Whitewater River Rafting

I’m rarely in danger, but on the Sunday of Labor Day Weekend this year, it was nice to have a strong thirty-something-year-old man wrap his arm around me to keep me safe. John and Rosi had traveled from Oklahoma to Taos, New Mexico, for a long weekend getaway. Xenia, my fifteen-year-old, and I were taking a mother-daughter bonding trip. The four of us met on Sunday when we showed up for our whitewater trip with New Mexico River Adventures and were assigned to share a raft. Xenia and Rosi, the Italian beauty, sat in the front. I sat behind Xenia, and John sat behind his wife. We all sat on the edge of the raft with our feet locked in. Xenia and Rosi had foot pockets, while John and I tucked our toes under the center structural support tube between us and our loved ones.

Our fearless leader and river guide Riley called out strokes and directions and climbed out the two or three times our raft was caught on the rocks. The Rio Grande was so low that getting stuck in the shallows was part of this year’s experience. The first part of the river adventure was calm, and we practiced our four-paddle stroking until we were all in sync. Riley was great at keeping a fun conversation going while keeping an eye out for what was ahead. He was always so calm, but when he told us to make sure our feet were tucked in tight, our attention was on his every word. Strokes on the right. Strokes on the left. Four strokes ahead. Two strokes back. He assured us that we were doing awesome as he navigated our crew through the shallow rapids and around the huge rocks in the river. The hardest part for me was remembering to lean forward when rowing backwards and remembering my right from my left.

The directionality was obvious when we were trying to round a huge boulder and were stuck on some rocks. Riley got out to tug the raft loose, and the raft would have tipped over to the right except for his well-timed call for us to move left. John and Rosi leapt to the middle. Then the raft tipped the other way. Even though my feet were tucked in tight, my body leaned over the edge and my eyes widened on the rushing water and sharp stones below that promised a wet bruising if my feet began to slip from under their anchor. John saw my plight. He reached around my shoulders with his left arm and yelled, “Rosi, grab the child!” She put her arm around Xenia and we all stayed safe. A moment more and Riley had us riding downstream once again.

Xenia and I stayed on site after we rode the bus back to headquarters and turned in our yellow helmets and orange life jackets because they had the best food truck ever, selling all sorts of fancy hot dogs. She and I opted for The Backyard, a plain hot dog in a regular bun. Mine had mustard and relish. So simple, but they were the best hot dogs I have ever eaten. So good that we stopped there again on Monday on our way home.

After lunch, we went back to our hotel where I read a vampire, werewolf, super-strength heroine novel with no romance while Xenia watched Sherlock on my laptop. Then we ventured out again to see the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. A year ago, I had seen pictures of this 1,272-foot steel deck arch bridge 600 feet above the water and put seeing it for myself on my bucket list. There’s a rest stop next to the bridge with access to the edge of the Rio Grande Gorge itself. Vendors lined the side of the parking lot. I picked up a Christmas present for my sister.

We followed the path to see the gorge. As we got close to the six-hundred-foot drop, Xenia said, “Mom, don’t die!”

I don’t like my kids bossing me around, but I listened to the voice inside my head, which sounded a lot like Coryn. I remembered how less than happy she was when she saw the daring photographs Mike and I took on our honeymoon at the edge of the Grand Canyon, and contented myself with the views up and down the gorge without trying to look straight down. Even being several feet away from the edge was scary.

On Monday, Xenia and I went to visit a lady I’ve gone to see once before. Her house is a safe place for working through emotional stuff. I wanted to go with Xenia to understand and be understood about our food issues. I tend to annoy her with nagging about eating. I’m worried about her diet partly because of the decades of eating baggage I carry around with me. It was less like therapy and more like finding a safe space to express myself and be able to listen to Xenia. I don’t know how Xenia feels, but I came away with a sense of resolution, and I feel closer to and very loved by my daughter.

Over the weekend, Xenia and I also decided to close out her gymnastics career. She ended her year in level silverXL with medals from the state competition. They promoted her to goldXL at the beginning of summer, which entailed commitment to ten hours a week of practice. The training was grueling, and when Xenia developed anemia, her faintness made the practices dangerous. She missed days and fell behind. The doctor predicts her iron levels will be normal by November, but in the meantime, her anxiety levels surrounding gymnastics have gotten to the point where we are trying medication. Xenia wanted to do gymnastics for the love of learning a new skill, not for wanting to do death-defying flips on the beam, nor has she ever had Olympic aspirations. The stress is not worth pursuing that sport.

Our weekend trip felt much like the journey down the river with times of calm between moments of big emotions, a metaphor for life. I typically haven’t spent one-on-one time with my children like this, but now that everyone is growing up, I hope that it will be something I do. I’d also love to go whitewater river rafting again. This end of summertime with low water is right at my speed. Five stars; I highly recommend it.