I've decided to challenge the hell out of myself by doing 100 Bikram classes in 100 days. However, I've had to tweak this challenge a titch already since there are a few weekends where I'll be out of town & unable to practice where I'm going due to prior commitments. To make up for those missed classes, I'll do doubles on certain days. Not quite sure where this decision came from or if I'll be able to even meet it.
All I know is I've gotta give ye olde college try--who knows--I'll probably be able to do it and then some. What am I expecting from this? I have no fucking idea. None. I do know physically I'll change, mentally too. How much mentally I have no idea. But, that's the fun of the challenge--seeing what I can accomplish both physically and mentally--and how I feel when I traipse up the stairs for number 101.
Today was Day 1. All's well so far. More to come. Until then, enjoy.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
I've been listening to a lot of Level 42 lately, partly because Mark King is an incredible bass player AND has an unusual voice. It has character, depth because it's not perfect. Sure, the songs I've been listening to are from the late 80s, but they're interesting musically--it's obvious the band members knew what they were doing--have had some type of musical training--not like the synthesised crap you hear today with singers over singing every fucking note just to show they have range. It ain't range--it's called shouting.
So, how does all of this relate to Bikram? In class today, the teacher mentioned how Bikram yoga tends to bring out all of your imperfections and there's nothing wrong with that. For some reason, Level 42's "Something About You" popped into my foggy, sweaty brain when he uttered those words, mainly these lyrics:
But making mistakes
Is a part of life's imperfections
Born of the years
Is it so wrong
To be human after all...
Then, the rest of the song made its way through my mind during Standing Bow:
Drawn into the stream
Of undefined illusion
So, how does all of this relate to Bikram? In class today, the teacher mentioned how Bikram yoga tends to bring out all of your imperfections and there's nothing wrong with that. For some reason, Level 42's "Something About You" popped into my foggy, sweaty brain when he uttered those words, mainly these lyrics:
But making mistakes
Is a part of life's imperfections
Born of the years
Is it so wrong
To be human after all...
Then, the rest of the song made its way through my mind during Standing Bow:
Drawn into the stream
Of undefined illusion
Those diamond dreams
They can't disguise the truth...
The truth that it's gonna take years to get my Bikram practice to a place where I'm no longer embarrassed to fall out of poses that I should be able to hold because of my freakish Gray family strength and years of being a springboard diver. Being a diver for so long gave me an incredible sense of balance and flexibility until I was diagnosed with vertigo about 20 years ago--even though by the time of the diagnoses, diving was no longer a part of my life. My balance hasn't been the same since, however, Bikram has returned it a lot of it back to me. The undefined illusion of Bikram is that no matter how old you are, or how rigid your life/body has become, you can be born again by partaking in Bikram. It's a tool for living, an added bonus for those who've discovered and relish in its benefits.
Even the most seasoned Bikram folks have shitty days when their minds and bodies ain't cooperating. There's not much that can be done when that happens--just power through and not get down & out on yourself.
Just remember what the song says:
Gone, fragile but free
We remain tender together
If not so in love
It's not so wrong
We're only human after all...
Friday, April 22, 2011
Typhoid Yogini
There are a lot of proven claims about yoga with regards to health floating around. The main ones being it helps to improve breathing, flexibility, stamina, and balance. I've benefited greatly from Bikram--I can now maintain control of all four limbs for about 12 hours a day (up from two hours about five months ago) and then there's the whole awesome complexion thing. Also, I had a conversation with a young woman recently who said that her six-day/week Bikram habit helped to fix her eyesight--she used to wear glasses--but not anymore. She didn't require glasses for her driver's license renewal test. Impressive.
Some even claim that Bikram can stop the cold or flu dead in its tracks. I'm an open-minded person, but I'm also a born skeptic, so this cure-the-common cold/flu claim doesn't quite work for me. So, when I was in class the other day with a young woman who had a box of Kleenex next to her, I knew something was amiss. When the deep, painful-sounding coughing started during Half-Moon, I started to get a scosch irritated. After all, we're in a very hot, carpeted room crowded with sweaty bodies engaged in deep breathing exercises. Germs are bound to fester longer than, say, outside. Sure, I felt bad for her--she was sick. It happens to everyone numerous times during one's life. We've all been there. I understand wanting to push through sickness because you have stuff to do, a life to live.
