, but I made a point once a year to indulge the world traveler in me and let my hair down as far away from the hustle and bustle of New York City as I could. For me, white-water river rafting or kayaking in exotic places did the trick.
Even before we got on the river, this Peruvian adventure started with a six-hour bus trip from the airport at Arequipa, Peru, to the tiny town where we stayed overnight in a very rustic hotel before what was described to us as a “brutal” ten-hour hike on the actual Inca trail to where our boats were moored on the Cotahuasi River. I will never forget the ice-cold shower (adventure travel vacations don’t always come with hot water it seems) I took the morning before we all set out, mules in tow, on the hike. It was a bright and glorious day, and with our constant chitchatting as we got to know each other, even the long hike was over before we knew it. We were all tired by the end but were happy to have found our way to our floating caravan of rafts securely tied to the bank of the river. I remember thinking that the way those rafts were bouncing up and down on the water, it looked as if they were as eager as we were to finally explore the river.
Each evening after a long day of rafting, our guides chose a campsite somewhere on the banks of the river. Each night in camp, our first job was to get all the camping equipment and all our personal bags up from the supply rafts to the campsite. To do this, we formed a human “fire line” and handed each bag or piece of equipment from one person to the next until it reached camp. Our fire line sometimes went up a steep incline from the river’s edge.
It was that first night, standing somewhere in the middle of the line, that I received my personal, undisputed, loud and clear fitness wake-up call. Why? Because that night in the fire line was when I appreciated how truly pitiful my upper body strength was. At that time, I had several years of regular yoga under my belt that had shifted my totally inflexible body into a somewhat less inflexible body, but I had done virtually no strength or aerobic training and it showed. I now found myself the weakest link in our human chain. Not only was the sixteen-year-old girl there with her father much stronger than I was but there were sixty-five-plus-year-olds who blew me out of the water in terms of strength. Of course, my fellow river rafters never let the large
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