Editor's note: Jill Pertler is on vacation. The following is a classic column from her archives.
I've been moving slowly during the last few days. My steps are labored, my movements deliberate. My muscles ache in places I never knew muscles existed. I am bruised. I am sore. I am on vacation.
Lots of people think vacations are supposed to be relaxing. Actually, the term relaxing vacation is often an oxymoron because when you are shelling out big bucks at a resort or amusement park to make sure you and your family have a good time, you want to get your money's worth.
So what do you do? You overdo. You work muscles not in use since you tried out for the gymnastics team back in eighth grade. And then, your body pays for your indulgence and you ache.
For me, this journey started on a Jet Ski.
I know what you're thinking. Jet Ski? What's so rigorous about a Jet Ski?
You're right. A simple ride on a Jet Ski might not be a full-body workout for most people. But those people are not thrill-seekingly challenged, like me.
In my house, living a safe life is not easy, because I am surrounded by people who qualify as genetically predisposed thrill-seekers: My family.
When my family visits an amusement park, just about everyone makes a beeline to rides with names like Tower of Terror or Rockin' Roller Coaster, while my 6-year-old and I head over to a milder option called Pooh's Great Adventure. As my husband and the big kids freefall 13 stories or go from zero to 60 in three seconds flat, I travel through the Hundred Acre Wood in a little honey pot listening to happy music.
Some people find things like whiplash exciting. I prefer a calmer approach. So, when my friend offered me a ride on her Jet Ski, no one was more surprised than me to hear my answer - "Yes."
Actually, I thought it would be one of those things I could cross off my life's to-do list. You know, like some people want to climb Mount Everest or ride a gondola in Venice before they die. Now I could say I rode a Jet Ski. In some strange way, I thought it would serve as vindication, making me seem like less of a thrill-seeking wimp.
My friend promised a slow, safe, risk-free ride. It would be as easy as falling out of bed, except I hoped there wouldn't be any falling involved.
I climbed on and held on - for dear life. She started out across the lake and did her best to avoid any waves or turbulence, but I soon realized that was practically impossible. The itsy, bitsy, teeny, tiny little watercraft bounced and jostled with every movement of the water beneath us. I thought we were dead for sure, or at least at risk of getting seriously wet. I held onto the Jet Ski handles like they'd never been held before, closed my eyes and waited for the end - of the ride or my life, whichever came first.
Our little excursion lasted forever, or at least the better part of 10 minutes. As we were heading for the shore, she turned and asked, "Want to go around once more?"
I could only manage to squeak out a one-word answer, "Done."
Once we stopped, I had to consciously will myself to let go of the handles. They'd been stretched and mangled beyond their original shape, and even though they were made of rubber, it was unlikely that they'd ever spring back.
The same could be said of about 90 percent of the muscles in my body. They'd been flexed and tightened to capacity throughout the duration of the ride, although I really wouldn't know - or feel - it until about 24 hours later.
Which brings me to the here and now. I limp down to the beach, trying not to wince - at least not so anyone can see. For the moment, I am one of the Jet Skiing crowd. I've become a thrill-seeker, someone who lives life on the wild side. When you are vacationing on a lake, there's a certain amount of status with that. Today, I walk with my head held high, and an air of caution-be-damned in my pain-laden hobble.
For me this will go down as the summer I survived the Jet Ski. Been there. Done that. So glad it's over.
- Jill Pertler's column appears Thursdays in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
I've been moving slowly during the last few days. My steps are labored, my movements deliberate. My muscles ache in places I never knew muscles existed. I am bruised. I am sore. I am on vacation.
Lots of people think vacations are supposed to be relaxing. Actually, the term relaxing vacation is often an oxymoron because when you are shelling out big bucks at a resort or amusement park to make sure you and your family have a good time, you want to get your money's worth.
So what do you do? You overdo. You work muscles not in use since you tried out for the gymnastics team back in eighth grade. And then, your body pays for your indulgence and you ache.
For me, this journey started on a Jet Ski.
I know what you're thinking. Jet Ski? What's so rigorous about a Jet Ski?
You're right. A simple ride on a Jet Ski might not be a full-body workout for most people. But those people are not thrill-seekingly challenged, like me.
In my house, living a safe life is not easy, because I am surrounded by people who qualify as genetically predisposed thrill-seekers: My family.
When my family visits an amusement park, just about everyone makes a beeline to rides with names like Tower of Terror or Rockin' Roller Coaster, while my 6-year-old and I head over to a milder option called Pooh's Great Adventure. As my husband and the big kids freefall 13 stories or go from zero to 60 in three seconds flat, I travel through the Hundred Acre Wood in a little honey pot listening to happy music.
Some people find things like whiplash exciting. I prefer a calmer approach. So, when my friend offered me a ride on her Jet Ski, no one was more surprised than me to hear my answer - "Yes."
Actually, I thought it would be one of those things I could cross off my life's to-do list. You know, like some people want to climb Mount Everest or ride a gondola in Venice before they die. Now I could say I rode a Jet Ski. In some strange way, I thought it would serve as vindication, making me seem like less of a thrill-seeking wimp.
My friend promised a slow, safe, risk-free ride. It would be as easy as falling out of bed, except I hoped there wouldn't be any falling involved.
I climbed on and held on - for dear life. She started out across the lake and did her best to avoid any waves or turbulence, but I soon realized that was practically impossible. The itsy, bitsy, teeny, tiny little watercraft bounced and jostled with every movement of the water beneath us. I thought we were dead for sure, or at least at risk of getting seriously wet. I held onto the Jet Ski handles like they'd never been held before, closed my eyes and waited for the end - of the ride or my life, whichever came first.
Our little excursion lasted forever, or at least the better part of 10 minutes. As we were heading for the shore, she turned and asked, "Want to go around once more?"
I could only manage to squeak out a one-word answer, "Done."
Once we stopped, I had to consciously will myself to let go of the handles. They'd been stretched and mangled beyond their original shape, and even though they were made of rubber, it was unlikely that they'd ever spring back.
The same could be said of about 90 percent of the muscles in my body. They'd been flexed and tightened to capacity throughout the duration of the ride, although I really wouldn't know - or feel - it until about 24 hours later.
Which brings me to the here and now. I limp down to the beach, trying not to wince - at least not so anyone can see. For the moment, I am one of the Jet Skiing crowd. I've become a thrill-seeker, someone who lives life on the wild side. When you are vacationing on a lake, there's a certain amount of status with that. Today, I walk with my head held high, and an air of caution-be-damned in my pain-laden hobble.
For me this will go down as the summer I survived the Jet Ski. Been there. Done that. So glad it's over.
- Jill Pertler's column appears Thursdays in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
