Beach Glass (8 page)

Emerald Cove Surf Camp Schedule

Day 2: Water Practice

8:00 a.m.—9:00 a.m.

Yoga with special guest instructor Kate McNamara!

9:00 a.m.—10:00 a.m.

Group breakfast on the veranda at the Main House

10:30 a.m.—12 noon

Surfing lessons continue!

12:00 noon—1:30 p.m.

Lunch

2 p.m.—5:00 p.m.

More surfing or free time, your choice

6:30 p.m.—9:00 p.m.

Dinner on the veranda at the Main House

NERVOUS AS I am about pretending to teach a yoga class today, the sunrise is so beautiful that I can’t help but sit on the beach and sigh over it. The sun is such an intense, deep orange that it’s turning the sky and the ocean the colors of a ripe peach.

I stand up and unfurl my yoga mat, smoothing it out on the sand. After Kate, my brave alter ego, volunteered to lead a yoga class today, I need my regular morning yoga routine more than ever. Not just to limber up, but to calm down. I hope Kate kicks in by the time the rest of the group arrives, or this is going to be the most stressful yoga class ever.

But as I start doing my deep breathing exercises, I realize it’s hard to worry about being a fake yoga teacher or anything else in this paradise. I found the most perfect spot to do yoga, a cove around a bend that’s secluded from the rest of the campgrounds. I’m on the beach, partially hidden by palm trees swaying in the early morning breeze. The sky is dark behind me and blazing peach and scarlet in front of me. At home, I do sun salutations on my living room floor while watching a yoga DVD filmed in a setting just like this. Today, I’m saluting the real sun as it rises over the ocean, and I’m the star of my own yoga video.

I move easily, noticing how much more flexible I am here. It must be this place, where the air is clean, always alive and moving through the lush trees. I can taste the salt of the ocean on my lips. The constant song of waves is so relaxing. The atmosphere here is so physical with cool breezes in the morning, sun warming me all the way to my bones during the day, and evening mist that makes my skin dewy. At home, the only things I seem to notice are “sunny” or “rainy.” Here, the environment seems to want to make its presence known to my body, and my body is responding.

As the early morning warms, I peel off my long-sleeved T-shirt because my tank top will be enough. The ocean breeze caresses my arms, giving me little shivers of joy. I lean forward, touching my toes, glad to be barefoot almost all the time. There’s no need for shoes at the beach or anywhere else on the grounds. In fact, there’s no real need for too many clothes. Everyone just wears rash guards and board shorts or bikinis to surf in, and at dinner, they throw a T-shirt or a sarong over their swimsuits for decorum. It didn’t take me long to realize I’d be spending most of my time in my bikini top and swim shorts, and I’m surprised at how comfortable I am about it. I guess people become uninhibited fast around here since everyone’s half-undressed all the time. It sure doesn’t leave much work for the imagination.

I stand on one leg in tree pose, carefully bending my other knee, turning it out, and placing my foot at my inner thigh. I bet Carson could do a good tree pose. He’s got really long legs and that great balance from surfing. I can just see him with those legs full of lithe muscle and that tan skin that looks really smooth, maybe wearing only his board shorts
 . . .

My arms spin as I suddenly fall out of my tree. Whoa, where the heck did that come from? One minute I was admiring the sunrise, and the next minute I was having some decidedly un-yogic thoughts about Carson. And wasn’t I just condemning Allegra last night for objectifying him? I come back to my yoga mat and switch legs, standing firm. No, that was different. She was reducing him to a sexual object, and there seems to be more to him than just his incredible looks. Like the way he pays attention to people when they’re speaking. And how patient and kind he is when he teaches. He’s just a really nice guy. A really nice, really hot guy.

I have to smile. I may be depressed, but apparently I’m not dead. Okay, back to yoga. Mind, behave.

In warrior pose, I arch back, going further than I usually can. My chest is open, my heart is open, my skin, my mind, all of me feels open and ready. But ready for what?

I sigh and go back to standing still.

No. I’m not going back to standing still. I wanted to move forward in my life, to stop waiting for things to happen. Well, I feel ready for
something
, for whatever is ahead of me. And right now, what’s ahead of me is the ocean.

