Christmas at Canyon Ranch

As a result of a variety of recent stresses, including a bout of bronchitis, I opted for a solo Christmas this year at Canyon Ranch in Miami Beach, Florida.

I was so excited at the heightened sense of well being waiting for me in Miami that on the day of my departure I moved my flight up from 7pm to 4pm.

Upon arrival I couldn't ignore my disappointment. The other Ranchers looked suspiciously like me, average and aging. I was anticipating spectacularly fit folks who would shame me into taking better care of myself. Determined to make this a life-altering experience, however, I pushed the negative thoughts away. Tomorrow I would attend all sorts of soul-transforming classes, including yoga, pilates and something called Buff Ballet Booty.

I woke up the next day eager to start my new life. I sauntered down to breakfast and ordered some banana bread. The micro-serving was quickly obscured by a sugar (organic) wrapper I'd discarded, so I politely summoned my waiter to ask when my bread would arrive. He pointed out that my bread was in fact there, all 160 calories of it. Wow, that's breakfast? No time to fuss-mustn't be late for pilates.

Having taken a pilates class only once before, I am no expert but it certainly didn't leave me with any hope that I was firming the amorphous zone of flesh that had gathered around my midriff in the last few years.

As I left my pilates class and passed the pool, I overheard a teenager asking an instructor whether he knew any Burdenko* instructors in St. Louis. A light went off. This is a paradise for those who aren't already spoiled by NYC, which has one of the most diverse proliferation of "fusion" classes in the world. You want Yogilates with a Capoeira* influence taught in an Bikram* temperature studio? You can find it in NYC.

After pilates, I tried Vinyhasa yoga. I've long been fascinated with the tyrannical influence of yoga in America, forcing shame on anyone who can't touch their right toe to their left ear. I wasn't sure I saw the point but I dutifully did my warrior pose, the downward facing dog and the half moon. I disobeyed my instructor's command to heighten my sense of self-awareness, instead staring at the ocean, wondering with which children the Dr. Seuss books I had donated had wound up (would Green Eggs and Ham change their life as it had changed mine?).

We closed with "namaste".* I was supposed to feel enlightened but I was depressed I could no longer wrap my left leg around my right ear like I one could.

After I stopped in the grill room for a "proper lunch" of seared scallops and salad. According to the menu, which meticulously lists calorie and protein content for each dish, this was a 170 calorie lunch, roughly 10 calories per dollar.

I was so satisfied that I put my fork down, fled the compound to the nearest grocers and bought some cheddar cheese, rice krispy treats and diet coke. Finally, I was beginning to feel that rush of "elevation" yoga was meant to evoke. With a blissful buzz from the diet coke working its toxins into my body, I cuddled up in a chair under the sun with Andre Agassi. I had picked up his autobiography (finally available in paperback for non-Kindle folk), "Open," in the airport and we'd been inseparable since JFK.

Slowly, I was changing my Type A game plan. I had planned a spiritual boot camp for myself only to realize I could do this in NYC even more easily. What I could not do in NYC was read on the beach or run up a tab at The Delano Hotel.

And so, on Christmas day, I implemented Plan B. It was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas . . .

I spent the entire morning in bed with Agassi, rapt and inspired. When I was too hungry to read about the dissolution of Andre's marriage to Brooke Shields, I headed straight for the nearest Cuban restaurant and ordered something called "Sazon Ruedas de Serruco," fried filet of kingfish. Calories? Too many to count. Cost? About one third of what I was paying for lettuce leaves back at the Ranch.

Later I went for a run. What a change of scenery. The endless blue and green Ocean. Feral cats darting in front of me, breaking my stride. Carts of empty soda cans being pushed by cheery homeless men who, strangely, looked more fulfilled than most of my fellow Ranchers. It was welcome chaos after the excessive order of The Ranch.

By 8pm, I was ready for The Delano. Off with the spa pants and on with the Levis . . . It was time to really "be present."

Each person shapes his or her own path to spiritual satisfaction. As it turns out, my path does not involve denial, counting calories or focusing on my self. It involves festive Cuban restaurants dripping with grease and cheer, making small talk with strangers at The Delano, downing oversized gin and tonics poolside and making drunken calls to friends and family.

Merry Christmas and Happy Boxing Day

Penelope

Notes

*Burdenko is a water workout designed by Igor Burdenko that emphasizes balance, coordination, flexibility, endurance, speed and strength. What happened to just jumping in and splashing around?

*Capoeira is an Afro-Brazilian art form that combines elements of martial arts, music and dance.

*Bikram is a style of yoga practiced in a heated studio.

*Namaste, typically said while bowing, derives from the Hindi for "let there be a salutation to you." It is typically pronounced by both the instructor and student at the end of a yoga session, often to the complete befuddlement of a yoga neophyte.