I did it with ropes

As I leave my early 40′s (soon) and approach that mid-decade I am quite focused on staying healthy and feeling good.  Like getting my Yoga Teacher Certification and my breast reduction surgery (gasp!), my only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner.  I have always tried to eat well and because of a the effects of a fat gene (another gasp! another post. another time.)  I have always had some form of exercise as part of my almost daily routine.  I have just never done any of these things on purpose with some plan in mind – a goal to achieve or high bar of overall wellness.  Well that longing for new experiences and a sense of adventure has kicked in like many mid-lifers (stop gasping!!).  I am not buying a Porsche or getting a tattoo but I am mixing up my fitness routine and trying new things.  Disclaimer:  I will always be forever faithful to my Yoga as my number one tool for living a good life and to running as my I’m-not-sure-what-but-I-can’t-live-without thing but I tried TRX suspension training yesterday.

Looks like this:

Smells like this:

Source: Yoga Paws

I am never far from my yoga mind so I see it everywhere.  During this TRX class, we did many other challenging exercises using the ropes in a class led by the awesome, every encouraging, I-want-her-body (in the most innocent way!) Allison, Wellness Director of our local YMCA.  There is a version of plank where our feet are suspended by the stirrup loops and we swing our legs side to side, first with straight limbs and then using the core we incorporate a bending knee action.  It’s really cool and since I am known as ‘plank-clair’ to my students sometimes, I especially liked that.    Later in the day I taught a Yoga class and felt very strong as the lactic acid was in production mode but not yet pooled in the most worked areas.  Today I am sore is the best way – in places that are safe and good to be sore.  I feel this addition to my routine will only make me better at my first loves:  Yoga and Running, in case you forgot.  I feel like I picked up a new friend along the way and added it to my fitness bag of tricks.

What a fun adventure for my exercise routine this TRX was!  I worked hard and did find myself wondering this:

That came later.  Do something new today.  What will it be?

Another 13.1 down and Steven Tyler

I ran the Marine  Corps Half Marathon two days ago.  It was my 6th half, my worst time and Best. Race. Ever.  Transformative.  After 43.75 years of living I realized I am what I am.  And it’s enough.  On Sunday, it was more than enough.  Bear with me for a somewhat brief race report.

I had been dreading this race like a root canal.  I was feeling fat and slow and incapable and like a wanna be.  I didn’t belong in this crowd of athletes.  During training I taught a ton of Yoga, got all my long runs in and scraped out about 60% of my weekday runs.  My heart wasn’t in it because I thought I wasn’t worthy and I literally hated the idea of running.

My husband who was also running this race is a powerful athlete and one of the most tenacious, focused individuals I have ever met.  He was stoked and ready.  Annoying.  I wondered if I would finish.  The day started out with many a blunder and I wonder why by now I am still surprised that this stuff keeps happening.  I had to walk  my son (who was playing in a baseball tournament nearby) about a mile from the hotel to a meeting point for his ride (street closures, duh!)  He, his bat bag and I wove our way through a sea of psyched, fit, cool-looking runners as I had heart palpitations worrying about the port-a-potty opportunity and my arriving back at my corral before the gun.  It all happened – a true miracle.  As for my son, he was fine waiting by himself (he’s almost 14) except for the hobo that asked if he wanted any coffee.  He looks like me, now he apparently gives off my vibe.

I started out incredulous that I was even There about to do This.  THEN I LOOKED AROUND.  My posse, my pacers were cool, fit people!  They were as athletic as my husband and my bestie, Beth .  They were in my pace range  and that was enough!!!  My group, my homey’s my love muffins were strong-looking and beastly as I wish to be.  I fell in love at mile 5 with the course, my performance and everyone within a 10 yard range of me.  I was feeling so fine and knew not only would I finish but I would do it feeling good. I dropped all expectation of time and became a happy runner.  At mile 10 the famous ‘hospital hill’ loomed very, very large.  And I ran up the sucker.  She lasted about a mile and leveled off.  Before long another mammoth rise presented herself.  And I ran up the sucker.  Another mile of up hill moving.  With only .8 miles left and very emotional music honoring our marines, I started to cry.  I, this, my pace was enough.  I am a runner and I am protected by The few.  The proud.  The Marines.  And I am grateful.  I suppose I won’t be putting these away anytime soon.

