Blog - Page 92 of 143 - Sonia Marsh

Gutsy cave-tubing in Belize

January 19, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

After our morning of zip-lining and repelling, we welcomed a quick Belizean lunch consisting of chicken, rice and beans, with fresh, juicy pineapple for dessert.

Now it was time for the six young women and I, to try cave-tubing in the underground caves of the meandering Caves Branch River. In a weird way, I looked forward to overcoming my fear of claustrophobia, and what better place than in the underground caves where the Mayans had once lived and worshipped. Considering this happened to be one of the most popular tours in Belize, I refused to back out.

Photo credit kthypryn

The young women and I changed into our bikinis, and carried our inner-tubes through the jungle. “How many of you thought you’d be hiking in the jungle in a bikini, with an inner tube and flip flops? I asked. “What a fashion statement,” one of the girls said. A section had been landscaped for the tourists, with paths and labeled trees, such as the poisonwood tree. “You better stay away from that one,” I told the girls, remembering how my son, Austin, had suffered for five weeks after touching a poisonwood tree when we first moved to our hut in Belize. We reached a small area of rocks perched above the Caves Branch River. “For those of you who don’t want to wait, you can jump off this rock,” Sylvan, our guide said. “Others can take the path to the right and wait in line.”

“Are you sure it’s deep enough?” I asked Sylvan

“Yes.” So I jumped in.

The water was refreshingly cold by Belizean standards, around 70 F. I settled my butt inside the tube and waited for the other six women to join me. They all took the speedy route, jumping in one after the other.

“Who wants rum punch?” Sylvan asked. I vigorously flapped my arms backwards to reach him. I figured better to numb my claustrophobic fear with a cocktail than be overly anxious for the next hour and a half.

“That’s one strong punch,” I told Sylvan.

“I made it myself. It makes the ride more fun,” he said. It certainly helped for the moment, however I couldn’t figure out how to hold my drink, flap my arms and move forwards into the dark caves, since the river current didn’t seem to be cooperating. “Bingo! Just in the nick of time surprise number two. Marco, another young Belizean guy, showed up. “Why don’t you put your feet under Tracy’s tube and we’ll form a chain,” he said. “I can pull both of you along.” Now I’d been upgraded to first class, rum punch in one hand, gliding effortlessly inside dark caves with a miner’s lamp attached to my forehead.

Some beautiful photos of cave-tubing from the Caves Branch website.

We weren’t alone in these sixty- foot wide caves. Several cruise ship passengers were ahead of us. The inside of these vast caves was illuminated by flickering miners’ lamps. Poor Marco did all the work while Tracy and I looked around the caves’ ceilings looking for bats. Marco pointed out some beautiful stalactite crystal formations with an extra strong flashlight.

“Butts up,” Marco shouted, breaking my relaxed trance.

“We’re reaching a very shallow spot only four inches of water, and your rear end gets a rocky ride if you don’t lift it as high as you can.”

We slid along to the impossible spot forcing us to get out of the tube and walk over some painful rocks. Fortunately, Sylvan showed up for a rum punch re-fill, just in time.

I preferred zip-lining to cave-tubing. I had hoped to see some Mayan artifacts and with chilled bones inside dark caverns, I couldn’t wait to get out and warm up. Walking on slippery wet rocks was no easy task, but this was our only option to get out of the river and change into our dry clothes.

The old, yellow school bus, our transportation back to the boat, waited for us with reggae music blaring; just what I needed for the ride home. Rum punch and beers flowed, and everyone seemed content and exhausted. Sylvan stopped at a local store to get some ice for our drinks, and then we headed back to the boat.

“It’s going to be a long boat ride home, especially as the winds are picking up, and rain clouds are forming,” Sylvan said. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten my jacket. Now I only had my wet beach towel for protection. Belizean rainstorms were aggressive, especially when sitting in a moving boat. They attacked you with piercing pellets resembling mini ice picks injuring your skin. I had two choices, either to laugh or to cry. I decided to laugh; it helped ease the pain.

Above photo credit Satanoid.

*****

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

*****

Please share the “My Gutsy Story” series with others on Twitter using the #MyGutsyStory. Thank you.

