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.
It’s been a while since I’ve done Bikram. Freelance work has kept me away from everything except the newsroom and regular household/life duties. Today I went back and while it was good to be back, it wasn’t good to be back. I felt old, out of shape, stiff, clumsy, beat up, and grody. These feelings brought tears to my eyes during the standing series–a common reaction for yoga practitioners. I couldn’t let go of these feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing due to my lack of fitness and mental anguish over my professional life (or lack thereof).
I managed to push on through and have the best session I could have today. This was accomplished by sitting out some of the poses and letting the energy of the room flow over me. Yes, you read that last bit correctly–hardass McCrabass actually allowed the energy of others pierce her dark, disturbed, bitch-filled core. What’s even more shocking is that it felt pretty damn good. I just let it go–the energy came in and the tears came tumbling down. It’s tough to be vulnerable like that and I don’t care for it at all. But, vulnerability has its charms and a purpose, or purposes. I have an idea as to what they are, but I want to experience them first before I expound on them further.
Until then, let’s talk about core strength. I am in desperate need of restructuring/retrofitting mine. As a result, I’ve been researching core strengthening exercises and the most effective one I’ve come across is The Plank. Sure it looks easy, but it ain’t. I figured I need to mix it up a titch more, and noticed that my friend Shannon had posted a series of plank exercises on her Google+ page. Damn. I figure if I do these exercises 4-5 times a week plus Bikram 4-5 times a week as well, my core will be in passable shape by mid-October. Why mid-October you ask? Because I signed up for a clinic at Bikram Yoga Andersonville with Mary Jarvis in October, and I don’t care to look like an Rush Limbaugh-esque fat idiot (redundant I know) in front a Bikram legend.
Next on the list? Researching docs who will surgically wire my jaw shut so I can’t eat. Stay tuned.
For some reason, I heard this song on the way to Bikram this morning, and on the way home. This worries me — makes me wonder that maybe there’s some sort of disconnect in the universe. Who knows. However, knowing how things are with me lately, I’m sure I’ll have some sort of Ambien-induced, weird dream about Corey Hart, a bucket of fried chicken, a sear-sucker suit, pine needles and some dude named Hoke. Great — now I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight.
Class was off today. I couldn’t get it right, wasn’t feelin’ it. Half Moon really hurts the bejeebus out of my shoulder. I didn’t push as hard as usual because the pain was causing me to wince which, in turn, was causing me to hold my breath. It didn’t help seeing my “Hi Janes” in the mirror. Fortunately, neither my arms nor my hair look as bad as what’s featured in the picture, but you get the idea. Plus, that necklace is U.G.L.Y. If I’m not careful, this is gonna be me in about 5 years.
A young women directly in front of me had THE best tat on her lower back. It was of Shakespeare all hip-hopped up. I can’t find any images to do it justice. Wait, I could, but I’m too damn lazy. Tats are de rigueur in Bikram. I feel so out-of-place because I don’t have an “Om” or something else written in Sanskrit splayed on my inner-thigh, or winding up my spinal column (because you know that felt fucking good — I just hope those broads were drunk/passed out when they were getting stamped). Actually, I’ve considered getting a tat for a long time now. I go back and forth on it, but I don’t think my family would appreciate their likeness inked across my ass. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.
And, now that I’ve added a tattooed image of yours truly to your mental Rolodex, I will sign off for the day. Ciao, Monkehs.