Because this is a Yoga blog, I must mention that on Mother’s Day I had the pleasure and privilege of taking a Ashtanga-style vinyasa class  and was in utter awe of my fellow yogi’s.  Beautiful human form breathing and bending all about me.  I fell in love with yoga once again - which happens most everyday.   I was among Yoga rock stars.  So where was Steven Tyler when you need him?

He was on a billboard on Powhite Parkway outside the studio.  My daughter and I passed it and said.

“Mom, he looks kind of like you?”

Should I be insulted?

Give that chicken a cigarette!

Here is the only direct comment about Yoga (my boyfriend) in this post:

Yoga is bliss.  Yoga is everywhere.

Go ahead light a cigarette, move on to the next blog or if you want to get stoned, stay with me a few minutes.

I don’t know Mary Alice but since it’s Mother’s Day weekend and she was one, I thought she deserved a shout out.  So does Katherine Hayes whom I met on Tuesday at a grave yard in Fluvanna County near Charlottesville, Virginia.  Katherine has been dead since 1980 but I was clearly supposed to meet her.  Bear with me for a smidgen as I explain.

Earlier this week I found myself at a farmer’s market by accident.  My daughter had a softball game on a lovely field surrounded by rolling hills and with a nice view of the central Virginia mountains.  While she practiced her batting before the game,  I wandered to an area at the mouth of the plantation-like complex marked ’Farmer’s Market‘.  The salt of the earth was setting up their stands to sell plants and jellies (ewww!) and corn-fed beef.  I bought a dozen eggs because you NEVER GO TO A FARMER’S MARKET AND LEAVE WITH NOTHING.  Satisfied, I put my eggs in my car and set out to explore the antique house cozily nestled behind the market.  To the left of it was a grouping of old dilapidated headstones that once resembled an organized plot of graves.  I decided these souls breathed and traversed the earth and deserved a moment of silence from a stranger.   These folks lived during the Civil War which in Virginia, that makes them famous.  They were also old as dirt when they died – I am sure they didn’t have GNC or Bikram Yoga or supplements galore.  It was probably the jelly and the corn-fed beef.  I was enjoying this moment of connection with another incarnation when I looked down and saw this:

Katherine Hayes

July 18, 1890 – July 18, 1980

July 18 is my birthday and my daughter’s birthday – the one just up the hill swinging her bat.  Katherine died the day I turned 12 and 23 years exactly before my beloved Jane was born.  My mother’s name was Kathleen (close, but no cigar) and my sister’s married last name is Hayes.  Maybe this is a simple ‘huh, cool’ moment but it gets better.

The next morning, out of reverence for Katherine and my farmer’s market moment, I decided to make my fresh farmer’s eggs for breakfast.  Crack – twins!  A double yoke.  “Yeah” we all say and my children proceed to fight over who of the three of them gets it.  Crack – twins again!  Okay, thank you Lord for that justice, only one child gets left out.  Crack – single yoke.  Shoot.  4 people 3 cracks, I go for one more.  Crack – twins!!!  Double yolks for each of my children.

I think it was Katherine – in gratitude for my moment affirming her existence almost 33 years after she died and 122 years after she was born.

I am one lucky mother clucker!  3 sets of twins out of 4 lays – I think that chicken deserves a cigarette.

What’s your secret to a long life?

