30 consecutive days of yoga, day 13

Hello, Denmark!

It's super cool that a number of people (besides my mom; hi, mom!) are following my experiences here. I can figure out who's coming from where from the most part, but Denmark has me stumped. So whoever you are, Hej der! 

On to day 13....
"I assure you that among the many gifts your presence brings to humanity, your ability to do a headstand is not at the top of the list," --Matt the yoga instructor

No shit.

Almost 10 years ago, I had three vertebrae in my cervical spine fused together with the femur from a cadaver. Gruesome and painful, yes. But also incredibly successful, which I credit to myself and my doctor in equal parts. I did absolutely everything he told me to do. And when he removed the neck brace I wore 24/7 for six weeks, he told me I could do absolutely anything I wanted to save for three things: bungee jump, skydive, and stand on my head. Check. Check. Check.

The experience I had in class today was exceptional. It was hard to keep up, and I was schvitzing like nobody's business, but I left feeling really, really clear-headed, calm, and hungry. I do not care that I cannot stand on my head. And I don't think I ever will. 

What happened: I got one toe off the ground in Crow. Progress!

I thought this t-shirt said "mental."

But no. It says "rental." What does that even mean? That you can rent this nice lady in the photo? Thanks for faking me out again, Ideeli.

30 consecutive days of yoga, day 12

Hi there.

Noon on Saturday at a hot yoga class in Boulder is not where you should go if you get all territorial about sweaty strangers touching your mat. This class was packed. A little too packed for me, and a lot of talk about community courtesy of the instructor.

But for all the good things she had to say about the benefits of community, there seemed to be little of it. I tried making eye contact with the people around me: no go. A little chitchat in the locker room. Nope. It's not that I felt shut out by a community I'm just joining; it's more that every person seemed very much a silo. I know that there's community in breathing together. Sometimes that's all I want too.

So here's something I don't understand. Maybe someone reading this can help me out. Every single time I go to a class, I use the bathroom just prior to setting up my mat. And every single time I go to class, I have to pee again after the first standing backbend. What's up with that? I tough it out, but flying eagle is really hard with a full bladder.

What happened: The classes are starting to seem very short.

30 consecutive days of yoga, day 11

You would think that the 8 a.m. Saturday yoga class wouldn't be packed. Or, I would think that. It was mat-to-mat in there this morning, at a level 2 class. I came on the late side, which is to say that I came 5 minutes before class started instead of 15, so the only space available was right next to the ballet bars on the wall. Yes, I hit my head on them.

I really liked the guy who taught this class. That is, I really liked the way he taught it. When I was training to lead movement classes, I learned that the best way to connect with your students is to feel what's happening in your own body and then articulate it in the form of an instruction. That's what this teacher seemed to do, and it really worked for me. I left the class feeling clear-headed, bright-eyed and shiny. What a relief.

What happened: I'm feeling some satisfaction. Yeah.

30 consecutive days of yoga, day 10

Lest you think I am completely new to yoga, I'll tell you that 1) They don't let you move to Boulder if that's the case, and 2) I've been doing yoga on and off (mostly off) for about 15 years. I even brought weekly classes to two companies I worked for with pretty good success. 

heavymetalyoga.org/

I started with Hatha, then moved on to Iyengar (some serious shit) and then Anusara. The spiritual aspect of any form of body-centered practice can be really wonderful. Personally, I find movement practices that are off the mat, include interaction with others, and that are facilitated, like Body Mantra and Soul Motion, more spiritually accessible. So I don't have expectations that yoga will transform my spiritual life. That having been said, I am totally open to it.

It certainly didn't happen tonight. Which was sort of unremarkable except for the fact that my friend Joy joined me! Joy was kind enough to donate her mat cover to my cause the other day, and she put up with the nerve-jangling music and the hot, humid, and smelly room this evening. Bless her.

What happened: After 10 days, I'm kind of bored. Is it that I have a short attention span? That I'm not connecting with the teachers? That I don't like to hear metal while I'm in dancer pose? I have only 20 more days to find out.

30 consecutive days of yoga, day 9

Last night, I went to a Body Mantra movement class, like I do every Wednesday evening. I have to say, my movement was much bigger and felt much more solid, even on one foot. Am I building strength? I think so. 