“My Gutsy Story” by Sara Padilla

January 16, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

When my father called that day, I was preparing to head home and clicking through my email, making sure I’d responded to everyone I needed to that day. It was quitting time, and it felt like Friday. Most of my coworkers had gone home or to the pub down the street.

When I glanced at the tiny blinking light and the caller ID read Falls Church, I knew it was bad news. My father never called me at work.

I could never in a million years have imagined it would be that bad.

My younger sister, the middle child of three girls, was a doer, a thinker and a contributor. If you didn’t know her well, and you happened to read her resume, you might be a little jealous. What kind of person manages to run ten miles, read Don Quixote, take a Portuguese lesson, tutor immigrant high school students, and bake homemade chocolate chip cookies to include in a care package for a friend all in the same day?

Not that she bragged about it. Not a bit. My sister was just one of though naturally inspired people who felt compelled to spend every minute productively. Except, perhaps, when she was sleeping. She was not a morning person and she could definitely exemplify crankiness at its best when her rest was interrupted.

So when my father told me that she had been killed, I changed physiologically, spiritually and emotionally. Even professionally. At the beginning, I did not know exactly how I was changed. But as the years unfolded and my reflection upon her life and my own grew deeper, I found myself gravitating toward playing a more significant role.

Sara Padilla's sister liz — Sara's sister Liz

Professionally, I didn’t long for change, though I did quit my job less than eight weeks after she died, and move 3,000 miles away to a city that I had never stepped foot in before. My husband and I had frequently discussed moving out west, and a job opportunity (his, not mine) gave us the chance. It turned out that leaving Washington, DC was a bit of a drag for my career, but six years later, I’m finding my way.

Spiritually, I was angry, angrier, and even angrier in those first years after Liz’s accident. I prayed often and reluctantly, and today remain unconvinced of a higher power that is capable of intervening in the physical world (so what’s the point of prayer?). But my belief in something bigger than all of us does give me some comfort, and I found my tolerance for people involved in organized religion actually increased after losing my sister. It’s not for me, but I can respect those people that actually practice their faith. One of my mother’s best friends comes to mind. A progressive, intelligent and talented woman, she is also a practicing Catholic. Once upon a time, I confess I would have found the two versions of this woman to be incompatible. Today, as I observe her composure, energy and commitment to friends and family, while also going through her own personal challenges, I find I can accept those who take comfort and strength in ways other than my own.

Physiologically, I became depressed and anxious. I panicked when unable to reach my loved ones by phone and sometimes behaved irrationally. I drank more. A lot more. I ran a lot, intermittently, which was actually a bonus – when I was running daily I ate better, drank less and ran several personal record times. Four years after losing my sister, I was finally diagnosed with moderate post traumatic stress disorder, and unenthusiastically began a course of anti-anxiety medication. The change was profound. I no longer rely on any meds, but for a year or so, they really helped. And so I find myself among those millions of Americans who take mood-altering drugs, most definitely over-prescribed and not entirely understood. I wish I hadn’t had to resort to this, but the anxiety, insomnia, nightmares and overwhelming sadness wasn’t going away.

The theme of some grief workers is that “time heals all wounds”.

In my case, this wasn’t, and isn’t, true.

Emotionally, and I’ve touched on this, sadness poured into the depth of my soul and seemed determined to stay. The sadness was, and sometimes still is, heavy and dark. But the moments of joy, lightness and breath, so fleeting during those first few years, have become more and more frequent. The direction in which I am moving is now one I actually want to move in. I am no longer being swept away with the madding crowd of grief, anger, and despair. I look to my sister as an example of how to live my days. I do not long to do as she did, or attempt to do as much as possible in each of my 24-hour allotments. But I wake each morning (even when I’m exhausted) with a feeling of purpose and contentment, and more so on each passing day.

Yes, some days are harder than others. I know, too, that change isn’t always a forward-motion concept, and I’m still riding the roller coaster of grief. But I know I’m definitely on board for the journey.

*****

Sara Padilla is a freelance writer, book reviewer, and blogger for Sunshine and Salad (http://sunshineandsalad.com/). Sara has over fourteen years of experience working in public health and program management in the United States and internationally. She holds a master’s degree in Public Health from Tulane University and speaks Spanish fluently. Sara resides in Portland, Oregon with her family.

