Yoga Guy

It seems even to cliché to write, but I have met him…yoga guy…not as bad as this yoga guy, but still…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJsQcnB6GC0

Being unemployed allows for lots of free time to try out new yoga studios. Armed with my yoga mat and yoga BFF, I headed into class ready to relax and renew.  Knowing myself and that I do not respond to change well (at all) I decided to sit quietly meditating before class to get used to the new space and check-in with myself to see what I needed from class. I was just getting settled when I heard someone ask, “Are you saving this spot?” I looked up to see the urban legend that I had heard so much about, abominable yoga guy, completely covered head to toe in hair, and wearing shorts which left nothing to the imagination. Being the budding bodhisattva that I am, I promptly responded, “all yours” as enthusiastically as possible. “Okay,” my inner monologue began, “this is your practice for today. Notice: judgment, annoyance, just notice…oh, fuck!” Urban Tarzan had begun his pre-class ritual of attempting to reach his toes, huffing, puffing and grunting the whole time.  “Ok,” I thought to myself, “what are my options here? Move, leave…” But before I could finish my thought the lights dimmed and the teacher began guiding us in the opening meditation. 

Things went surprisingly smoothly for the first half of class.  Besides trying to hide my “that’s nasty face” (best illustrated here)

every time yoga guy dripped sweat onto his mat or took a break to “mop up,” I was able to get into my own yoga groove, but as the class began to reach the end the teacher decided we were ready to try some hand stands.  Already exhausted from the day/class, I did my usual pony kicks (i.e. preparatory jumps) and focused on maintaining proper alignment.  Yoga guy, however, had a different approach…He began throwing him legs up in the air - grunting and farting (yes farting) the whole time. Afraid for my life, I abandoned my practice and curled up near the end of my mat, as far away from the flailing neanderthal as possible.  The pose, usually called child’s pose, quickly became frightened animal pose as I made note of each of yoga guy’s attempts at levitation. 

The teacher suggested one last attempt before beginning our cool down and as I prepared to flip over onto my back for savasanna, I saw out of the corner of my eye that yoga guy was really wobbly and in fact was falling over and headed in my direction! I moved my hands out of the way before one of his giant feet landed smack on my mat.  I couldn’t help but stare at the rivers of sweat creating lines in his overgrowth forest of leg hair.  “Oh, sorry,” he said, “my bad.” He removed his foot only to leave a footprint of sweat on my mat that quickly turned into a little pool of foulness.  With this being my first time at the studio and the instructor already dimming the lights for final relaxation, I looked around quickly for where they might have the mat spray and towels, but finding nothing, I grabbed the blanket I was planning on using to keep myself warm and laid it over the tiny pool of filth. Curse words floated through my inner monologue, then sheer annoyance and disgust.

As soon as the final Om was chanted, I hopped up to return my props and tell my yoga BFF all about the events of the past 90 minutes. Looking uber Zen herself, she took one look at me and mouthed, “what’s wrong?” I mouthed back, “later.” Then headed to the bathroom to wash my hands in case I had accidentally come in contact with any of the yeti’s bodily fluids. Taking a few deep breathes of the lavender soap, I felt ready to face the world again or at least my friend and move on with my day.

I found my friend waiting for me outside the studio. “Great class,” she said, “What did you think of it?” “Ha,” I said, but before I could launch into the full story, Yoga Guy came out of the studio and gave a little wave in my direction before heading off down the sidewalk.  “Do you know him?” she asked, “He’s kinda cute…” Unable to control myself any longer, I made the combination stink eye/death stare in his direction and responded, “Yyyyyeah, he's all yours...” 

I'm back!

...whoot, whoot, I'm back! It took a long weekend at the natural hot springs, a few days of laying in the sun reading smut and my roommate gone for ten days (so I can eat bacon in my underwear, my favorite "I live alone" activity;) but I am finally back to me! I have officially let go of my corporate "experience." And I know this because after dinner, with some actual energy to spare, I had a little Roy Orbison-Baha Men-Cee-Lo-Cyndi Lauper Dance party.  Hmmmm, maybe that's why my neighbors across the way greet me with a knowing smile when I see them on the street even though we've never met.  Either that or because I usually forget to close my blinds...

Okay, I lied...this one is a little serious...

During a recent sunshine-filled morning, I set out on a little adventure through GGP.  Mid-wander I found myself upon a peculiar scene.  Four little boys, roughly 3 or 4 years old, where having a T-ball lesson with some baseball cap wearing, gym-shorts-for-all-occasions kind of guy. While the mothers stood, arms crossed on the “sidelines” each little boy took a turn at bat.  Then, with each hit, the little boys and the dude would take off around the imaginary bases for a homerun victory lap.  One little boy stepped up to bat and on the first try walloped a good one out into what would be center field. This little boy knew the drill and raced around touching each imaginary base, while the last little boy barely made it to second base before loosing interest and walking back to the sidelines.

