Crow for my Birthday

This morning, I couldn't seem to shake off the residual sleepy feeling from a not-so-restful night's sleep and I had some inexplicable aches. I also knew that I had an entire lecture to write because procrastination got the better of me. Actually, it wasn't procrastination. It was my futile search for something interesting to talk about. After much searching, I knew I'd have to write a rather dry lecture about the Constitutional Convention. In other words, I was not a ray of sunshine when I rolled out of bed on this, my 40th birthday.

After about three hours of work, I donned my yoga clothes and headed to the gym. Before this semester started, I made a promise to myself that no matter how crazy life got, I was going to stick to my gym routine. My favorite yoga instructor cancelled her class last Monday so I was looking forward to this morning's class.

We started with some stretching poses that we usually do later in the class, so that threw me off initally. I could just hear my muscles saying, "Umm, don't you want to warm up a bit before downward facing dog?" My shoulders were most vocal. This instructor is very fond of downward facing dog. She thinks it's restful. During a particularly vigorous class, I agree with her. At the beginning of class, I'm not so fond of my downward facing dog. It's more of a downward facing tired mutt. Anyway, we continued on and my muscles stopped complaining. By the 3rd or 4th dog, my shoulders were actually relaxing and enjoying themselves.

As I twisted myself into various positions, I thought, "To hell with being 40. A year ago, I couldn't do half of these things. A year ago, I was in pain every time I left this class. Now, I can easily keep up and I actually feel good when I leave." As I rested my forehead on my shins in a forward bend, I glanced around and took note of all the people who looked younger than me who were groaning and grimacing as they struggled to reach beyond their knees. Yes, I know, yoga is not a competition. I don't care. I kicked ass, decidedly younger ass.

About 45 minutes into the class, the instructor had us sit in a squat, then put our hands on the floor and raise our hips into the air. I knew where she was going with this. She was getting us ready to go into crow pose. Basically, it's a headstand tripod with your head off the floor. She did this in the very first class that I attended and I failed miserably. I can do a headstand tripod without any problem. I couldn't imagine being able to balance my entire body on my upper arms and hands without my head on the floor. I also couldn't imagine why anyone would want to do that.

Over the past year, I've tried to do a crow many times. I can get one foot off the floor, but can't get the balance right to get the other foot off the floor. I know that I need to lean forward, but I feel like I'll topple forward and smash my face on the floor. This is not something that I want to experience. I also find that I don't enjoy the sensation of my bony knees digging into my flabby upper arms.

Today, I was determined. I got into crow prep with my knees on my upper arms and my head off the floor. I inched my feet together and got one foot off the floor. Then, I heard a voice from above. OK, not above, from the front of the room. The instructor said, "Lengthen and flatten your back." That was all I needed. I did as instructed, leaned forward, lifted my foot, and I was up, perfectly balanced on my hands - for all of 15 seconds. But it was 15 glorious seconds! My knees didn't bother my arms as much because, much to my surprise, I have some muscle tone in my upper arms. Who knew?

As I continued on with the class, I thought about my friend who went rock climbing for her 40th birthday. I respected her determination to try something challenging and overcome her fear. I knew that I wasn't going to go rock climbing, but I did overcome my fear of smashing my face into the floor. And if that's not celebrating turning 40, I don't know what is.

(Images from:http://z.about.com/d/yoga/1/0/r/bigdowndog.jpg and http://z.about.com/d/yoga/1/0/J/crow.jpg Maybe for my next trick, I'll figure out how to take pictures of myself in these poses.)

Little Jackass at the Gym

Today, I went to the gym. As I expected, it was quiet. It's a beautiful fall Saturday and as if that's not enough to keep everyone out of the gym, it's also Georgia-Florida game day. All around town, the fans who didn't make the pilgrimage to Jacksonville crowded into grocery stores to buy chips, dip, beer and other game day accoutrements. So, the gym was quiet.