With a whoop of courageous joy, I run full speed into the waves.

MY MEDITATION IS interrupted by the sounds of people behind me. The other surf campers have begun arriving for the morning yoga class that I, Kate, fake yoga instructor, am supposed to teach them. My eyes pop open. What was I thinking, saying I could do this?

Then I close my eyes again and take a deep breath. I can do this. I can, I can. I imagine myself as Kate, swanning confidently into the studio at Mountain Yoga. How did my teachers there greet a class? Slowly, calmly, I rise and face them. “
Namaste
,” I say, bringing my hands together at my heart. “That’s the traditional yoga greeting for, ‘I see the light in you’.” That’s what my teachers would say as they looked at every student and smiled. I do this, too, looking at Jamie, at all the women in the bridal party, even smiling at Allegra, and at Brigitte, who gives me a secret thumbs-up. I’m doing great, and there are only a few people, all girls. Okay, I’ve got this.

Just then, our surf instructors come walking up the beach. I wave at them, thinking they’re going to go do whatever surf instructors do after their sunrise surf session. Evan and Randy wave back and walk up the path to the resort. Carson keeps walking toward us, eventually putting his surfboard down. He’s still glistening with seawater.

“Am I late for class?” he asks. His smile rivals the sunrise.

Kate. Kate, Kate, Kate the silky talker. “You’re right on time,” I say. “Here, you can use my mat.”

Carson comes over to take my mat, his eyes never leaving mine, and goes to a space at the side, right in the front. He peels off his rash guard, and I don’t think my eyesight has ever been sharper than when I’m looking at his muscular arms and smooth, sculpted chest. Now he’s just down to his red board shorts and a smile. Before, just thinking about him made me fall when I was standing on one leg. Now I’m standing on two legs, and I could tip right over.

Suddenly, I realize everyone is looking at me expectantly, because I’m supposed to start teaching some nice, calming, serene yoga. Oh my God. I have a flare of panic—
What was I thinking!!—
before I take a deep breath. Relax, my yoga teachers always said. Breathe, and find your center. “Breathe,” I say, as much to myself as the group. “Let’s all close our eyes and breathe for a moment.”

Somehow, everything becomes fine. I tell them that this will be a very easy practice since Allegra said she needs some pre-wedding de-stressing. She smiles at me in genuine gratitude. This is such a yoga moment that I feel like a real teacher, and I start instructing an easy sun salutation, cheating a little with peeks at my journal, where I sketched stick figures doing the simplest poses I could remember from my classes.

While everyone’s in downward dog, on their hands and feet and with hips high in the air, I hear someone whisper, “Kate. Over here.”

It’s Carson, beckoning me with his eyes. “Am I doing this right?” he asks.

I look at his form in this position, braced on his hands and feet, his butt in the air. His very athletic, man-dorable butt.

I try to focus on his question. “Can you bring your hips back a little more?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Can you show me?”

There’s only one way to help him with this, and I have to take an extra deep breath to build the courage to do it. Just as my teachers did for me many times, I stand behind Carson, brace my bare feet against the outsides of his tanned and manly-gorgeous feet, take hold of his sexy-slim hipbones, and gently pull back. I try really hard not to stare at his butt. I fail a thousand times.

Carson makes a contented sound. “Oh, that feels great.”

“It sure does,” I sigh. “I mean, when you get into the right position.” O-kaaay, I’m going to let go and leave him now, before Kate starts saying what’s on
her
playful mind.

“MMM,” CARSON SAYS, his eyes closing with satisfaction. “This is amazing.”

Randy, sitting next to him at the communal breakfast table, laughs. “Dude, this is the same bacon and eggs they make every day.”

“And it’s amazing, every day,” Carson says, taking a big bite of toast.

Carson really enjoys his food. He’s so different from Daniel, who’s not only a non-animal-eating animal rights person, but a picky eater as well. Then again, he had to be. The first time he showed me photos of himself as a kid, he pointed to a sad, very overweight teenager. I couldn’t believe that was my lanky, lithe man. Apparently he ate his way through his parents’ divorce until friends took him to his first punk rock concert. The angry music expressed his feelings better than his angry eating, and soon he’d slam-danced his way to cool-boy slimness. But he always remained wary about food, as particular as the women I worked with at the fashion magazine. While most of my friends gained ten happy pounds after moving in with their boyfriends, my weight remained the same during my entire relationship with Daniel.