*****

Sara, your story is so moving, and it shows how grief resulted in a major change within you. “I look to my sister as an example of how to live my days.” I am inspired by how you can help others, who have experienced a loss in their life, find a way to become positive in their outlook towards the future. I truly thank you for sharing your story with us. Please leave your comments for Sara, and she will be over to respond.

*****

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

*****

Please share the “My Gutsy Story” series with others on Twitter using the #MyGutsyStory. Thank you.

Does beauty mean something different at 20, 40, 60, 80?

January 14, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

Julia Rice asked me to participate in her research on what beauty means at different stages of my life. I’d love it if you would check out her blog, read my guest post, “What does Beauty Mean to You?” and leave a comment on Julia’s blog.

Would you like to participate in her project about women and aging? You can read more about Julia Rice here.

Julia asks 3 questions about beauty and aging for a guest post.

(Please don’t laugh at my photo above. I know I have the poodle look.)

Winner of the “My Gutsy Story” December Contest

January 12, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

My Gutsy Story 1st place — Cheryl Stahle

Congratulations to Cheryl Stahle who won first place with 145 votes. As you know, this was a very exciting poll with Cheryl Stahle and Richard Potter switching into first and second place, almost hourly. I also want to congratulate Muriel Demarcus and Ian Miller for their wonderful stories and congratulate you on inspiring us with your stories.

Cheryl Stahle wrote an inspiring story about the courage to do something unique and spectacular for yourself. Cheryl Stahle, memoirist, author and founder ofYour Best Writing Group (www.yourbestwritinggroup.com.

Cheryl gets to pick her prize from our list of sponsors.

My Gutsy Story 2nd place — Richard Potter

Richard Potter 2nd Place

Richard Potter was the first man to be featured on the “My Gutsy Story” contest and he wrote a positive and inspiring story about how in helping others, you overcome your own fears. Richard wrote a comment I wanted to share with you in case you haven’t seen it: “Sonia, I’ve been tracking the votes each day. Then I received this comment (look for Richard’s comment to read the quote) on a social media site, and realized that the contest is not the main thing. The impact the story has on others is the main thing! Thanks for the vehicle to spread these stories and their impact around the world!”

My Gutsy Story 3rd place — Muriel Demarcus 3rd Place

Muriel Demarcus 3rd place

Muriel Demarcus wrote a fabulous story about getting out of her comfort zone and adapting to a new life in the U.K. Not only that, but she started your own company, taught herself English, and started a successful blog French Yummy Mummy.

Ian Miller shared his Gutsy adventure back in the 60′s. As he mentioned, those days in Czechoslovakia influenced him and his writing. We look forward to reading his future novels. Ian Miller’s website, and join him on Facebook.

*****

Thank you so much for submitting your stories and for voting. Please share with others who wish to submit their own “My Gutsy Story.”

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (NEW VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

*****

PLEASE JUMP OVER TO READ MY GUEST POST ON “BEAUTY QUEEN SHEEN” BLOG

I want to thank Julia Rice from “Beauty Queen Sheen” for asking me to guest post on her blog regarding her research on what beauty means to you at different stages of life. Her research about women and beauty from different cultures is fascinating. I’d love it if you would check out her blog, read my guest post, “What does Beauty Mean to You?” and leave a comment.

“My Gutsy Story” by Dodie Cross

January 9, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

Snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef

In the 60s, I reluctantly signed up for classes on SCUBA diving. My husband was excited; he thought it would be great for the two of us to dive together. What I didn’t bring up to him, and what had been a deep, dark secret for years, was my fear of sharks and the big deep—the ocean! I’d always been the first to run into the oncoming waves, knowing I’d go no deeper than my midriff, but actually acting as though I’d go out as far as anyone else if need be. I could outswim anyone in a pool, as long as I could see the bottom. Lakes and rivers held some worry for me, but somehow I felt a shark couldn’t make it in those waters. Maybe it’s the fact I can’t see what’s down there around my legs, ready to carry me off to the deep, and then include me in their digestive juices.

