A Walk to Forget

Last week the Clintons went on an adults-only vacation.  By that, I don't mean a Vegas trip where we only remember arriving and departing from the airport; but rather, we went to Florida and hung out on the beach without our kids (they were supervised at home, not locked in our hotel room).

As usual, we ran toward the adventurous side so we let down our hair (sorry about the size of my wind-blown hair, Florida) and did crazy things like purchase sunblock and White Rain brand hair mousse from the dollar store.

Even though those purchases turned out to be a bust (major sunburn after some unwise prolonged sun exposure on Day 1 and five full days of ugly hair in public), we had an excellent time.  Here is a view from our chairs, taken while we baked our skin.

Risky dollar store investments weren't the only daring activities we took part in... One of the days, Mark was doing some internet research, scoping out some local food establishments.  We chose an obscure Mediterranean restaurant located just under three miles away.  Mark suggested we walk there on the beach.  Since I was committed to being Vacation Lily (a much better form of me, the non-wet blanket type), I eagerly agreed that this would be spectacular (although privately I had my doubts, but hey, it was vacation!  That and I had eaten over 6,000 calories already that day.)

Around 5:00 pm, we started out at a leisurely pace on the beach, stopping to search all the seashells for the elusive, twisty mini-conch shell (image shown below).

I was freshly showered; my wet, White Rain moussed hair alarming the general public.  We soon realized that our ambling cost us large amounts of time and we were not making any progress at all.  We knew that when we passed the Double Tree Hotel, we would have made it just over half way.  When the Double Tree finally came into view, we concluded that we may have made a tactical error, but being the high achievers we are, we pressed on.  Miles and hours later, we walked into the restaurant - where it turned out we didn't even understand what we were ordering.

As we finished our meal, there was yet another problem.  We also hadn't counted on the sun setting.  Oh well, we were on vacation!  Throwing caution to the wind and the darkness, we decided to stop for some after-dinner treats before starting our journey back home.  Lily went for a Starbucks coffee.  Mark waited patiently for 40 minutes in a line of indulgent parents buying their kids blue cotton candy ice cream topped with nasty gummy bears at Coldstone.  By the time we stepped back outside, complete darkness had fallen.

It was then that our non-Vacation brains kicked in.  Walking three miles on the beach at night seems like a good way to get murdered or robbed.  What was the other option?  How about walking along the side of A1A (Beachfront Avenue!  Thank you, Vanilla Ice).  Want to make that even better?  How about two people walking down a major highway at night (unlit because lights attract sea turtles) in flip flops (sorry, Dr. Scholl).

Half a mile into our night walk, with cars zooming by, our sidewalk ended.  We trudged (almost barefoot) through the thick-blade, spongy grass, feet sinking all the way.  All I could think about was crawly insects and snakes slithering across my feet, but Vacation Lily couldn't stop giggling at our adventure.  Even though there was a sidewalk on the other side of the highway, we stubbornly refused to cross for a mile because we were sure our sidewalk would come back.  It never did.

Luckily we didn't die.  We did get spooked plenty and watched a drunk man with a pizza box cross the street and walk into a forest of Florida foliage (I hope he didn't die either).  Mile after mile we trudged on until we saw the beacon of light calling us to our hotel.  Feet aching, we approached our last hurdle: an overpass with three flights of stairs on each side.  I started playing the Rocky theme in my head and up we went.

Here's a picture of Mark joyfully climbing:

At 11:00 pm, we walked back into our hotel room, all sweaty, our feet burning, my hair amazing.  The odometer on my flip flops read six miles.

Here is a visual image of our walk.  Those tiny little white lines are all the streets we walked past.  Feel free to be impressed.

When Mark and I retire, we are definitely considering contracting ourselves out as vacation planners for the masses.  I'm fairly sure we have hidden talent.    

Overall, this was an excellent adults-only vacation, even with the adventures, maybe especially because of the adventures.