“And now, the best part,” Carson says, holding up what looks like a large purple egg. He cuts it in half and scoops out a spoonful of bright yellow orbs covered in thick, sunny juice. When he puts it in his mouth, he looks transported.

“What
is
that?” I ask.

He looks at me, his bright eyes wide. “Please don’t tell me you’ve never had fresh passion fruit before.”

I shake my head. “And I don’t know if I could. It looks like the inside of an alien egg.”

“You have to try new things,” he says. “That’s what life is all about.” He dips his spoon into the fruit and holds it in front of me. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, “and open your mouth.”

Instead of slimy, the little orbs turn out to be slippery. They dance around in my mouth for a few seconds. When my tongue bursts them against the roof of my mouth,
tang!
So much tang that I can’t help but grin. Then comes the sweetness, and it all tastes like super-concentrated sunshine.

“Well?” Carson asks.

“Can’t talk,” I say. “Having a moment.” I let the sunshine wash down my throat. “Wow, where’s that stuff been all my life?”

“Told you,” he says, smiling as he hands me the other half of his passion fruit.

I HAD TO PRETEND to be someone else to come here. Now I’m beginning to think I really
am
someone else, because I’m actually getting good at surfing.

In our morning session, after my decent yoga class and transcendent passion fruit experience, I end up being part of Evan’s group. He’s a doe-eyed sweetheart with a totally chill vibe, and he teaches Krystal and me with effortless calm. Krystal, unlike the other members of the bridal party, doesn’t have a boyfriend she’s thinking of cheating on, and she flirts shyly with Evan. That is, when she isn’t falling off her board. She’s not terribly coordinated, but I admire the way she keeps trying, whether because she’s really game or she wants to impress Evan. To give her a little more Evan time, I volunteer to go practice my eggbeater kick, the one that turns you around to aim at a wave.

Nice of me, but not such a great idea. An hour of eggbeater kicking both beat and kicked my legs into jelly, so after lunch I decide to pass on the afternoon surf session. Instead, I go to the bath pavilion, say hi to the huge spider that lives there after I shriek again, and have a lovely outdoor shower experience. Another first for me! Then I put on my new teal sundress and decide to do some writing. I’ve been having so much fun I’m almost forgetting that I came here for work.

Since it’s mid-afternoon, there’s no one else around, and I have the whole veranda to myself. I get a cup of coffee and some sliced mango from the kitchen, and then I find a perfect table in a corner that’s partially enclosed by the large green leaves of the palms growing around it, like a big tree house.

I turn to a clean page, past where I created my confident alter ego Kate, and start taking notes for the
Bon Voyage
article. I write about how the staff bends over backward to make everyone feel relaxed and happy, how great the food is, and that the beach and grounds are tropical perfection. I give a shout-out to the tentalow as a fun option over the usual room accommodations.

Then I get to the surf lessons. I should make a few notes about those while they’re fresh in my mind. I write about how engaging Carson is as he talks about surf safety, about how well he demonstrates the board moves. I write and write, until I realize that I haven’t been writing about the surf lessons at all. I’ve been writing about Carson.

I look up, surprised by this. I see hummingbirds dart from blossom to blossom in the trees. A memory comes to me of telling my sister about my first date with Daniel. Apparently I was going on a bit about how cute he was, so Bethy asked me, “Besides physical hotness, what else do you like about him?” There was a lot. And yet, could I have seen that we wouldn’t last if I’d looked a little harder?

I turn to a fresh page in my notebook, and, at the top of the page, I write Daniel. Under that, I write Smart. Funny. Completely loyal. He never flirted with other women, or even checked them out in front of me. And he didn’t tease me in front of our friends, the way some people will make fun of their significant others. Thoughtful. Sentimental. Daniel always, always remembered details. “We were at the Lighthouse Tavern, you were eating a cheeseburger, and that’s when you said” whatever his point was. Daniel remembered everything.