You get to a certain age where your clothes don’t fall the same way they used to. When you can’t eat what you ate when you were younger and not pay the repercussions of it. When you see your body doesn’t look the way it used to, and when the word “muffin top” doesn’t refer to a type of food.
If you couldn’t tell what I was leading up to, here it goes. Yes, I am at that age right now. Sigh.
It’s even worse when in the back of my mind the only thing I’m thinking about is how I’m going to fit into a wedding dress next year. Being the complete “easy button” person that I am, I figure liposuction should never be ruled out. After all, I’m the gal who considered getting Keurig just so I don’t have to clean up after my morning coffee.
But as luck would have it, I got a bit inspired this weekend. (When I mean “inspired,” I mean “hit over the head with how poorly I’m treating my body.” And when I mean “luck,” I mean “why didn’t I do this earlier?”)
I spent the entire weekend at Canyon Ranch in Miami Beach. For those of you inactive and lazy bums like myself who don’t know much about Canyon Ranch, it’s a mind-boggling resort/wellness/lifestyle/spa/residential property that really breeds a healthy lifestyle. Every part of the hotel, from its zen-like design to its uber-fit staff, makes you want to lead a healthy, active life – something I’ve done here and there for the past four years.
Canyon Ranch’s three towers are along Miami Beach’s waters.
All of Canyon Ranch’s rooms are suites. Baller.
The gym facilities and instructors are superb. My fiance and I took four total courses (there were a combined 102 classes available to us during the two days we were there), and they each in their own way kicked our butts. The first one was a sports conditioning class. Taught by a former MMA fighter. Yikes. MMA fighters are known for their work ethics, conditioning, strength and overall fitness. And one was going to work on our conditioning for 45 minutes. Double yikes.
Let me first mention that I’m casually active. I play sports, cycle occasionally and enjoy the thirst of having six-pack abs. Am I fit? Not so much. Am I a complete rookie to sweating and being active? No as well. So I made sure we took an intermediate course on sports conditioning – not too easy, but not too hard.
Our workout studio was an open-air room with one side completely open to the beach. After a quick jog around the room (frontwards, backwards, sidestepping, crisscrossing, etc.), I was exhausted (stamina is not my strong suit). But nooooo… We had to do lunges. My achilles heel. After more torturous exercises using resistance straps, I was well done. Like, doing everything in my ability to not hurl.
Beyond the expansive fitness courses, what makes Canyon Ranch so different from other resorts is that the environment really encourages a good attitude toward living a better life. Talking on your cell phone is discouraged, recycling is encouraged, and taking care of your mind and body is top priority. Everyone walks around the resort in fitness outfits and sneakers – no worrying about the latest Prada styles that other highfalutin properties might propagate.
Too, I ate super-healthy. That’s the only choice you have if you eat on property at Canyon Ranch Grill. There the menu list not only the ingredients, but also the calories/carb grams, protein grams, fat gram/fiber grams of the selected dish.
Monk in a Trunk is brewed in Jupiter, Fla., and is an organic beer.
The chicken Italian sausage flatbread at Canyon Ranch Grill… Total calories/carb gram: 230/26; Protein gram: 13; Fat gram/fiber gram: 8/2
Stuffed roasted poblanos… Total calories/carb gram: 165/6; Protein gram: 19; Fat gram/fiber gram: 7/1
South Georgia Island Chilean Seabass (Marine Stewardship Council Certified Catch)… Total calories/carb gram: 390/14; Protein gram: 16; Fat gram/fiber gram: 32/2
All in all, the weekend rocked. You can even purchase a residence at Canyon Ranch and truly LIVE this way. I can’t wait to go again. Especially because after we checked out of the property, we ate loaded nachos, quesadillas and eight slices of pizza. Non-organic, of course.
P.S. You’ll notice there are no photos of me in this blog posting. Why? You guessed it. There’s nothing more off-putting than seeing photos of a sweaty, near-vomiting blogger. As my boss says it, “I need to keep the two or three readers I currently have.”