Asana, not Ambien

There are Yoga postures that will promote healthy sleep.  This is not a ground-breaking new technique for catching Z’s drug free.  But since natural rest is best and Yoga is as close as your breath why not learn a little more about this free and easy way of accessing a lovely rest that makes you nicer?I want this:

Very quick back story.  I am not an expert on anything but I have experience around aided and unaided sleep.  I have had trouble sleeping since I was a teenager.  I could give a few theories on why (heredity, large family, perfection complex and a few other neuroses) but instead, just trust me for a moment.  I discovered Tylenol PM when I was in college and took it on occasion.  I was a waitress for a year and the late nights threw my circadian rhythm way off.  A few life events, my DNA, and whacked out ways of dealing with stress proliferated my chronic sleep issues.  Then I had children.  Enough said. I was resigned to not being a restful person.  A number of years ago I discovered Ambien and took that blessed little pill for a few months.  I slept like a baby but felt a little foggy when I woke up.  That’s when the coffee entered my body in an IV bag.  Unhealthy pattern.  So I stopped taking anything to help me sleep and decided to just deal with it.  I was already healthfully addicted to yoga and all its treasures and I began hearing more and more about how there are right-before-bedtime-postures that are much more fun and satisfying than swallowing a little pill.

Just 3 little poses for 2 to 5 minutes each may do the trick.  Generally forward bending has a calming effect on the body.  Start with simple prasarita padatonnasana – a fancy word for wide-legged standing forward bend.  You can use blocks or pillow to raise the floor to help you relax into the pose.

Wide-legged standing forward bend

Just breath into your hamstrings and feel them open up as you enjoy the reverse circulation to the head and trunk.

Next, come to uttanasana – simple standing forward bend.

Uttanasana – Standing forward bend

This one can be a little much on the hamstrings if you aren’t warm.  Try placing blocks, a stack of books or pillows about six inches in front of your toes for a gentler stretch.  Regardless of how deep your bend, there will be a soothing effect on the mind and body.  I’ll take it.  Put a little puff of air behind the knee caps and roll the back up one vertebra at a time to slowly come to standing.  Next come to Viparita Karani or legs-up-the-wall pose.

Legs up the wall pose. Courtesy: Saha space

This one is glorious.  It can be done propped (on a bolster as shown here) or unpropped.  You pick.  Either way, you will begin to feel your anxiety melt away and you may be in a much better state to welcome drug-free sleep.  It is the best kind.  I’ve had it all kinds of ways.  (TWSS)

In general, inversions – poses where the heart is above the head in space are very relaxing.  Last night I felt called to this little ditty right before I hopped in the sack.

Headstand:  The Grandaddy of inversions.  Slept like a baby.

How did you sleep last night? 

 

 

 

Mr. October

Nearly 20 years ago I was flirted with by Mr. October.

Mr. October

Not this one.  In the process of writing this post I learned that there really was a major Mr. October, more famous than my suitor from 1993.  My Mr. October was a fire fighter that I met during my sister’s bachelorette party.

A bunch of wild women went out dancing to mark my beautiful sister’s pending nuptials.  I was a self-conscious, overly blessed up top (curvy) 25-year-old single gal who loved to dance and was ready to let loose.  For the record, I had not yet discovered yoga but was quite familiar with The Dance.  Apparently, Mr. October appreciated my talents and mentioned to a member of the estrogen tribe that I should be proud of my body.  WHAT?!?!?  I had spent 15 of my 25 years wishing I were my sweet petite smart older sister instead of the bodacious bride wanna be that I was.

Who is this Mr. October?  A handsome fire fighter from a nearby county who was chosen to represent the 10th month in a fundraiser for the squad.  And he asked me out.  Unbelievable.  And so the adventure began.  October picked me up in his Porsche and took me on a tour of the city.  I was enamored by his title and his bedroom eyes and his civic duty to protect a  portion of the city from the danger of flames.  And that is about as hot as it got.  We went out to dinner once and I visited his living quarters but as soon as October flipped to November so did my interest in this nice fire fighter whose attraction was much more than his heavy hose (Sorry, I couldn’t resist that little joke.  And for the record, I never saw any hose associated with Mr. October.)  But I have a good story.  I went out with a calendar model.

AND YESTERDAY I SAW HIM.  Almost 20 years later.  His name is memorable and I saw it engraved on a name tag attached to a rescue squad worker at a softball game.   - I won’t disclose it to protect his privacy.  He hasn’t changed much – still tall and fit and handsome and he was wearing an officer’s uniform like he commands much more than one month.  He probably has a whole squad.   Good for you Mr. October.  I hope you have found great happiness.

