Amy, who's like a size two, stomped down the hall like an elephant, searching for me in the early morning, letting me know it's time to go, time to hit the road, head to Tucson, get to Miraval in time for a 10:30 Quantum Leap. Let's skip sleeping in, Sunday brunch, reading the paper all day and white-knuckle it in the car for an hour and a half, calling for reservations on the way, begging to get on the challenge course waiting list in order to climb up a thirty foot telephone pole, squeeze two of us on a tiny platform and then jump off just for the hell of it. Since it's so hard to say no to Ms. HOHI, we slid into T-town just in time, met our leaping group and walked through the gorgeous desert, tipped our heads back way high and took in the pole that was calling our names. Our group consisted of three folks from Paris (a married couple and their friend, Jose - born in Spain, but spoke perfect French) and one other married couple. We tied each other up, learned how to belay the rope, were told not to sit on the platform once we got up and then headed up. Once I got to the top, I realized that looking down was not an option. I stared off at eye level, taking in the Catalina Mountains, knowing that one glance down could mean the end. As I waited for Amy, no longer stomping, but taking it one slow step on the rung at a time, reaching between my ankles, somehow maneuvering herself up on to the two foot by less than one foot rectangular platform. We did it. We stood there. We breathed the keep deep breathing Miraval breath. We jumped down. Our group turned from strangers into a high-fiving, fist-bumping, kiss-kissing (one on each cheek since we were all so Frenchie Frenchie by then) love fest. It was a heart-racing, self-esteem pumping, worth getting out of bed for quantum leap.
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