Costa Rica -- or, 0.01KPH, sloth crossing.
Nov. 5th, 2024 05:01 pmI'm managing to do it. I brought a Chromebook along, and so I'm posting from Costa Rica the way I wanted to last year. I can, right now, hear howler monkeys,and see at least 3 kinds of flowers and an uncountable number of showoffy plants. That tree over there -- surely it's 6 feet in diameter by itself, but then add on two or three more because it has a profusion of other plants, big ones, growing on it and rendering its outlines very fuzzy.
I have bug bites.
We trained for five hours yesterday, five the day before that, two the day before that. Today is the rest day and the halfway point; a few of us took a taxi to the Jaguar Rescue Center, where they don't actually have jaguars but did have a margay, an ocelot, sloths, monkeys, macaws. And everywhere, on this coast, the agoutis. I love them. They seem like the raccoons of eastern Costa Rica, except that they look like big glossy hamster-rats and they hunch over to eat their food with their front paws like squirrels. I see one pretty much every day, but there were a lot at the rescue center (being tolerated, not rescued). Before the tour -- because we missed one and had to wait for the next -- I had the most delicous avocado toast with cherry tomatoes and cured tuna. There are foods from here that I should definitely work to recreate.
The actual handstand training is much as I remembered. These teachers are strict. I've been working hard for a year on stuff that isn't their style, so I haven't progressed much by their measurement; and this year has a more advanced crew than last year, putting me in the top quadrant of the bottom half of the class (yeah, humbling). But one thing is indeed way better than last year, and that's my general level of conditioning. My wrists don't hurt and, although I can tell I've been working, I'm not hella sore. I'm... fine. I also packed much better; I brought the bug-bite zapper, more non-workout clothes, more synthetic clothes, and a pair of fully synthetic slip-on sandals that can't get moldy.
I can hear thunder now. And possibly the beginnings of rainfall. I won't complain if so, because the sound of it as it hits the foliage (SO MUCH FOLIAGE) is coziness made audible.
Life here is not like life at home. Here, it gets dark early. Here's a "typical" full day of training: I go to sleep at 9:30 the night before, and wake up before 6:30 when they start to serve coffee. I slip out of my room quietly to not wake my roommate, and head for the caffeine. The cups are small and I have about four of them, chatting a bit with whoever else is around until breakfast is served at 7:45. Then it's back to my room to poop, digest, put on workout clothes. We train from 9:30 to 12:30 and it's sweaty as hell; there's lunch, where I take time to look at the dozen or so bats that hang in the cafeteria during the day. Then it's time to take a break from the sports bra for a couple of hours (probably I put on a swimsuit and dip in the pool, feeling grateful that very little light actually makes it directly to the jungle floor; sunburn here has not been a problem). Drying off again, it's back to training from 3:00 to 5:00, which finishes with an annoyingly brutal 5 minutes of abs. At this point the sweat and stickiness render a shower absolutely orgasmic. And did I mention it's already dark now? Most people show up to dinner with shower-wet hair. Then it's back to my room to stare blankly, read, do a single hour of no-stress-allowed email nibbling, and oh look it's 9:00, time to get ready for bed. I have gotten wet and dry again about four times, and my hair feels sticky in the humidity, but no part of my skin is dry or flaking.
The disconnection is not as complete as last year. As I've already fessed up to, I brought the Chromebook, and the wifi is better so I've been able to text/chat a bit more with the squirrel and bug than I was able to last year. The wifi is also in the rooms, not just the common areas. All of this enables me to choose my level of disconnection, and (as already fessed up to) I am indeed doing one hour of slow email every evening. This serves the purpose of helping me not stress about next week. Is that good? I don't know -- I also see people on their phones having arguments, or stressing out. It would have been possible to glue myself to the news today -- because don't you worry, I have not forgotten about The The Giant Thing That Is Happening Today. None of us here have. But I choose not to. I want to soak up the sound of rain instead, and check on the status of things later.
(It is definitely raining now. Pouring even. I can see raindrops on the pool from here, and on the pavement of a path. What do all the little lizards do now, I wonder, just cling to the underside of leaves?)
This is, undeniably, healing and relaxing. I'm here as a tourist and I don't want to live here; I don't want to carve paths into the intense darkness of the jungle, only to walk them (and I definitely want to stay ON the paths. I've seen several Joro spiders and the admittedly exquisite homes they build for themselves). In fact, I mostly want to stay on the resort. And still, I'm glad this place exists, with its critters and its very different schedule and different set of discomforts. It's not better, but it's fascinating, and variety eases the Weltschmertz when a person has been feeling stuck in the same agonies for too long.