I also hope you dance, like Lee Anne Womack and Rumi suggests and like I did so long ago and still do occasionally.  I do love to dance.

Dance, when you’re broken open.

Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.

Dance in the middle of the fighting.

Dance in your blood.

Dance, when you’re perfectly free.

– Jelaluddin Rumi (13th century)

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger May you never take one single breath for granted God forbid love ever leave you empty handed I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.   — Lee Anne Womack

I pray you dance.  In October and May and every other month.  Nice to see you, Mr. October – even if  you didn’t see me.

Seen any flames lately?

Am I cheating on my Yoga?

Yoga is the love of my life.  I have been trying to break it off with my mistress, Running, but I can’t.  When I am with my Yoga, nothing else matters – I could be totally satisfied with just one lover.  Then I court that old boyfriend,  Running.   Today it was 10 miles of hearthumping rigor that tested my patience and mettle.  As always, when it’s over I am planning my next rendezvous with this addictive boyfriend though my Yoga isn’t too happy.  She’s classy though - graceful and always open to my sheepish return.  She doesn’t shake her finger at me but she knows my hips will be tight.  Boyfriends usually like that.

I told myself this next half marathon May 20th would be my 6th and last.  I would then renew my vows with Yoga and Ashtanga myself into ecstasy for the rest of my life.  I know a few gorgeous breathtakingly beautiful, centered and strong friends who only do their Yoga and that’s enough.  Perhaps I will be part of that harem.  I can be totally happy that way.  Then there’s this little itch I can’t seem to scratch.  After my 10 today I found myself feeling like I could handle anything.  The afterglow from that experience is a day of aftershocks that make me feel capable and on top of the world.  Do I really want to give that up?  I just don’t know.  This love triangle isn’t wrong it’s just a little confusing.  And so I will ponder, accept what is, not judge and enjoy my good health.  Sounds. Very. Yogic.

On thing is for certain – I will NEVER have the dilemna of choosing between quilting and Yoga.  I am just not that good.

I did make this last week for my youngest daughter’s First Holy Communion – it’s a pew marker.

One of my “friends” asked me if I was Jane’s age (8) when I made it.   Nice. Because I spent time over the weekend with my favorite people watching my daughter do a favorite thing, it didn’t matter which sport-love I’d choose for the next day.  It happened to be Running.  But for me, it is always, always, Yoga.  What’s your first sports love?

Time stood still

Saturday, April 21

8:00 a.m. – My son and I arrived at his baseball tournament.

8:15 – I left for a 8.5 mile run.

10:00 – I settled in to watch Nick play.

10:40 – Runner crashes into my son at the bag on first base.  Nick catches the ball but it rolls out of his glove because.  HE IS OUT.  Not the runner.  My child.  He lays motionless on the field.  Out cold.

10:40 – I levitated from my seat and flung myself against the chain-link fence to see my boy.  He was not moving.  Neither was time .  My eyes were saucers.  I had no heartbeat and no breath that I was aware of.  Just vulnerability of the highest order willing my boy to move.  A few seconds later I see a thumbs up from the coach that Nick is responsive.

10:46 – Nick stands up and though unsteady on his feet and not comprehending much he catches the last out of the inning.

10:51 – Nick got up to bat.  He hit the ball and grounded out to first as he weaves his way down the straight baseline.

10:55 – Coach Greg told me he should go get checked out.  We left.

11:30 – Nick and I were at the urgent care facility and the physician wants to send us to the nearest hospital in an ambulance because my boy’s pupils are lazy and he’s weaving and bobbing like he’s “The Greatest”.   I signed a release that I opted to drive AMA.  (Against Medical Advice).

12:00 noon We register at the ER and the nice nurse named Hannah took Nick’s vitals.  He threw up on her.

12:30 to 3:00 we wait for a CT Scan of the head and neck.

3:10 my hoss of a son (5’8″ 166 pounds – aged 13) lies on a conveyor belt that wrenches him into the hole of a $2 million doughnut.  Travis, the doughnut tech asked me if there’s any chance I could be pregnant.  I told him:  “I wish.”  (that ‘s another post).  So he let me stay in to watch.  I put on the 12 pound apron to cover my girl parts and watch in awe at this machine taking photos of my son’s head and neck.