Today, I woke up at 5:30 and almost went to a level 2 class, but thought better of it after I considered my history of overdoing stuff and injuring myself. Instead, I went to a slower class. I'd like to say that I floated out of the building with that yoga-y, dewy-eyed bliss. But that would be a lie. I left feeling vaguely unsatisfied. I don't blame the teacher, though having been a movement teacher I certainly feel like I could. I'm thinking a great dinner with my fella and a good night's sleep will do the trick.

What happened: I wanted more.

30 consecutive days of yoga, day 8

In an effort to build discipline, which I sorely lack, I decided I'm going to post here daily instead of weekly. 

Today's class: Hot Power Fusion. I was really looking forward to getting all sweaty and slide-y this morning, and I certainly did. My expectation was that it would be a power flow class, where you kind of do yoga calisthenics for an hour. Imagine my surprise when the instructor led us through a series of balance poses instead. Tree, one-legged tree, eagle, flying eagle, dancer, etc., etc. I was still adequately slippery, no question about it. But I kept wishing it were different. Yeah, I know, what's the point in that, right? I am clearly no yogi yet.


What happened: I realized that regardless of whether a class met my expectations, I'm still glad I went.

30 consecutive days of yoga, week 1

in which I subject myself to smelly rooms full of Boulder yoga people in order to simply see what happens.

Day 1: Wednesday, September 29
My friend Josie has been going to Corepower Yoga in North Boulder for some time now. She loves it, and she's been on my case to go with her for months. I always felt that Corepower was kind of the fast food of yoga: lots of food without any nutrition. Of course, I formed that opinion without actually ever going. So I took my snobby self to a class with Josie. First impression: the room smells like sweaty manparts. Second impression: there are no men in the class. It was a level 1 class, so I thought it would be easy. But because I've been on the bench, essentially, since the end of March, it hurt. A lot. 
What happened: I patted myself on the back for taking care of myself.


Day 2: Thursday, September 30
The room still smells weird. Why do all these people bring towels? Why are my arms shaking in high plank? What's with the situps in the middle of class? Who are these people who can go to yoga in the middle of the day, anyway? Don't any of you people work? 
What happened: I said hi to my inner judgmental bitch.

Day 3: Friday, October 1
Okay, the other studio room doesn't smell nearly as bad. And I like this instructor; he's also nice to look at. My arms aren't shaking as much, but put me in triangle pose and I want to throw up. 
What happened: I resolved to get stronger.


Day 4: Saturday, October 2
Dim sum for brunch. Lots of it. Which you would think would preclude the Hot Power Fusion class. But no. I figure if I have to run out of class, fine, I'll just position myself close to the door. Which I do. Everyone in class has a piece of fabric that they cover their mat with, and then spray with water. I do not. And oops about that, because I'm sliding all over the place, starting in downward dog and winding up slipping into high plank. I am dripping with sweat. But I can go deeper into the poses, and my mind has stopped spinning thanks to the fact that unless I pay close attention to the instructor, I look like a complete asshole.

You know that's not me because I'm not blond.

What happened: I started pricing those mat cover thingies online. They're expensive!


Day 5: Sunday, October 3
I go to yoga instead of going to dance class: a first. It's a level 1 class taught by a much-beloved charming gay instructor guy. I can see why people adore him. He proposes radical acceptance of limitations.
What happened: I wished I had more gay male buddies.


Day 6: Monday, October 4
First evening class. It's a 1.5, which is the stepping stone to level 2. My pal Heidi is teaching; I haven't seen her in a few years, so her first question is, "How's your husband?" I tell her I'm divorced and get the collective, "ooooohh" from the group of teachers assembled behind the check-in desk. Announcing this news with the requisite "Yeah, that was fast," comment has gotten really old.  And I can see that day classes are more my speed; evening classes are larger, and there are more Boulder type A athletes in them, doing something called "flipping their dogs." I showed up not feeling great, with an upset tummy and speeding thoughts. After class, I do feel great. I also feel calm.

This is not me either.

What happened: I was able to get my knees up to my armpits so that eventually I can do a full Crow.