However, when your choices could possibly affect my health, that's when my empathy goes right out window. Showing up sick to Bikram is not the same as showing up to work sick (another pet peeve for another time) because one doesn't need to do Bikram in order to feed one's family or pay bills. Some folks could counter with the "you don't know where he/she is in the cold/flu cycle," or the "you just need be present in the hot room--that's your yoga practice if that's all you can do" Both arguments have their merits. But, when each cough sounds like you're about to lose a lung, and you're sporting a rheumy appearance with the hallow-looking eyes and gray complexion, you should've stayed in bed watching "Sanford & Son" reruns with a trough of steaming miso soup on the bedside table.
Sometimes I wonder about common courtesy--where did it go? Will it ever return?
As I ponder this, I wonder what it would be like to show up to class in intestinal distress.
Yeah, you know you're thinking the same thing.
Some even claim that Bikram can stop the cold or flu dead in its tracks. I'm an open-minded person, but I'm also a born skeptic, so this cure-the-common cold/flu claim doesn't quite work for me. So, when I was in class the other day with a young woman who had a box of Kleenex next to her, I knew something was amiss. When the deep, painful-sounding coughing started during Half-Moon, I started to get a scosch irritated. After all, we're in a very hot, carpeted room crowded with sweaty bodies engaged in deep breathing exercises. Germs are bound to fester longer than, say, outside. Sure, I felt bad for her--she was sick. It happens to everyone numerous times during one's life. We've all been there. I understand wanting to push through sickness because you have stuff to do, a life to live.
However, when your choices could possibly affect my health, that's when my empathy goes right out window. Showing up sick to Bikram is not the same as showing up to work sick (another pet peeve for another time) because one doesn't need to do Bikram in order to feed one's family or pay bills. Some folks could counter with the "you don't know where he/she is in the cold/flu cycle," or the "you just need be present in the hot room--that's your yoga practice if that's all you can do" Both arguments have their merits. But, when each cough sounds like you're about to lose a lung, and you're sporting a rheumy appearance with the hallow-looking eyes and gray complexion, you should've stayed in bed watching "Sanford & Son" reruns with a trough of steaming miso soup on the bedside table.
Sometimes I wonder about common courtesy--where did it go? Will it ever return?
As I ponder this, I wonder what it would be like to show up to class in intestinal distress.
Yeah, you know you're thinking the same thing.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Pimples & puke
I don't like it rough.
No, pervs, I'm not talking about sex. Duh. I'm talking about Bikram and today was particularly rough. I had a low-grade headache when I woke up and no amount of coffee, healthy food or water was going to put the kibosh on it. Even Tylenol couldn't touch it so I decided to experiment with the Bikram adage that it cures all that ails you.
Big mistake.
I could barely concentrate during the opening breathing exercise. My ass and thighs were squeezed tight like a frickin' snare drum and my spine was stretched to damn ceiling, but that didn't help. It just made me more achy. Half-Moon? Forget it. I felt like a scarecrow with a pole stuck up my ass. Lovely. Awkward Pose was, well, awkward. Sit back in the chair? Only if someone hands me a an actual chair to sit on AND a half-naked Cuban (man, not cigar) brings me a cold martini. The only two poses of the standing series I did a half-way decent job at were Standing Bow and Balancing Stick. Both looked a lot like the photos I posted--comes from having a strong back & legs--and squeezing the crap out of every muscle in my body to keep from falling on my face.
As for the floor series--forgettable. Being face down on sweaty mat forced me to go to my happy place, until we got to Camel Pose, that's when the urge to puke all over the room really hit me. As my eyes looked for the back wall, the bile started to rise in my throat and I had to force it down the way a kid forces down liver & onions for the first time. Gross. The rest of class flew by and I high-tailed it out of there without refunding all over the studio. 'Twas a good day in that respect.