It's getting dark now and the mystery insects are singing, singing loudly, unseen out there in the rain.
I have bug bites.
We trained for five hours yesterday, five the day before that, two the day before that. Today is the rest day and the halfway point; a few of us took a taxi to the Jaguar Rescue Center, where they don't actually have jaguars but did have a margay, an ocelot, sloths, monkeys, macaws. And everywhere, on this coast, the agoutis. I love them. They seem like the raccoons of eastern Costa Rica, except that they look like big glossy hamster-rats and they hunch over to eat their food with their front paws like squirrels. I see one pretty much every day, but there were a lot at the rescue center (being tolerated, not rescued). Before the tour -- because we missed one and had to wait for the next -- I had the most delicous avocado toast with cherry tomatoes and cured tuna. There are foods from here that I should definitely work to recreate.
The actual handstand training is much as I remembered. These teachers are strict. I've been working hard for a year on stuff that isn't their style, so I haven't progressed much by their measurement; and this year has a more advanced crew than last year, putting me in the top quadrant of the bottom half of the class (yeah, humbling). But one thing is indeed way better than last year, and that's my general level of conditioning. My wrists don't hurt and, although I can tell I've been working, I'm not hella sore. I'm... fine. I also packed much better; I brought the bug-bite zapper, more non-workout clothes, more synthetic clothes, and a pair of fully synthetic slip-on sandals that can't get moldy.
I can hear thunder now. And possibly the beginnings of rainfall. I won't complain if so, because the sound of it as it hits the foliage (SO MUCH FOLIAGE) is coziness made audible.
Life here is not like life at home. Here, it gets dark early. Here's a "typical" full day of training: I go to sleep at 9:30 the night before, and wake up before 6:30 when they start to serve coffee. I slip out of my room quietly to not wake my roommate, and head for the caffeine. The cups are small and I have about four of them, chatting a bit with whoever else is around until breakfast is served at 7:45. Then it's back to my room to poop, digest, put on workout clothes. We train from 9:30 to 12:30 and it's sweaty as hell; there's lunch, where I take time to look at the dozen or so bats that hang in the cafeteria during the day. Then it's time to take a break from the sports bra for a couple of hours (probably I put on a swimsuit and dip in the pool, feeling grateful that very little light actually makes it directly to the jungle floor; sunburn here has not been a problem). Drying off again, it's back to training from 3:00 to 5:00, which finishes with an annoyingly brutal 5 minutes of abs. At this point the sweat and stickiness render a shower absolutely orgasmic. And did I mention it's already dark now? Most people show up to dinner with shower-wet hair. Then it's back to my room to stare blankly, read, do a single hour of no-stress-allowed email nibbling, and oh look it's 9:00, time to get ready for bed. I have gotten wet and dry again about four times, and my hair feels sticky in the humidity, but no part of my skin is dry or flaking.
The disconnection is not as complete as last year. As I've already fessed up to, I brought the Chromebook, and the wifi is better so I've been able to text/chat a bit more with the squirrel and bug than I was able to last year. The wifi is also in the rooms, not just the common areas. All of this enables me to choose my level of disconnection, and (as already fessed up to) I am indeed doing one hour of slow email every evening. This serves the purpose of helping me not stress about next week. Is that good? I don't know -- I also see people on their phones having arguments, or stressing out. It would have been possible to glue myself to the news today -- because don't you worry, I have not forgotten about The The Giant Thing That Is Happening Today. None of us here have. But I choose not to. I want to soak up the sound of rain instead, and check on the status of things later.
(It is definitely raining now. Pouring even. I can see raindrops on the pool from here, and on the pavement of a path. What do all the little lizards do now, I wonder, just cling to the underside of leaves?)
This is, undeniably, healing and relaxing. I'm here as a tourist and I don't want to live here; I don't want to carve paths into the intense darkness of the jungle, only to walk them (and I definitely want to stay ON the paths. I've seen several Joro spiders and the admittedly exquisite homes they build for themselves). In fact, I mostly want to stay on the resort. And still, I'm glad this place exists, with its critters and its very different schedule and different set of discomforts. It's not better, but it's fascinating, and variety eases the Weltschmertz when a person has been feeling stuck in the same agonies for too long.
It's getting dark now and the mystery insects are singing, singing loudly, unseen out there in the rain.