Don’t go whitewater tubing. Ever. 

First, calling it a workout is so understated, but you also can’t say that you felt like a baby bird in a hurricane because people will think you’re being overdramatic (even though you won’t be). 

At some point, early on, your son will scream, “I don’t want to die!” and you’ll have to run across slippery rocks, scraping your knee to “save his life”. Rocks, yes, lots of them, and when you see this really cool, pointy one, the one you’re about to pass over while you’re finally in a chill spot—it will start making chomping motions because it won’t be a rock—it’ll be a snapping turtle. Since you know that snapping turtles aren’t solitary creatures, you’ll clench your butt cheeks for the rest of your ride. The good news is that even though you’re alone, you will go by other tubers, and you can say, “I hate this,” and they’ll say, “I hate this too.”  There will be other new friends:  when you get to a spot you think is your takeout, you’ll notice that there are teenagers getting high and drinking beer, swearing and making out. You’ll notice about the same time your kids do. 

You might have to swim upstream for a half an hour or more only to find out that you were in the right takeout spot after all.  When everyone has made it to where you are, you’ll notice that Nana has gone missing. Nana is lost on the river. Eventually, you’ll call 911 and there will be a search party, fire trucks–even a helicopter.

Hours later, when it starts to get cold (you’ll know how cold because you’ll be in your bathing suit), they will find Nana walking on the C&O Canal. She will not be in shock like you because she’s a good swimmer and used to be a Girl Scout.  You will, though, be mad and terrified when she says she wants to do it again.