However, that all changed when I got home. Let's just say it's a good thing my apartment is on the first floor AND that puke on hardwood is not necessarily a bad thing. That's what those disinfecting wipes are for--and open windows to help get rid of the smell. Today would be a whole lot different if I had some sort of carpeting. Puke on a shag carpet? I wanna puke thinking about how to clean it up.
Another nasty side effect of Bikram are pimples. For me, these are a mystery because I've been blessed with good skin--you know, clear, line-free with the occasional breakout. I feel for those folks who have to buy Proactiv by the trough-load because they have a mini-version of the Great Divide on their visages. But, here I am: Zit Central and it ain't pretty. Guess it's a good thing that unemployment is my lifestyle choice at the moment because I'd probably get arrested for being in public looking like this. Also, the fact that it's still too cold out to wear short sleeves, let's not even go there.
No, pervs, I'm not talking about sex. Duh. I'm talking about Bikram and today was particularly rough. I had a low-grade headache when I woke up and no amount of coffee, healthy food or water was going to put the kibosh on it. Even Tylenol couldn't touch it so I decided to experiment with the Bikram adage that it cures all that ails you.
Big mistake.
I could barely concentrate during the opening breathing exercise. My ass and thighs were squeezed tight like a frickin' snare drum and my spine was stretched to damn ceiling, but that didn't help. It just made me more achy. Half-Moon? Forget it. I felt like a scarecrow with a pole stuck up my ass. Lovely. Awkward Pose was, well, awkward. Sit back in the chair? Only if someone hands me a an actual chair to sit on AND a half-naked Cuban (man, not cigar) brings me a cold martini. The only two poses of the standing series I did a half-way decent job at were Standing Bow and Balancing Stick. Both looked a lot like the photos I posted--comes from having a strong back & legs--and squeezing the crap out of every muscle in my body to keep from falling on my face.
As for the floor series--forgettable. Being face down on sweaty mat forced me to go to my happy place, until we got to Camel Pose, that's when the urge to puke all over the room really hit me. As my eyes looked for the back wall, the bile started to rise in my throat and I had to force it down the way a kid forces down liver & onions for the first time. Gross. The rest of class flew by and I high-tailed it out of there without refunding all over the studio. 'Twas a good day in that respect.
However, that all changed when I got home. Let's just say it's a good thing my apartment is on the first floor AND that puke on hardwood is not necessarily a bad thing. That's what those disinfecting wipes are for--and open windows to help get rid of the smell. Today would be a whole lot different if I had some sort of carpeting. Puke on a shag carpet? I wanna puke thinking about how to clean it up.
Another nasty side effect of Bikram are pimples. For me, these are a mystery because I've been blessed with good skin--you know, clear, line-free with the occasional breakout. I feel for those folks who have to buy Proactiv by the trough-load because they have a mini-version of the Great Divide on their visages. But, here I am: Zit Central and it ain't pretty. Guess it's a good thing that unemployment is my lifestyle choice at the moment because I'd probably get arrested for being in public looking like this. Also, the fact that it's still too cold out to wear short sleeves, let's not even go there.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Stretch, Sweat & Tears
Over the past 24 hours, I did some healthy things: I showered. I ate healthy foods. I took my master's degree info off of my resume, and I've started to use my actual physical master's degree as scratch paper.
Oh, and I did Bikram today.
My mood has been in the toilet as of late due to my lack of employment and dismal financial state, and I'm constantly amazed at how going to Bikram really brings those emotions to the surface. There must be something about all of that organ compression, bending, stretching and sweating that forces you to deeply feel all of the emotional shit you're going through. Bikram doesn't allow you to ignore anything that's going on with both your physical and mental self--it's cheap therapy. By the time you're done with class, you're too blissed out to give shit about your troubles for a few hours. Or you're too exhausted to care. With me, it's a combo platter of the two.
