Just call me Sweaty McPitstains

Today was a big, fat, farmer adventure in the Bikram world for I attended my first hot yoga class in Southern California. Also, it’s been my first yoga class in about two weeks and my body let me know how just how pissed it is at me for taking so long to get back to the studio.

In short, it was brutal, and yours truly over here is to blame. My mind was swimming when I traipsed up the stairs to the small studio in South Pasadena. I couldn’t settle my thoughts — so much crap is racing through my mind and soul right now that concentration is a fucking luxury. This is one of the many drawbacks about being so damn cerebral (I know … I know … http://www.whitewhine.com..).

It’s a nice studio — for the most part — except I’m used to a much larger space like at my home studio, Bikram Yoga Andersonville. My sizest attitude quelled once I got situated in the room. The teacher, Satchi, had a very thick Japanese accent which was tough to decipher at times, but I liked her style — she knew her stuff and got after me (and rightly so) for my fidgeting between poses. I’m a major league fidgeter —  I don’t do “still” very well. My new pal, Indira, told me today that as soon as she stopped with the fidgeting, her mind cleared and her practice improved exponentially. Oh how I hope that works for me too. I think it will once I learn to leave the bullshit cerebral crap at the front door but in my defense, turning off my brain ain’t one of my strengths.

I held my own for the most part, but I still can’t do Standing Head to Knee because my core is weak.

Time to crank out planks a couple times a day and stop eating, you know, food, and I’ll have the posture under my control by the end of February.

My choice of wardrobe didn’t help my mood either — my lovely threads made me look like a pitted-out Newt Gingrich in an auburn wig <shudder>. So, it’s off to Target to purchase some yoga clothes that don’t make me look like a blowhard twink from Georgia.

You know, more like a McCrabass.

 

 

I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened ….

For those of you who are into music from the days of yore, why yes, I am quoting a Split Enz song. Can’t help it — it’s one of my fave songs from back in the day, and I’ve heard it on the radio at least 5 times since arriving in LA. However, there is a reason why I’m referencing this tune and it has to do with where my life is at this very moment. Even though the song is about obsessive love, most of the lyrics are quite pertinent to my situation.

Let’s have a look, shall we?

“I got you – that’s all I want
I won’t forget – that’s a whole lot
I don’t go out – now that you’re in
Sometimes we shout – but that’s no problem”

I shout all right, but not at anyone in particular. Well, maybe me. Whilst looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.

“I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened
You can see my eyes, you can tell that I’m not lyin’

Look at you – you’re a pageant
You’re everything – that I’ve imagined
Something’s wrong – I feel uneasy
You show me – tell me you’re not teasin’ “

The “I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened …” That’s a no-brainer, if you ask me. Here I am, at a major crossroads in my life with a murky future ahead of me. It could go either way. What I’m doing out here could be a complete disaster of Michael Dukakis presidential campaign proportions. Or I could succeed beyond my wildest expectations. I doubt either will happen — it’ll likely be something in between.

The first two lines of the second verse are heaven. I wonder what it’s like to be told “You’re everything that I’ve imagined.” Simply put, hearing those words by someone I adore would take my breath away. Total sweetness.

Enough with the romantic crap and back to the issue at hand.

Something’s wrong — no shit — but I’ve covered this already. It’s being remedied I hope and it’s just gonna take some time. I’m tattooing that on my forehead in the morning.

Until then, enjoy the video.

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