It is six p.m., and approximately 98 degrees outside, which is quite possibly why there was availability at the spa.
This is not a spa in the sense of “Get a Massage at the Four Seasons.” This is Miraval: a Premium Soy Nut Munchin’, Endless Water Drinkin', Mindfulness Speakin’, No Cellphone Ringin’, Sunrise Hikin’, Arizona Fat Camp for Moms. A spa which, coincidentally, also employs a remarkable work force which redefines one’s concept of Arizona as Where Old White People Must Go To Die (but first, I suppose, also get a job at a spa.)
By lunchtime today, BetaMom and BetaBFF had hiked for two hours through “The Wash,” taken an hour of Yogalates, trained on the Elliptical Machine, and lifted weights -- all before consuming a small grilled vegetable plate (60 calories per serving) and a sad little bowl of vegetable chili (120 calories per half cup.) When nobody was looking, BetaMom also snuck two decaf lattes and two of the teeniest cookies ever produced by seventy-year-old hands. She also spied a plate of brownies two more clever Betas had hidden at their table, but by then it was too late to make a move without attracting attention. And all this in a restaurant that names dishes by their side vegetable first – as in “Two Buns With Lettuce and Tomato,” which would be followed by, in very small print, “Accompanied by Meat Patty.” A restaurant, not coincidentally, entirely full of women. Yes, we are enjoying what can only be called Mess Hall at the Fat Camp!
After lunch, BetaMom was counseled about children’s nutrition (including Being Mindful of All Body Types, and Remembering to Put One’s Fork Down Between Bites) along with BetaBFF and two Ana Alphas from the East Coast. BetaMom tried not to shock them by revealing that Betakids eat in the car three nights a week (does that count as Family Dinner? Will the BetaKids still be statistically less likely to Smoke and Drink in high school?) and that the weekend is usually Chinese and Pizza. Before rounding out the afternoon with a dip in the pool and oh yes, Mindfully Opening Her Heart during the Evening Stretch, BetaMom snuck into the zen rock garden and talked on her cellphone. When the tallest rock formation collapsed, she may or may not have made her getaway…but not before attracting some not very zen stinkeye from Yoga Pants and her YogaGalPal.
Sitting in the room, waiting for a massage, BetaMom has to admit she is practicing mindfulness, as opposed to her usual mindlessness. She is mindful that she has enjoyed two days with nobody pooping in their underwear. Two days with no driving on either the 405 or the 10. Two days with food, however small or limp, handed to her on a clean plate. No children are pinching the rolls on the sagging Betabody (really, let’s be honest, Gammabody) and calling it “Pizza Dough.” And she is keenly mindful of the fact that she went to bed at nine in the evening without even half a Lunesta.
Thank you, Old People of Arizona. Your hands may be gnarled and arthritic, and the seaweed mask may have smelled like dog poo, but hot rocks are hot rocks and oh yes, we are Mindful of the Facial all the same.
Alpha Thanks,
BetaMom