I walked around the enormous bulldog and made my way to the back of the gym. Words can't express how happy I was to see only 2 other women on the elliptical machines, and neither were anywhere near my favorite machine in the back row. I climbed aboard, revved up the iPod, turned on the Kentucky-Mississippi State game and started pedaling.

As I reached the 10 minute mark, I noticed a short young man getting on to a machine down the row. By this time, the other women had finished their work-outs and moved on. He and I were the only ones on the machines. At about the 17 minute mark, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. The little boy was hooking his headphones to the machine right next to mine. I didn't even try to hide the "you've got to be shitting me" look on my face. Twenty-nine empty machines and he chooses the one right next to me. I entertained the thought of moving, but then firmed up my resolve to stay right where I was. This little jackass was not going to chase me away.

I managed to tune him out until he got out his cell phone. I watched with some amusement as he contorted himself to brace the phone between his ear and shoulder while still hanging on to the arm bars. Oh yeah, he was getting a really good workout. When his whiny little voice interfered with my music, I made no effort to hide the clear annoyance etched on my face. I reached for my iPod and very obviously adjusted the volume. I silently wished that I could control the gym's PA system, so I could force the little jackass to listen to my music - I believe I was listening to 70s Elvis at the time. Then, I spent some time trying to figure out if there was some way that I could stink and sweat in his general direction. I momentarily considered flinging my sopping hair, but decorum got the better of me.

I finished my hour on the machine and dismounted on his side. By this time, he'd put down the phone and moved on to another surefire way to annoy everyone. He laughed out loud, amused by the misfortunes of two ne'er do wells on "Cops." With quiet dignity, I wiped off my machine and turned to leave. With quiet dignity, I released some compressed air in his general direction. With quiet dignity, I smiled and kept walking.

Wrong Wood

Last week, I went to the 90-minute yoga class. I was tired and hadn't eaten a snack so it was a very long class. And, some masochist in the front of the room suggested that we work on arms and upper body strength. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I have the upper body strength of a kangaroo and my arms dangle like limp spaghetti; however, I don't go to yoga so I can torture myself. I was not having much fun.

At the end, we did relaxation exercises. I know that I'm supposed to try to achieve some sort of meditative (or vegetative) state; but, being a good Type A personality, I use this time to plan the next day. So, while the instructor said, "Inhale deeply, then extend your exhalations to twice as long as the inhale," I thought, "So, tomorrow, I'll write the next section in chapter 4. Maybe I'll start with Ed Wood heading to the Highlander Folk School." I stopped and thought, "No, wait, Ed Wood isn't right. It was Jim Wood." I almost laughed out loud at the thought of Johnny Depp as cross-dressing Ed Wood, showing up at Highlander to talk about citizenship schools. Johnny/Ed would sit across from Myles Horton, enthusiastically waving his arms while saying, "So, we'll start schools everywhere. And there will be monsters and all the teachers will be cross-dressers. It'll be great!"

Then, I decided that I'd get Tim Burton to direct the film version of my dissertation.

Yin Yoga

Last night, I got as close to torture as I ever want to get. Following my new routine, I went to the 90-minute yoga class. I've decided that I like the class because it seems to attract a core group of the same people every week. The instructor is more relaxed and there's sense of comaraderie. We needed it last night.

The instructor put her mat at what has been the back of the room, announcing that she didn't want us to look at the clock during class. I should have recognized this as an omen. The second sign that things were not going to follow a "normal" path was when she handed out blocks and straps. Then, when we'd all assembled, she announced that we were going to do yin yoga, "just for fun." I've learned that "just for fun" is this instructor's way of saying, "Only totally insane people would try this." For example, she encourages us to wind ourselves up into knots, then balance on our forearms, "just for fun." As she's balancing there, she'll say, "See, isn't this fun? It's hilarious." I usually stop whatever she's doing when she says, "Try this, just for fun."