But, I shouldered on, joining him in the classes. I was the only female in a group of eight men; two of whom I might add quit when the going got tough. I actually made it all the way to certification—that is until the diving instructor took us out to be certified. We had to snorkel out to the kelp beds, put in our regulator and dive to 50 feet to be certified.

It was a violently stormy day as we made our way to Black’s Beach on the California Coast. The breakers were over ten feet. I donned my suit with shaky hands, then my footies and gloves. Someone, not sure who, helped me on with my weight belt, and off we went. As I was snorkeling out with my husband in front of me, I had the distinct feeling that I was sinking. It was hard to keep afloat. I struggled so hard I began to hyperventilate. Was the fear of the darkness below? Where a shark might be in waiting, licking his chops, causing this hyperventilation? I couldn’t let this happen. I removed my snorkel and yelled to my husband: “I’m sinking! Help me!” The instructor, swimming nearby took one look at me and immediately reached out and flipped open my weight belt. As the belt sank I began to return to the surface. Obviously, someone had given me a weight belt meant for a two hundred pound wrestler. By then I was so exhausted the instructor sent me back to shore. I half crawled up the shoreline, dragging myself over the sea urchins as they tore my booties, gloves and the skin beneath. At the sight of blood I panicked. Got to get out before a shark gets my scent, I thought, as I groped in the sand for handholds to pull me up and out. Sadly, for my husband, that was the end of my diving career.

That was over fifty years ago, and I knew I would never go back into the deep. That is until two weeks ago when a friend and I visited Australia. I reluctantly signed up for a snorkeling outing on the Great Barrier Reef. Now, I knew I wouldn’t do it, but my girlfriend was so excited about the tour, I had to pretend I was excited as well. I figured I’d go along with the farce just long enough to keep her happy. But when it came time to don the gear, I’d amazingly get a headache and have to decline. However, when the instructor began to hand out the masks and snorkels, I had an epiphany: It’s time to quell your fears. You’re not a young woman any longer, and why take a dirt nap without conquering this fear.

I asked the instructor about the Great Whites. Had any been seen in these waters or nearby? “Not for years,” he said, “no problem, mate!” So I suited up. My heart beating so hard I feared it would show through my bra top. I valiantly stepped off the swim board and jumped in. The water was glorious, so clear you could see for miles. I did some rather strange rotating, though, to make sure nothing could sneak up behind me. The longer we were floating out there, the more brave I became. “It’s okay, I said as a mantra: You’ve finally conquered your worst fear.

Then something brushed my leg. Something big! Omygod! I whipped my head around, terrified that I might see a huge shark, and there, staring me right in the mask was the most beautiful fish I’d ever seen. It was over three feet long, and the most vivid turquoise blue. Its lips were the size of tractor tires and it was smiling at me. Our dive instructor told us that this fish always visits the groups in the water, and has been doing this for quite some time.

After my heart quit doing the Macarena, I meekly reached out to pet this beautiful fish. You see, I thought, all those fears all those years, for nothing.

This morning as I worked on my computer and half-listened to the TV news, the anchor interrupted with: “We have breaking news” which normally means a car chase, a stock market plunge or surge, so I paid scant attention. That is until I heard: “A Great White Shark has just killed a man off the Australian coast.

So much for conquering your fears!

*****

Dodie Cross Bio

About the author: Dodie Cross is a freelance writer who has received numerous awards for her writing and poetry, among them the prestigious Southern California Writer’s Conference First Place Award for “Best Nonfiction,” as well as First Place in their inaugural Poetry Award. She has accrued first and second place prizes in her published articles. Dodie has traveled the world, writing about her life in foreign countries such as Iran and Thailand, as well as American locales such as New Orleans, Orange County, California.

Check out Dodie’s website where you will find her next book: A Broad Abroad in Iran: One Strappy-Sandaled Foot Ahead of the Mullahs: An Expat’s Life in Iran Before and During the Revolution.

*****

Thanks Dodie for sharing how you overcame your fear of scuba diving and snorkeling, and just jumped back in. To find out more about Dodie Cross and her humorous writing, please check out her blog: A Broad Abroad. Please share your comments or questions with Dodie who will be over to respond to them.

*****

Want to share your own “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your, “My Gutsy Story” please go to the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) and Submission guidelines here. You will also find a list of our wonderful sponsors and prizes.

*****