The Stylish Traveler
Bye bye Boot Camp. Fuhgeddabout feeling the burn. The latest fitness craze is all about ditching the workout and dancing into shape. The idea is to have fun—so much fun you don’t realize your muffin top is boogieing off your waistline.
To kick-start dance classes near my home, I recently signed up for a four-day dance-fitness program at Canyon Ranch, a sybaritic getaway in the heart of the Berkshires and convince my friend Linda to come along. The mantra of this health mecca is that exercise isn’t drudgery or punishment for overindulging but something pleasurable.
Despite keeping an eye on my diet and walking enough miles on a treadmill to propel my fuselage to Miami, my jeans remain at half mast. While friends say I look good “for my age” my youthful demeanor is locked in this foreign body. In my mind’s eye I am ageless, like Betty Boop—she looks the same despite her years. But my reflection in department store mirrors says otherwise.
We avoid airport hassles by taking the train from Baltimore to Albany. A Canyon Ranch staffer greets us at the station, hands us a snack sack and drives us to this tony health-and-fitness resort.
Situated on a 120-acre estate, the centerpiece of the complex is Bellefontaine Mansion, a stone and marble structure that looks straight out of a fairy tale. The main building houses the original library jam-packed with books, a massive fireplace, dining room plus cozy café for a quick breakfast, lunch or cuppa Joe. A glass-enclosed walkway connects the mansion to the spa and fitness center so we never worry about weather.
I love the rules: no cell phones, no tweeting, no texting. At least in public spaces. Such interruptions from the outside world are allowed only in guest rooms and in the lobby. No alcohol, either. Mocktails—creative concoctions of fruit juices and spices—are served on the rocks or straight up in the library before dinner.
We treat ourselves to a one bedroom suite that comes with a washer/dryer tucked in a closet and two full-size bathrooms—no need to negotiate who showers first. Subtle niceties reign—extra headboard lights for nighttime reading, two flat-screen TVs. There’s even a bonsai tree in our bathroom.
‘DIETING’ IS A NO NO
Pancakes with syrup for breakfast? You bet. Sausage Gumbo or Pizza are lip-smacking lunch choices and dinners include a fancy version of a classic—Lobster Macaroni and Cheese. We never feel deprived. Calories, fat and fiber grams are listed for everything so we know when we’re splurging.
We eat as much as we want including double desserts since portions for sweets are “petite.” (I devour the 160 calorie Chocolate Zucchini Cake in three bites.) But we don’t obsess about food, we’re here to dance.
GETTING IN MOTION
“Listen to the music. The music will tell you what to do,” says Russell, our dance instructor with a smile that has enough wattage to light Times Square. I’m feeling uneasy. I don’t want to be the laughing stock of the class. Or get a blue ribbon for klutziness. Russell calms my fears.
“There are no mistakes in this class. Just move and have fun.” I scan the large mirrored room filled with gals and a few guys, spa junkies to newcomers, in an assortment of ages, shapes and sizes. Everyone here is coping with aging, just like me. As if reading my mind, Russell says, “One more thing: this not a competition. If you only remember one step, that’s one step more than when you walked in the door.”
The music begins: “America,” from West Side Story. Russell leads. We follow. (Or try to follow.) We laugh. We stumble. We twirl and swirl and avoid a few collisions. I channel Rita Moreno the Oscar-winning dancer but look more like a Hee Haw regular.
Days are filled learning more dances to Big Band, Hip Hop or Jazz music. We squeeze in an occasional Yoga class. Our conversations center on our dance routines instead of cellulite, Botox or my weed-ridden garden. There are times when I think my legs will give out but I keep at it until the steps come naturally, just as Russell said they would.
On our last night these two ‘women of a certain age’ wrap sarongs over our exercise gear, tuck flowers in our hair and perform in a Guest Recital. The audience hoots and hollers with no less enthusiasm than if we were opening on Broadway. Were we perfect? No way. Did we have a ball? You bet.
BACK HOME
Am I any healthier? Probably not. But I feel happier. My step, livelier. I am more mindful of portion size. I’ve slashed my coffee intake. I’m drinking more herbal tea. I dropped 3 lbs despite downing double desserts and nightly nibbles. I’ve learned that it’s okay to do nothing, a rare concept for this Type-A workaholic. But some things don’t change. While I am trying to be more accepting of my body, ‘as is,’ I still avoid department store mirrors. Mostly, I’ve learned to embrace Nike’s theme whenever I’m challenged to try something new. Just do it.
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