...but with the beauty of heaven. Not sure how to really classify what I think of Vero. Mostly, life has taken on a very different flavor with a familiar taste. People and pace of life here are so different from anything I experienced in California, but people really are just people anywhere. Time marches on, kids go to school, people go to work, the sun comes up and the days roll into weeks. Here we are, living like locals. I refuse to change the name of this blog...not yet. It pains me to commit like that.
Obviously, we still live in a beach community, although a much smaller and more intimate one. Walking through the market last night with Owen, a man coming in the door behind us was staring at me. I kind of smiled at him and then turned away, uncomfortable, diverting my attention back to my daughter. She had just gotten out of the pool and we had to do a quick drive by to get some groceries. A few minutes later, we crossed paths with this man in produce, and he was still looking at me intently. Now I was a little freaked out, but his face was kind and somewhat familiar. Finally in the dairy section, he said my name with a question mark attached to the end. Now I was confused. He asked if we ran together that morning, which, indeed, we had. It was coming to me. Craig. He was part of the Sun Runners, the early morning group I am trying to hold on to at 5 am. A casual group of burners, out for a jaunt in the darkness three days a week. It is so dark here and with few lights on the island where we run, I really did not recognize him. If I do not come away from here a stronger runner, I am not sure what will make me faster. Trying to run with zero air into my lungs is never fun. The humidity is so thick, it is like running in a sauna, even that early in the morning. Then, when the sun comes up, it is scorching hot. I am going to need a good dermatologist. Hell is trying to keep up with these people who grew up in this heat. Heaven is getting back to the car and sweating like I never knew I could.
In keeping with the morning workout routine, I am happy and feel content. The runners are just as they were in San Diego: down to earth, happy to talk endlessly about pace and races, always ready to roll out for the work ahead. The courses we run are flat and would-be fast, if I could breathe. The swim leaves a little (or a lot) to be desired, however. I miss a large workout out with tons of people in a lane to chat with. I miss the jacuzzi in the morning (those do not even exist here and they have pool cooling systems to try to keep the water around 85 degrees).
The coaching here is whole different issue, too. Picture a 77 year old man in jammers. A mean old goat of a man, quick to tell you he is an ex-Olympian coach, Don barks militant orders at those of us in the pool. Sadly, he is so offensive, he has scared away most recreational folk, so there are very few of us. The upside to this, I have had private coaching and am swimming better this last week than I have in seven years. No joke. This man has communicated so much to me about proper technique where others have failed (or maybe I am only now willing to learn out of sheer terror of this man?) to bring it home. Because he has so few to pick on, he has stood over me for this past week and single handedly deconstructed my stroke, piece by piece. It is like the light has gone on and I actually understand the timing of the whole thing now. Despite his delivery, Don is a fabulous coach, and if nothing else, I think I may come away from here prettier in the pool. Though it kills him to hand out a compliment, he told me I am swimming "sixty percent better" than when I began with him. Take this for what it is worth. When one begins at ground zero, sixty percent is not that great. Hell is being in the pool with Coach Don. Heaven is getting out to shower and feel accomplished.
The kids' swim team, on the other hand, is superb, with excellent coaching and tons of involvement. Owen experienced her first workout in the middle of a thunderstorm last night, which was really cool when it later escalated into a lightening display. She loved it and celebrated with her lane mates. "It's raining!" she exclaimed to them. They looked at her like she was an alien with her little arms reached to the sky, and replied, "Yeah?" Her coach was quick to interject with a smile, "It doesn't really do this much in California, huh?"
It is like living in a rain forest here. The heat and humidity just keep bringing in the rain, which cools off the air briefly, only for the heat and humidity to return and the cycle goes on. The thunder is becoming like white noise in the background to me now, as is the constant sound of the cicadas that once really irritated me with their song. From their perch in the trees, these bugs are so loud, I cannot even hear the announcements from the school's loudspeaker when I pick Owen up. It is a constant chatter. Living in a rainforest does have its advantages, though.
The beach is unreal in beauty, with bath tub temperatures and white sands. Everything is so clean and unspoiled. People are so far and few between, it seems like a private affair to go. I think that is what this whole experience is feeling like to me...a temporary affair. Something that I am not totally settled on or comfortable with. Like I am cheating on California. How can I really not be a California girl? I was not able to surrender my CA licence today at the DMV. I opted for the temporary residency option here, so I did not have to claim Florida as my permanent state. I am not ready to go there yet. So, they took my picture and told me I cannot vote here. At least I can still pretend like I am just on vacation. An extended tropical one.
Heaven is my boy peacefully napping next to me, his breathing so even, with thunder booming outside. Hell is having to go out in the heat for any period of time, like walking from the car into a store. Heaven is the lush greenery all around the island, and the oaks that grow in canopies over our street. Hell is living without ever opening a window to let the breeze in: there is none. Heaven is how blue the water is here, with multiple islands to kayak to, and how quaint downtown is, with little shops and eateries. Hell is saying goodbye to the Pacific and Mexican food...it doesn't exist anywhere near us. Mostly, hell is feeling so desperately homesick for the familiar and heartsick for all of the people I care so deeply for on the other coast.
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