¿Quién es el más macho? (with apologies to Pam)

This past weekend, I took my first night away from the kids. And. It. Was. Heavenly. Last summer I joined a boot camp class. My town has an e-mail list and a woman, C., posted to form a class for "serious athletes." Despite my misgivings about the "serious" part, I joined up and every Wednesday over the summer, I had my ass kicked by a big, mean drill sergeant (okay, so he's not that big and other than making me do 200 sit-ups and 100 push ups, he's not exactly mean, but the effect isn't the same if I write, "And this nice guy with a sweet South African accent made me run fast"). Seriously, the class was tough--and hour and a half of sprints, weights, sit ups and push ups--and it was a big bonding thing. Just by happenstance, all the takers for the class were women, and since we're all into the sporty thing, we just clicked (I realize from this blog, you probably don't know how into the sporty thing I am, but I've become kind of jock in my old age).

For the winter, it wasn't practical to meet outside at 5:30 a.m. anymore, so now we rent a space and meet up just every other week for a "winter tune up." About an hour worth of heavy core and weight work. Every time, the night before class, I tell Adam, "Ugh, I don't think I'm going tomorrow." And every boot camp morning, I trudge myself out there and while I'm not so happy in the middle of push-up set number seven, I'm always glad afterwards.

So the past weekend, our fearless leader, C., arranged for us to use her husband's family home in New Hampshire. Seven of us women and C.'s husband trudged up to Jackson, N.H., on Saturday morning for a day of cross-country skiing. It was my first time cross-country skiing, so of course I dove in with boot camp, which meant a four-hour outing to cover 15.4 kilometers (about 9.5 miles, but doesn't 15.4 sound so much more impressive?). The day luckily wasn't as cold as predicted (supposed to be a high of 11, but I'm pretty sure it was in the low 20s), so it was great. Adam and I had one of these conversations that make me wonder who I've been living with for the past eight years:

Me: So, C. suggested I wear running tights and then snow pants.
Adam: Sounds good. Or you could wear my long underwear.
Me: You have long underwear?
Adam: Yeah. And you can take my neck gaiter.
Me: You own a neck gaiter?
Adam: Yeah. And you can zip a lining into my North Face jacket and it'll be really warm.
Me: Your jacket converts?

Anyway, Adam warned me I was wearing too much gear, and he was right--halfway though I had to take clothes off because I was sweating so badly. But it turns out, I LOVE cross-country skiing. It was really difficult--I could feel it my outer thighs as I was doing it and I was always at the back of the pack--but it's absolutely exhilarating. We skied out, stopped for a picnic lunch in the snow, crossed a frozen river (only to read the sign to the right when we returned--oops!), and felt generally macho and cool.

That night we retreated to C.'s house and luxuriated. Of course, that was only after a team shoveled our way in (what? No, not me! I had the good sense to sit in a warm car till the way was cleared); a good three feet of snow had the front door completely buried. We all showered--and with all of Adam's clothing advice, did he remind me to bring a change of clothes for after skiing? Nope. So I was the one lounging in her sheep pajamas, but hey, after that first glass of wine, I really didn't care. C.'s husband cooked us an amazing dinner and we all drank too much wine and laughed a lot.

Before going to bed, I made the mistake of checking my voice mail. Adam called from home. I heard:
Adam: Can you leave Mommy a message?
Doodles: Mommy, I miss you! Good night!
Adam: Pie, it's your turn. Do you want to say something to Mommy?
Pie: WWWAAAAAAAA[click]

The next morning, our hearty group all arose early. Only one other soul was brave enough to make the morning run with me in the balmy seven degree weather, but it was a great run (okay, so she dragged me out there, but I got the run in, so let's not quibble over details). I've never had that frozen eyelash experience before and while it was rather creepy, it only added to my machoness, don't you think?

We left nice and early to head back home and I met with my family at a kid birthday party. It was great to see them...for about five minutes. Once the whining started, I was already plotting how to get back to Jackson....