guilty as charged

1 03 2011

 

Started yoga teacher training in January. Found a site with loads of observations, some gave me a giggle — and I added to it a bit too:

  • Not wearing body lotion because it messes up your grip.
  • Barely recognizing your classmates fully clothed, or dry, or with hair/makeup coiffed.
  • Freezing in any environment that’s less than 80 degrees.
  • Realizing that Sanskrit no longer sounds foreign.
  • Buying underwear based on how quickly it dries, and if it will peek out whilst in a full forward fold.
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100 mile “practice”

11 02 2011

You’ve heard of marathons. Of course you have, those 26.2 oval stickers are breeding like wildfire on the backs of SUV’s everywhere these days, but have you noticed the stickers with numbers bigger than 26.2? Those are “Ultra” marathons, the new badge of honor. They’re typically 50K’s, or even 50 miles, or the grand poobah: 100 milers. (Although I bet there’s someone somewhere who’s hosted a race longer than 100 mi.) 

Mr Geauxgirl and I have worked an aid station for a 100 miler in the past. We used to “run” (term used loosely– much beer involved— and Delightful was there too) with a fella who actually set the course record for one of these jobbies seven or eight years running. He also had legs that were up to about my armpits, and kinda just loped along– his one step was about 3 or 4 of mine, and I’m about 5′ 6″. The majority of folks coming through at mile 85 were just brok-ted. As in likely causing irreparable harm.

Enter into the fray another friend of ours – we’ll call him “This Guy”. This Guy started “running” with us (the beer variety), then somehow he caught the Running bug that we managed to successfully avoid. (Well, “we” meaning me. I still don’t run unless I’m chased. Hubby has done 2 marathons, but his training regimine to get to 26.2 miles consists of about a month’s worth, where training for a month means I can go twice around the block without stopping instead of once around.) He also worked this overnighter aid station, and we together tsk-tsk’d (and awed) at the extremity of how much people voluntarily will put themselves through.

So my point?

Our friend, This Guy, a fellow scant 5′ 6″-er with legs to match, just completed a 100 miler over superbowl weekend.

He posted about it here, including a short video.

While I did read Born to Run recently (fascinating), plus I confess to owning 3 pair of Vibram Five Finger shoes (new jayas!), at the same time we’ve already established that I’m no runner. But I am a yogini. And part of what we yammer about (sometimes endlessly!) is that ours is a “practice”. As in, you get to “practice” managing your body and mind’s reactions to putting your body and mind through a self-induced stressful situtation in a safe place, so that your “practice” in dealing with stresses comes in handy when you step off your mat too.

Well lo and behold, watching his video during the run itself, he’s doing the same damn thing. Hmph. Looks to me like runners are closeted yogi’s, only with tighter hamstrings.

Rock on, friend. Now sit down and eat a bag o’ chips already, will ya? (Beer highly recommended too.) And next time you come for a visit, I’ll lend you my mat so you can work on those hamstrings.

yup! this guy....





eat that frog

8 12 2010

No, I don’t mean frog-legs, although I have to admit they’re mighty tasty if done properly.

You know when you NEED to do Something, and you know that the Something really isn’t all THAT bad, but yet still you find yourself defrosting the deepfreeze rather than tackling the Something instead?

Yeah. I’ve had a few of those lately.

“Eat a live frog every morning, and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.” -Mark Twain

Do the icky thing first. Get it over with. NOW. The pain of not doing is greater than the pain of doing.

You heard me. So go. Do.

And if you absolutely can’t bear to eat that frog, put ketchup on it and hold your nose.





…d’ere’s poo in there

11 09 2010

Hurt my foot a couple weeks back, doing some team building silly adventures on the cape (woo! It sounds so worldly “on the cape”) The team building adventures were of the tennis-ball meets scuba-fins meets make-an-ass-of-yourself-with-your-teammates variety. So I haven’t been able to practice much. Yoga that is.

Take the resulting +/-10 bruises (we won 1st!), throw in a holy trinity of crapdom (big zit, cramps, and a lovely fever blister – as in “say hello to my little *friend*”) and maybe that’s attributing to my inexplicably morose world view of late. Sorry kids. Back soon in earnest, I promise. Kinda feel like I’ve been “mailing it in”, all around. Don’t sweat though, because I ain’t brokted down quite yet. Proof in point: Here’s a belly laugh from this morning to share for your own enjoyment:

Just cracked a new book Neal Pollack’s Stretch: The Unlikely Making of a Yoga Dude. Yeah, yeah, I have an unreasonable affinity for memoirs, akin to other strange affinities found in the world, like Funyuns, discoballs and the nation’s still ongoing obsession with various and sundry reality shows. (Stopping here, lest this become a whole ‘nuther flavor of post entirely.)

But yet again, I disgress. Focus, dear. (Pronounce this in your head as “fuckus”. It’s much funner that way, and I promise to explain why someday. But not today.)

Sheesh. Again. FUCKUS!

So. Yeah. The Yogi dude book thing. Barely in the first chapter, which includes such literary gems as these, both of which are clearly destined for the literary quote Hall of Fame, if such a thing exists:

  • “…. bending forward over my knees, I caught the faint and unpleasant whiff of my own ass…”
  • “….I’d expected poses with flouncy names, like laughing daisy, or bejeweled vagina….”

(Thanks for the giggle Neal. Funny as shit thus far, but I won’t be next to you in class, no offense dahlin’.)

But the kicker (still with me?) is this’n:

“Like a freshly made vampire, I’d only just begun to test the limits of my thirst. Yoga was about to become the organizing principle of my existence. Also, much to the chagrin of non-yogis I knew, it became pretty much the only thing about which I ever wanted to talk. In the walk of life, I’d stepped in a big pile of yoga doo, and nothing could get it off my sole. Or my soul.”

Um, yup. But at least this kind of poo doesn’t stain the carpet.

Holy shit. Where’s the Tylenol?

Hey, anyone else craving funyuns?





mercury rising

10 08 2010

For my friend, Delightful. Whose fur-baby, Mercury, I imagine MUST be like this in the mornings. My bat-shit-crazy feline 20 years ago sure was. Then again, we named her Phydeaux. She might’ve been offended, who knows.

Hey Delightful – Make sure you hide the sporting equipment.

(Thanks to Kiki— she found the magic cat guy, I’m merely repurposing it.)





the dragon whisperer

15 05 2010

So he’s got a bit of the fire-breath thing going on. He’s still a cutie. Besides, I think they like a little cooing, and a scratch under the chinny-chin-chin before we climb on board.

At least ours seemed to– we medaled again this year.

“Dragon Whisperer” might be pushing it, but then again a good dragon mojo goes a long way.