The next little boy hopped up to bat, swung and missed. “Try again,” “Eye on the ball,” rang the mom’s voices from the sidewalk. Finally, with one mighty swing, the little boy launched the waffle ball way past imaginary third base, but instead of taking his victory lap began squealing, jumping up and down and shouting, “kiss, kiss” while hugging and kissing all the other little boys. “Hey, no kissing,” shouted the coach, “we gotta run the bases. C’mon.” And he was off, but the little boys were too involved in there love fest to notice, and the hugging and kissing continued. After the coach had taken his victory lap solo, he tried again to get the boys attention. But the excited little boys just looked confused. They were excited and something good had just happened. Why were they supposed to stop? I pictured the little boys celebrating with mom when something good happened at home, like pooping in the big boy potty. That’s when mommy gives you a big hug and kiss to let you know how proud she is of you. 

Well little boys, I am afraid the time for hugging and kissing is over. It is time you learn to be a man. Now, you are being taught to take your victory lap and the attention of all the adoring fans, not to express your excitement and joy through physical means with your friends. It is now time to have your value mirrored to you externally from the roar of the crowd as you humbly round the bases with the greatest of ease while enjoying your time in the spot light. Geez, no wonder all little boys want to grow up to be athletes.  They learn early that outside recognition and praise feels good, like mommy’s hugs and kisses, only past a certain age, one becomes more desirable than the other. 

As I walked away from the scene, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad for what I had witnessed that day. I wanted to encourage the little boys to kiss and celebrate any way they wanted too. To enjoy and express their feelings of excitement and joy, but as just a childless bystander out for a stroll, I knew it wasn’t my place and told myself what all future parents think: “My children will be different.”    

Women, Food and Deprivation

During a recent trip to a grocery coop, I overheard an interesting conversation.  A woman was giving some member of her family, who was obviously visiting the area, a tour of the coop and barraging her with the benefits of eating a local, organic diet. The relative nodded politely as we all do in these situations, but upon making eye contact with me rolled her eyes at the “education” she was receiving. 

What happened next, as they say, “takes the cake.”  The woman stated that by eating local and organic she would, “easily live 5-10 years longer” than she normally would have.  Now, I consider myself a pretty up-to-date person, but I had never heard this statistic. And upon further research (i.e. Google) found no evidence that this statement was true.  So, I thought, “Why does this woman believe that by eating certain things she will dodge death?” As if a car crash wouldn’t happen on the way home, because she had organic beet salad for lunch. Then I realized what’s been bugging me about pretentious food snobs…well, a number of things actually.  #1 Regardless of if you eat all organic, local, sustainable foods, you are still going to die.  #2 Not everyone needs restraint/deprivation in their diet, some of us need to let go a little bit. #3 The last thing we as women need is more guilt or shame, we feel poorly about our bodies, our choices in relationship and how we raise our children…I say ENOUGH! No more playing victim to the current food movement or any other fad that promises to make us better (or live longer), if not (unable to die). Me must admit our humility, our humanity and flow through life with grace, humor and integrity instead of guilt, shame and fear.

A few years ago, while in grad school, I decided to “treat” myself to a trip to the naturopath.  The woman came highly recommended and her website promised a (to treat the whole person with dignity and respect, not like seeing your medical dr.).  But after 1.5 hours, I felt more shame than I had ever felt at after any doctor’s visit.  After hearing my current diet - restricted meat, tons of sugar – the lovely DO told me she couldn’t help me because I wouldn’t do anything she told me to do (i.e. cut out sugar) and I left with some non-petroleum, local salve (not without an lecture on petroleum use, never mind that I took the city bus to get to the appointment and she drove her prius), a sheet of paper that said things like, “smile everyday” and “be sure to spend 15 minutes outdoors each day,” and $380 less than when I went in.  Well, as soon as I left the place I burst into tears and walked all the way home, my anger growing with each step. How dare that woman judge me and my lifestyle, I came to her for help! As I walked through the poorer parts of town, my anger grew into rage. These people can’t go the coop for everything and they are still alive! I walked by people standing in line for McDonalds and ice cream and thought there can’t be one way to eat, just like there isn’t one way to live…we can’t all be bankers or lawyers or doctors and we can’t all take fish supplements or put wheat germ on our toast.  And we shouldn’t feel bad about that…We need to love and trust our bodies, they will tell us what they need.  And I don’t know about you, but my body rarely thinks, “mmmmm, tofu.” What is does feel is the need for protein and iron, especially during certain times of the month when those vitamins need to be replenished. Or craves chocolate when hormones are doing their thing leaving me feeling sluggish and a little sad.

So ladies, go ahead and have that red devil cupcake bite with your skinny, decaf, non-fat latte…your body just might thank you for it…

QUIT!

It is official. After 3 months and 12 days, I have had it corporate America. I’m actually pretty proud of my self, last time I didn’t last two months! This must mean my tolerance is building ;) Let’s just hope it needn’t be tested again…