Day 7: Tuesday, October 5
Today's class: yin yoga. Supported opening poses with no muscle engagement, which sounded divine. Turns out this class was the most challenging so far in that there was no external force, like a teacher announcing the eighth chaturanga, to make my mind shut the hell up. Buzz buzz buzz. Also, note to yoga teachers, if you're going to spray me in the face with lavender water, please give me some warning. Otherwise, not so relaxing to get spritzed.
What happened: Time passed.


On to week two. Namaste.

Reminder

Forgiveness

Over the past few years, I've been presented with several big opportunities to forgive. Some people have asked for my forgiveness; others have not. But whether anyone is invested in obtaining it doesn't really matter. Because I can't seem to figure out exactly what forgiveness is.

About a week ago, I was pulling out of a parking lot and nearly collided with a woman who was walking on the sidewalk. Totally and completely my fault, no question. She was irate. I apologized profusely and said, "Please forgive me." She clearly didn't. Now I wonder what exactly it was I wanted from her. I think it's this: I wanted her to not think that I'm an asshole. 

So is that what forgiveness is?

I've asked a couple of people their take on it, and no one can really tell me what it means or how it changes how one feels. The dictionary definition is this:

1: to grant pardon for or remission of (an offense, debt, etc.); absolve.

2: to give up all claim on account of; remit (a debt, obligation, etc.).

3: to grant pardon to (a person).

4: to cease to feel resentment against: to forgive one's enemies.

5: to cancel an indebtedness or liability of: to forgive the interest owed on a loan

I'm kind of focused on #4, to cease to feel resentment against. And I notice that I can't make myself cease to feel resentment. Is this a character flaw? I'm not sure.

A month ago, I had dinner with a dear friend of mine who also happens to be a rabbi on the east coast. We were talking about my previous marriage. "Warren," I said, "I just can't seem to forgive him. I think I should. I think I want to, for me, but I can't." Warren looked across the table from me, put on his invisible magic Rabbi coat, and said, "You don't have to forgive him. He doesn't deserve your forgiveness. You just have to forgive yourself."

Hm.

To cease to feel resentment against myself. 

Resent:

–verb (used with object)

to feel or show displeasure or indignation at (a person, act, remark, etc.) from a sense of injury or insult.

Okay, I'm deciding to go with the dictionary definitions of both of these terms. According to those, I forgive myself. I forgive the lady who smacked my ass in dance class, because I don't feel resentment toward her. But these other folks? I just don't. And that's going to have to be okay.

Stellar

So there I was in dance class, in a deep deep forward bend with my eyes closed, when this 70-year-old French lady I've never seen before smacks me HARD on the right asscheek and then dances away as fast as she can.

She left before I could let her know that was not okay. At all. 

P.S. I tried to find an image for this post. You can imagine. So here's a unicorn:

Update: I spoke to Urja the French psychic who smacked me, and she swears it was an accident. She said, "I waz dannsing zo fast, I must ave brush agains yew." With an open hand. On my ass. Really hard.

Yom Kippur

I was walking the dog this afternoon, and there were two men walking behind me. They were wearing white, no belts, tennis shoes. Skullcaps.

While Ginger was in the drink splashing around, I said to them, "Gut yontiff," which is Yiddish for "happy holidays." They looked surprised, said, "Thanks," and kept walking.

Ginger and I wound up lapping them, and one turned to me and asked, "Are you Jewish?" I said yes, and he asked, "Do you have a shul today?" 

"No, I have my dog today. God is everywhere, right?"

"Yes. Well, gut yontiff to you." Smiles.

Now I almost wish, in the bittersweet way I do every year, that I had spent the day in shul.

Is it too much to ask?

I would like a nightgown that does not look like this:

Or make me do this:

Or this:

On second thought, that looks kind of fun.

Thank you.

Today

There have been better days indeed.

Truth in advertising

This ad ran in Women's Day magazine:

I took their advice, but it didn't work. So I sent an email to the advertiser:



And hey, they responded:


I think about the creation of this ad. It's the result of someone's strategy. I think about the strategist, who may have said something like this:

"Women want more money. And if they have more money, they'll buy more douches, especially if they think it's the douching that got them the money in the first place. But they can't make more money unless they ask for raises, because they're chronically underpaid. So let's make them think that they got a raise because they've used our product, and they'll continue to use our product because they'll think it bumps up their bank balance. Oh, how we'll outsmart those silly ladies!"

Well played, Summer's Eve. Well played.