3: 25.  Results came back as NORMAL.  I exhaled for the first time since 10:40.  Time started moving again.

The only Yogic thing about this post is that I was completely present, in the moment, for 305 minutes straight.  No memories.  No future just love.  Love of my son.

Then I did some Yin Yoga.

What did you do this weekend?  I did the Ashtanga Primary Series  each day, making it 9 in a row now.  I am on a roll.

Spring Break Perfection

I don’t know if it was the Ashtanga Yoga I practiced for the first time in at least 5 years, the company, the place, or the vibe of the coolest surfer dude coffee shop ever but I just experienced Spring Break perfection.

It was just a three night getaway but  I was in a zone of luvin’ every minute of it.  First the Hilton Garden Inn in Kitty Hawk, NC.  A simple, clean, welcoming complex perched right on the Atlantic Ocean beach.  A short walk to a pier (just for guests and paying fishermen) and the sand made bliss easily accessible.  Seafood dinner, white wine and a great book to fall asleep with made up the first night.  Next morn I went for a 5-mile run along the beach road.  Not as glorious – though my pace improved significantly – I couldn’t drink in the ocean view for the beach shanties and dunes obstructing it.  No matter.  I then picked up my mat and headed for the pier to practice a little yoga.  To the fishermen, my sun salutations and pigeon pose may have been odd but I didn’t care.  One of them said to me (while I was trying to ignore the stares) that his wife should come join me – “she does all that stuff”.  Come on.  The more the merrier.  She was a no-show.  But I did manage 3 Urdva Dhanurasana’s (full back bends) in the morning sun.  Loved it.

Then my family and I were off to join my son and some great friends down the beach a bit in Nags Head.   We bought passes and drove the honking truck onto the beach for some surf fishing and sandwiches.  It was windy.

Note the earring flying backward.

The wind didn’t stop the fun.  Jane practiced her surfing on land.

There was hacky sack and fun galore.

This reminded me of my college days at JMU when all the cool guys were out playing with their balls.  (TWSS)

Some of my very best moments this week were had here:

Whenever I travel, I visit a local yoga studio 95% of the time.  I believe all Yoga is good Yoga but some experiences seem better than others.  This wonderful, cozy little studio did not disappoint.  I have been exploring ways to beef up (ahem, start) a strong at-home Yoga practice and I have found my motivation with Ashtanga Yoga.  I practiced Mysore-style this week.  This is when the student practices a set series of yoga poses (generally very athletic/linking the movement to the victorious - Ujjayi – breath.) The teacher assists each student individually as she/he progresses in the sequence.  I love, love, love the individual attention and encouragement and eye-to-eye contact with the teacher.  Requirement for Mysore Ashtanga Class:  Knowledge of the sequence and experience.  Me:  None and Been a long time.  The teacher was patient and gentle and encouraging and I loved her.  I researched her studio and training and learned she has practiced this yoga uninterrupted for 8 years.  Me: So very inspired.  I came back the next day at 7 a.m. after a latte at my new favorite coffee shop on earth.  My teacher said she wished she could continue to work with me.  She called me a hard worker and recommended someone locally who could continue to  help me with this challenging series.  Hooked.  I brought some treasures from this experience to my students when I returned home and I sense a growing connection and zest among us all.

On the horizon:  Book writing.  I have recently become fast friends with a driven, motivated very talented, ‘discovered’ writer who has motivated me to dust off that AP Stylebook and revisit that goal.  Life is meant to be lived and I’m doing it.  Join me?

What new/old ideas have you revisited lately?

The Horses Stared

I might have poor form this week, but the horses stared.