Heading into an entire class that would be "just for fun" was a bit daunting. She introduced yin yoga by saying that we'd go into poses without warming up our muscles first, then we'd hold the poses longer than usual. I thought, "This sounds like a recipe for a torn muscle, but she's the instructor." We spent the next 75 minutes in some of the most uncomfortable positions I've ever been in. It wasn't excrutiating, just uncomfortable. Poses that I've come to enjoy were not pleasant. Let me tell you, once you've sustained a penguin pose without warming up first, it hurts to move back into child's pose.

I felt like I was 80 years old, but I knew I wasn't alone. There were groans all over the room as we slowly put our legs back together (and back in socket). At one point, the instructor admitted that the lunge pose was "killing her," but she didn't want to "gyp" us out of the experience. A woman in the center of the room said, "No, no, please gyp us." Next, we worked ourselves into a pose where we were on our backs with one leg bent so that foot touched the corresponding hip, bottom of the foot turned toward the ceiling. The lone fellow in the room (not last week's flasher) said, "If my quad should come loose from my body, what will you do?" Someone else assured him that we'd call 911.

At one point, the instructor sniffed the air and asked, "Does it smell like cleaning fluid?" No one responded, so she looked at the fellow and asked, "Do you smell, like, cleaning fluid?" Still holding his pose, he said without missing a beat, "Do I smell like cleaning fluid?" I thought I was going to topple over. It still cracks me up.

At one point, in some twisted pose, the fellow said, "I had planned to go running tomorrow. Now, I don't know if I'll be able to." One woman responded, "I drive a stick shift car. I just hope I can get home." I said, "I just hope I can walk out of this room." But, yet, none of us left. Laughing through the discomfort was somehow comforting.

For the big finale, we sat in a butterfly position, soles of the feet together, knees out to the side. We wrapped the strap around our hips, passed it under our feet, then buckled and tightened the strap. Then, as instructed, the lot of us positioned the blocks behind us and reclined so our backs rested on one block and our heads on the other. As I laid there, trussed up and totally exposed, I thought, "This is as close to torture as I want to get." I also thought, "Please God, let me sit back up."

I feel that I can speak for the entire class when I say that none of us are in a hurry to do yin yoga again. We were all good sports and there was more laughing and cutting up than in the other classes I've gone to. The instructor rewarded us with a longer relaxation period at the end. We did alternate nostril breathing, where you close one nostril, breathe in with the other, exhale, switch sides, repeat. Divine intervention was the only thing that kept me from laughing out loud.

I thought I'd be sore today, but I'm not. Just tired. Probably should have skipped the 45 minutes on the elliptical today.

Men and yoga

This week, I started going to the 90-minute yoga class on Monday evenings. I'm happy to report that I made it through the class and felt better when I came out than when I went in. I think I might be getting the hang of this gym thing.

On Wednesday, I went to the gym for what has become my regular yoga class. As I entered the room, I got my mat and scanned the room for a space to claim as my own. My eyes fell on the person closest to the door. He was in reclining butterfly - where you sit down, put the soles of your feet together, knees out to the sides, and lay back. He was wearing shorts. I don't think I emitted an audible "eek" but I might have. In most other circumstances, I'd be the first to say that audible exclamations of disgust are bad form. In this case, I think I should be forgiven. I quickly averted my eyes, claimed the spot behind him, and tried to erase the image from my memory banks. Ever wonder why memories of loved ones fade, but you can indefinitely retain a vivid mental image of a stranger's not-meant-for-public-viewing parts. Our God has a strange sense of humor.

Since Mr. Shorts was in the front of the room, I decided that he wasn't in class to ogle at the female class members. About 10 minutes into the class, I decided he was there to sweat profusely and breathe heavily like Darth Vader. He was clearly connected to a force all his own. Despite the instructor's constant reminder to "go slow," he zipped in and out of warrior 1, warrior 2, and reverse warrior. He was a whirling, sweaty dervish. I intentionally kept my head down while we were in bent-over poses. I didn't want to see what might not be "downward facing" while we were in downward facing dog.

Mr. Shorts left after 45 minutes. The instructor continued to guide us in and out of poses while scrubbing his mat with what I hoped was industrial strength cleanser. I didn't ask, but I believe she was thinking, "Thank God he left before I put the class in 'the reclining pose of their choice.'"

