Magic Muscle Beach
SoCal is one of those places that tales seem to be spun from its endless sunshine and ocean beaches. It's the place of beauty for the beautiful and a coast of wealth for the rich and famous. It is also one of those places that has the potential to be just that - a tall shiny tale, a mythological good time. That is one of the neat things about getting to travel somewhere that has so much hype and lore surrounding it, you finally get to unthread fact from fiction.
Arriving at LAX and picking up the rental car was as unadventurous as you want those two details to be. Armed with a crappy map and an aptitude for getting lost in all the right ways, I knew that it wouldn't be long before I got a sense of the adventures ahead - and I wouldn't be disappointed. Within hours of my arrival I had become a menace to society (damned rental car) on 8 lanes of freeway traffic before heading to the South Bay beaches, but not before tending to important details. My first stop was in Redondo where my bikini line was stripped along with my dignity, followed by a lovely pedicure AND performing minor surgery. All these efforts were then rewarded with a chance meeting of a former pro beach volleyball player, who provided me with a lounge chair, cold beer and good company. I like this place already!
Later that afternoon, I headed up to Santa Monica and found Muscle Beach, which turns out to be not the playground of bodybuilders, showing off their over-developed ass-ets, but rather a kick-ass adult romper room.
All evening (and for the next few days) I hung out with an amazing array of athletes from super bendy yogis, to acrobats and various other circus throw outs and learned and learned until my shoulder gave out and my hands were too sore to even toss around the little juggling balls. I learned to hang upside down from a pole, refined my handstand on the parallel bars, practiced slacklining, learned to kip and to juggle (which I suck at) and best of all, learned to fly on the ultimate fun thing - the traveling rings.
taking a trip down the traveling rings
Arriving at LAX and picking up the rental car was as unadventurous as you want those two details to be. Armed with a crappy map and an aptitude for getting lost in all the right ways, I knew that it wouldn't be long before I got a sense of the adventures ahead - and I wouldn't be disappointed. Within hours of my arrival I had become a menace to society (damned rental car) on 8 lanes of freeway traffic before heading to the South Bay beaches, but not before tending to important details. My first stop was in Redondo where my bikini line was stripped along with my dignity, followed by a lovely pedicure AND performing minor surgery. All these efforts were then rewarded with a chance meeting of a former pro beach volleyball player, who provided me with a lounge chair, cold beer and good company. I like this place already!
Later that afternoon, I headed up to Santa Monica and found Muscle Beach, which turns out to be not the playground of bodybuilders, showing off their over-developed ass-ets, but rather a kick-ass adult romper room.
All evening (and for the next few days) I hung out with an amazing array of athletes from super bendy yogis, to acrobats and various other circus throw outs and learned and learned until my shoulder gave out and my hands were too sore to even toss around the little juggling balls. I learned to hang upside down from a pole, refined my handstand on the parallel bars, practiced slacklining, learned to kip and to juggle (which I suck at) and best of all, learned to fly on the ultimate fun thing - the traveling rings.
taking a trip down the traveling rings
posted by Carmen at 7:18 PM
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