I held it together during the opening breathing exercise, but during this pose, the desire to scream my fool head off was overpowering. I tried to concentrate on falling back, go back, way back, but it was tough to do when all I could see was me in the stockade for defaulting on my student loans. The other images sloshing around in my noggin were of me, living in a VW van in a trailer park just outside of Mattoon, Illinois, making & selling sweaters made of out my cats' fur. As I wrapped my forearms around my calves in this part of the pose, I saw myself sleeping in the van in an old army-issue sleeping bag & a large bag of rice as a pillow. I had one cat snuggled up in one armpit and the other was on top of my head, you know, for warmth. The windows of the van were blacked out by numerous rejection emails I printed out for added entertainment and a constant reminder of my failings as a journalist. Seriously, what was I thinking when I considered this career? What a mah-roon! What a nin-cow-poop.
After this pose was finished and as I focused my gaze on one spot in the mirror, I gave myself the finger. Ahh ... self-loathing. There's a certain dignity to it.
The rest of the standing series was just super peachy keen and I'm constantly surprised how physically powerful I am--even with my sizable ass and advancing age. Huge strength. Amazing. At one point, I allowed myself to notice the other students and realized that my ass wasn't the largest in class. Seriously, it's the little victories like this which keep me from taking a dip in the Chicago River in a lead bathing suit.
Tears mixed with sweat in the eyes really bite. Hard. I felt like someone had lobbed some pepper into my hazels for shits and giggles. Pretty damn painful, folks. However, my face was planted into my mat so no one was the wiser. I just plowed through and tried like hell to get the images of me selling my collection of F. Murray Abraham thumbnail portraits out of my mind. I can't bring myself to do it--I just can't.
What am I gonna do now? Don't know. I really don't. The fact that I wasted all that time & money on a useless degree really sucks and I'm angry I did it. The bile in my throat is started to burn more because I don't see things getting better for me. I do know one thing though--I'm gonna keep going back to Bikram every day because it's the only thing that truly makes sense at the moment.
Oh, and I did Bikram today.
My mood has been in the toilet as of late due to my lack of employment and dismal financial state, and I'm constantly amazed at how going to Bikram really brings those emotions to the surface. There must be something about all of that organ compression, bending, stretching and sweating that forces you to deeply feel all of the emotional shit you're going through. Bikram doesn't allow you to ignore anything that's going on with both your physical and mental self--it's cheap therapy. By the time you're done with class, you're too blissed out to give shit about your troubles for a few hours. Or you're too exhausted to care. With me, it's a combo platter of the two.
I held it together during the opening breathing exercise, but during this pose, the desire to scream my fool head off was overpowering. I tried to concentrate on falling back, go back, way back, but it was tough to do when all I could see was me in the stockade for defaulting on my student loans. The other images sloshing around in my noggin were of me, living in a VW van in a trailer park just outside of Mattoon, Illinois, making & selling sweaters made of out my cats' fur. As I wrapped my forearms around my calves in this part of the pose, I saw myself sleeping in the van in an old army-issue sleeping bag & a large bag of rice as a pillow. I had one cat snuggled up in one armpit and the other was on top of my head, you know, for warmth. The windows of the van were blacked out by numerous rejection emails I printed out for added entertainment and a constant reminder of my failings as a journalist. Seriously, what was I thinking when I considered this career? What a mah-roon! What a nin-cow-poop.
After this pose was finished and as I focused my gaze on one spot in the mirror, I gave myself the finger. Ahh ... self-loathing. There's a certain dignity to it.
The rest of the standing series was just super peachy keen and I'm constantly surprised how physically powerful I am--even with my sizable ass and advancing age. Huge strength. Amazing. At one point, I allowed myself to notice the other students and realized that my ass wasn't the largest in class. Seriously, it's the little victories like this which keep me from taking a dip in the Chicago River in a lead bathing suit.
Tears mixed with sweat in the eyes really bite. Hard. I felt like someone had lobbed some pepper into my hazels for shits and giggles. Pretty damn painful, folks. However, my face was planted into my mat so no one was the wiser. I just plowed through and tried like hell to get the images of me selling my collection of F. Murray Abraham thumbnail portraits out of my mind. I can't bring myself to do it--I just can't.
What am I gonna do now? Don't know. I really don't. The fact that I wasted all that time & money on a useless degree really sucks and I'm angry I did it. The bile in my throat is started to burn more because I don't see things getting better for me. I do know one thing though--I'm gonna keep going back to Bikram every day because it's the only thing that truly makes sense at the moment.
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