He's not the first guy who's been in my yoga class. There was a nice gentleman in the Monday class. He actually apologized and moved his mat when we stretched out and he accidentally tickled my foot. He also wore longer shorts that covered all of his parts. He was even entertaining at times, like when we were in eagle pose (where you basically twist your arms and legs into knots and try to balance on one foot.) This fellow had some balance issues and but never untwisted his arms as he wobbled from one side to the other. He didn't completely topple over, to his credit. He just wobbled like a very drunk eagle whose friends dared him to twist his arms into knots and then left before helping him unwind.

There's another fellow that comes to class. He's not skinny and not very flexible, but that guy can hold a T-balance longer than anyone I've ever seen. And he wears shorts that cover all his parts.

As intimidating as yoga class can be for women, I imagine it must be worse for men. I'd like to be encouraging, but if you're going to sweat profusely and flash your private parts, please stay home.

Britney and Neil, together at last

I've moved my gym operations into the big gym, out of the women's only room. I was driven into the big gym earlier this week when a bunch of ponytailed, young, fatless girls took up all the elliptical machines in the women's room (not that I'm bitter.) Thanks to them, I've discovered that the big gym is much more pleasant. The machines are farther apart and there's more going on thus doubling the people watching opportunities. It's only taken 10 weeks, but I've finally made it to the big gym - and I'm up to 45 minutes on the elliptical machine. I'll be climbing up that dog's ass in no time.

The elliptical machines are the fancy ones with individual TV screens mounted at the top of the display panel. In other words, if you're short, you might as well just look at the ceiling. Usually, I set the TV on something mindless and then listen to my iPod. I'm figuring out my preferred work-out music and let me just say, "Thank God for headphones." I can serenely pedal away while Dee Snyder insists that he's not goin' take it anymore, or Joan Jett vehemently denies that she gives a damn about her bad reputation. These are bad enough, but the other day, I found myself thinking, "Damn right, Britney, I am stronger than yesterday." Again, thank the good lord for headphones. And, yes, that's the only Britney Spears song on my iPod.

Today, I'd set my TV on the gym's music video channel, set my iPod and started pedaling. At about the 25 minute mark, I tuned in to both the music in my ears and the video on the screen. I heard Britney warbling away about being stonger than yesterday while watching a very sweaty, flannel-clad Neil Young lumber across the stage, strum his guitar and grimace while standing at the microphone. I almost burst out laughing. For a brief moment, it seemed like ole Neil had sucked down some helium and decided to sing Britney's top 10. There was Neil, grimacing away, singing, "Here I go, on my own! I don't need nobody, better off alone!" The crowd shots almost sent me over the edge. Die-hard Neil Young fans waving their arms, yelling, "Yeah, Neil! It's nothin but your way! Woohoo!"

If you'd like to experience this unique musical collaboration, here's the link to Neil's video on youtube. Turn down the volume and crank up Britney. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBS3B2cZcFM&mode=related&search=

Pilates

In my continuing effort to mold my Cheez Whiz mid-section into gouda, I've started going to a pilates class at the gym. It's a class for beginnners. The instructor assured us that after we finished her class, we'd be able to go into any other pilates class that the gym offered. The key was to finish the class. The class turned out to be 55 of the longest minutes of my life.

Unlike yoga, pilates is all about the floor. Lying on your back, lying on your stomach, lying on your side. You get the picture. To complete the picture, add kicking your arms and legs in all different directions, "never losing control" as the instructor reminded us. There were several points where I was literally flopping around like a fish out of water. The fact that I couldn't breathe just added to the image.

Early on, we worked ourselves into some sort of squat and from somewhere in the room came the unmistakable sound of compressed air being released. I assure you that I did not smell it, and I did not deal it. But the sound hung there in the air for quite a while. I think we all deserve a huge pat on the back for not laughing. Not even a snicker. Perhaps it was because none of us could breathe. Or perhaps we were all thinking, "There but for the grace of God..."