I cam home from work for lunch on Monday and felt called to Tuladandasana.  My own little Yoga Flash Mob.  Maggie (Best.  Dog.  Ever.)  was impressed. The critique:  My right hip needs to be rolled downward toward the deck floor and there should be a straight line from my lifted heel to my index fingers.  You should be able to play chess or have tea on my back.  I am learning not to judge myself or my postures, just observe and learn.  Observe and learn.  That’s what we should do with our days as they unfold.  Today to equine beings observed me as I had another little Yoga attack after a run all by myself

Today I went for a short run (3 miles) before work in an idyllic equestrian neighborhood in my pseudo-rural area.  I absolutely did not want to go on this run which has been the case a lot lately.  The weather: perfection.  I eeked out one of my better paces of late and decided to practice a little Yoga beside my car (I carry a mat in it) in gratitude.  I put my  mat down so I would face a gorgeous field with 2 beautiful horses grazing in the morning light.  For the standing series, I began with Sun Salutations and ended with King Dancer or Standing Bow Pulling pose.  The horses trotted on over to the fence and stared at the crazy human making weird shapes with her body.  I was a kindren spirit with the inquisitive creatures and felt like we were having a moment, a real living thing to living thing connection.  I think they were cousins of mine from my former life.  I’m not sure who’s more evolved.  They are eating gorgeous green grass while I brush ball field dirt from my teeth every night.

I am ashamed to admit that every Spring when ball season hits I get a little depressed since so very much of  my time is spoken for.  My neurosis for being an island – completely and totally self sufficient, even when it is impossible – is in full bloom when I need it the least. Though I could gaze at my children drawing on the sidewalk with colored chalk and be in my stupor of mommy joy, I spend many, many hours a week watching the at-bats and the wind-ups (two of my children are pitchers). 

Thirty years ago, I was horrible at softball and I didn’t even like it.  Today, my son is a lefty pitcher with a change-up that moves and my daughter is a strong, collected pitcher with a insatiable appetite for the game.  My other daughter dances (THANK GOD)  and has recently decided to get in on The Game.  Welcome back to Angels rec ball, Clair – here comes Jane.  It’s actually kind of funny give my extreme lack of talent with a bat and a glove that I am so overjoyed at the fun and fulfillment my children receive from it.  I think I’ll celebrate with a little surprise Yoga at tomorrow’s tournament.  Dare me?  My children would be so very mortified, they wouldn’t let me back at another game.  Hey,…. maybe I’m on to something here.  I’d have more time for Yoga and writing.  I think I’ll observe and learn from that little ditty. 

Would you perform Yoga in public? 

Lead with your lips

When I was little, my brothers used to make fun of me because they said I had big lips.  Of course, I took great offense since they found it so amusing.  I don’t think they are remarkable at all.   I would love me some Julia Roberts lips or maybe Angelina Jolie mouth frames but I’ll take what I have.  Though I am NEVER caught without lipstick, this is a body part I haven’t thought much about as an instrument of my peace and my Yoga until recently.  Beth, bestie  from CO returned a compliment from a stranger by commenting on her lips and was met with a confused stare.  This cracked us up as the lass when from all Z-formation like to WTF.  But it made me think about how cool it would be if we would lead our lives, our goals, and our Yoga with our lips.

Because the universal gesture of love and affection (all kinds) is a kiss (of varying kinds) doesn’t it make sense that if we lead with the heart we can actually lead with our lips in what we say?  Carefully placed and deliberately used.  So I became inspired by another amazing friend (I’m lucky that way), who recently completed Yoga Teacher Training.  Laura ‘practice taught’ me am amazing class one-on-one from behind my mat.   It requires attentive, well thought out use of the lips since they are the gateway for speaking the instruction. I got lost in the practice and experienced a true ’in the zone’, ’in the moment’ yoga practice all because of Laura’s lips.  I have begun experimenting with this technique of teaching from behind.  In this way, I am required to rely on my words as much as or more than my demonstration to lead the class.  It’s a fascinating experience.

It reminds me to use my words wisely and well in all areas of my life.  A Communication and English major, I have always been fascinated by the power and panache of language.  With well placed words spoken from the heart, the world becomes a better place because the experience in it is closer to the Truth.

I suppose I can reflect on my brother’s teasing as a compliment.  My big lips mean a big heart.  And I plan to live well leading with both!  Do you like your lips?

I bet Beth could find something wonderful about them.  She’s good like that.