I made it through that first class and lived to tell about it. My mid-section felt fine for the rest of that day and all through the next. Two days after the class, I sneezed and my stomach muscles screamed in pain. I believe I said, "But it's been 2 days! I don't understand!" The discomfort persisted throughout the morning, but eventually went away in time for me to go to my second pilates class.

This one was much the same as the first. I recognized a couple of return students, folks like me who were too proud (stupid) to stay away. The room filled up and we all assumed our positions on our backs. About halfway through the class, amidst the audible grunts and groans from some people behind me, I thought, "This has got to be one of the strangest things I've ever done as an adult. Walk into a room full of strangers, take off my shoes and socks, spread out on a mat on the floor, kick my arms and legs from side to side, and roll around like a ball." I decided not to think about it, for fear that I would get caught up in the absurdity of trying to rock back onto my shoulders while holding my ankles and start giggling uncontrollably. I've learned that it's easy to rock back, it's the coming up that's hard. Several times, I've gotten stuck just rocking back and forth, like a turtle on its shell. It's not as embarrassing as releasing compressed air, but it's pretty close.

So, I've survived a second class. I'm not sure if I'm brave enough to graduate beyond the beginner's class. We'll see next week.

Life's Little Successes

I recently read a review of "In Celebration," a play that opened on London's West Side. The reviewer makes the following comment about Orlando Bloom's performance: "It's not a challenging role but he remembers his lines and doesn't bump into the furniture." On the surface, this may seem like a slap in the face, but after careful consideration, I've decided that the reviewer may be on to something. Maybe we expect too much from ourselves. Maybe, as we climb into bed at night, we shouldn't focus on what we didn't do, but instead we should pat ourselves on the back if we "remembered our lines and didn't bump into the furniture."

Case in point: Yesterday, I went to my first yoga class. Although I am extremely uncoordinated, I managed to keep up with the instructor, except a few times when she was in downward facing dog, and I was still in high push up position. I learned that it's an easy mistake to correct, just stick your butt straight into the air. If only all of life's mistakes were this easy to correct, or could be remedied with this solution.

I stayed right with the instructor as she lifted her leg while in downward facing dog. I even managed not to giggle. I find that it's hard to giggle when you can't breathe. I stayed right with her as we literally tied ourselves into tight little balls. However, despite my growing confidence, I stopped short of balancing on my hands while tied up in a ball. I saw her do it and thought, "I thought I'd have to buy tickets to Cirque de Soliel to see that kind of thing." The most amazing part of this whole display came when she continued to instruct, all the while balanced on her hands, tied in a tight little ball. "Do what's comfortable for you but don't limit yourselves," she said in the same soothing voice, straight into the floor, "Try to create space between your rib cage and your pelvis. Settle into the stretch." I thought, "If I settle any more, you're going to need to call the paramedics to untie me." Then, just as amazingly, she uncoiled in a slow fluid motion, not like a spring that's been released, which was my uncoiling strategy. I'm happy to report that I did not say "Boiiing!"

Now, I could beat myself up about not even trying to balance on my hands while tied in a ball, or my ungraceful "release." But, I'm not going to do that. Instead, I'm going to remember that for the majority of the class, I "remembered my lines and didn't bump into the furniture." It helped that there wasn't any furniture - but hey, it's a metaphor. Work with me.

So, I offer this advice - focus on the little successes in the day. If Orlando Bloom isn't enough inspiration, think of the woman in yesterday's blotter. Seems she was run over by her own truck. She stopped the truck and got out. The truck started moving and as she tried to get back in, she fell. Under the truck. She was taken to an area hospital and treated for unspecified injuries.

As you climb into bed tonight, don't think about all the things you didn't do, but instead drift blissfully to sleep thinking, "Sure, I didn't do those things, but I wasn't run down by my own vehicle." Unless you were. In which case, I'm sorry.

The Gym, Part 2

This week, I returned to the gym for my physical assessment. The assessment turned out to be an enormous sales pitch for the gym's personal trainer services. The assessor clearly had a schtick that he was determined to get through and by the end, I'd be convinced that the only way I'd ever get into any shape at all would be to pay over $100/month (on top of the gym fee) to have a personal trainer. He and I were not on the same page. He had a tough job. He failed.

For the assessment, he used a machine to evaluate my upper arm, my thigh, and my stomach. He also tested my ability to pull on a metal bar attached to the floor, and to stretch my hands toward my feet. When I extended my hands well beyond my feet, he said that my flexibility was great - so we wouldn't be working on that. I said, "But that's the only thing I can do!"

I thought the personal assessment would include instruction on the machines - helping me learn which machines do what, helping me figure out what I should do. Nope. He didn't even let me near any machines. He said that because I hadn't worked out before, I couldn't start with any weights. That's right, part of his sales pitch was to make me feel like a huge loser who can't even use the fancy gym's fancy equipment. No, instead, I had to do humiliating exercises like walking like a crab in the middle of the gym, right beside the enormous dog. It was my worst nightmare come true. When I told him that I felt really self-conscious, he said, "Oh, everyone starts like this. You're doing fine. No one is even paying attention." Then, a really beautiful man walked by. He glanced in my direction, as I was squatting and crabbing, and turned away. I think I saw him smirk. If I could have straightened up, I would have. If I'd been able to walk to the door, I would have done that too.

I refused to pay for personal trainer services after that. I left the gym, legs burning and dignity in tatters. Yesterday, I gathered all of my courage and walked into the women's only part of the gym. With some support from the kind woman at the desk, I overcame my fear of the elliptical machine. OK, so I wasn't as smooth as the girl down the row, but I didn't fall off or get twisted up in the machine, and I considered this a definite step in the right direction.

I glanced down the row a couple of times and saw the young woman taking a drink of water, wiping sweat from her brow with a towel, changing the settings on the machine - never breaking stride. Confidently, I thought, "I can do that." I let go of the arm bars, leaned forward and almost lost my balance. I fished around for the bottle, finally got it but despite several valiant attempts, I couldn't get the bottle to meet my mouth. There I was, pedaling away, arm bars swinging wildly beside me, mouth open, trying desparately to get the bottle to my mouth. When I hit my nose, I stopped trying.

Next up, yoga class. I don't think I'll tell them about my coordination issues.

The Gym

I've recently relocated to a college town, one where the school's mascot is ubiquitously displayed. Everywhere you go, the bulldog is watching you - in the frozen food section in the grocery store, peeping out of flower beds, standing guard over mailboxes, shamelessly advertising every business in town, and splayed across chests and other body parts. Everywhere.

Knowing this, I'm not sure why I was surprised when I saw the mascot in my new gym. This one tops all other facsimiles I've seen around town. It's a huge replica of the school mascot that you can rock-climb. No, really. It's easily 2-stories high, concrete, and has hand and foot grips all over it. You can climb straight up the dog's ass if you'd like. I had to sign a waiver that absolved the gym from any responsibility if I climbed on and subsequently fell off the dog. How many gyms offer the opportunity to climb up a dog's ass? I love this town!

Yesterday, as I signed my life away to the gym, I watched as a woman tried to climb the dog's front leg. She made it about halfway up, so her feet were barely off the ground. Then, she seemed to run into some trouble and couldn't figure out how to extend her body upward. She just hung there, like a tick. A tick dressed in a black unitard. I have to admit that I was more embarrassed for the dog.

This is the first time I've ever joined a gym and I have to say that so far, it has exceeded all my expectations. Yesterday, the fellow who showed me around asked me what brought me into the gym. I considered responding, "Well, my ass is slowly creeping down the back of my legs and I'd like to stop its decline before it hits my ankles. Meanwhile, my mid-section and upper arms are taking on the consistency of cheez whiz. I'd prefer gouda. Can you make my mid-section gouda?" In the end, I went with, "Well, there are parts of me that aren't as firm as they used to be."

I've decided to save my comedy routine for after I've survived the elliptical machines.