To the GYM! The Saga Continues

As many of you know, I have a gym membership that I have had since 2004.  It's gotten to the point where it was so cheap, I kept it, even during my unemployment of 2009.  Last year I wrote about how if I went 12 times a month, my insurance would pay me $20, making my health insurance cost $100 rather than $120, and the gym membership free.  You may also recall from previous posts, that my boss was quick to point out, "that's like every other day."  Well, a lot has changed in the gym arena, and I thought you might like to hear the tale.

Firstly, my boss is no longer my boss.  You'd know that if I wrote more often.  I was promoted in May, and we were no longer limited to the company policy about fraternization.  We immediately quipped, "we can hang out together now!"  She has been asking which gym I go to, and trying to get me to switch to LA Fitness for the last year or so.  I go to Bally's, and due to above explanation, was not willing to switch.  One of my guests (we'll call him Fred) often came in to the store and would immediately talk about how he works out 2 hours every afternoon, and how much he loves his gym.  He would always end up insulting me without realizing it, and I chalked it up to his being from Jordan, or a neighboring country where the customs were different, especially between men and women.  Conversations would go like this:
"Hi, Fred."
"Hi, have you been to the gym lately?  I am about to go for 2 hours."
"Yes, I've been 2 times since Monday."
"Oh.  You should change gyms.  The clientele at LA Fitness is much better.  Do you like your gym?"
"It's affordable, it works for me."
"Ah.  How much would you like to lose?"
"Um. Some?"
"Well you have to stop drinking pop, and absolutely no sugar.  Absolutely none.  Sugar just makes things look like they do here and here and here (he says, pointing to my body)." Does he know I don't drink pop?  Yep.
"What can I help you with today, Fred?"
After I finish helping him, he invariably hands me a card, either a gym referral card or a handyman card (this man only knows the home improvement that I have taught him over the last year (Lord help him), but the card is cool, because it has little magnets in it.  It kills me when the ones who don't know what they're doing have the coolest cards.  I've begun looking for the bad advertising to find a good service :) Anyway, this kind of conversation went on pretty regularly, and I always somehow managed to feel bad after!

I got used to my gym, and went to yoga every week for a while (and still hit it sometimes).  It took 8 months, countless phone calls, letters, emails, threats of reporting to the BBB, more letters in bright envelopes and me actually using the phrase "I'll hold" twice, but Bally's FINALLY got my reimbursements correct through my insurance.  It was one of the more frustrating situations of my life, asking Bally's to fix a typo, but we don't need to go in to that.  This is a happy post :)

On December 6th, I received a letter in the mail that stated that Bally's had been sold to LA Fitness, and all the Minnesota locations were closing, save for 2, which were to become LA Fitness locations.  This change would take place on December 1st.  I was annoyed, but not surprised.  I mean, 8 months to fix a typo?  Telling me they sold 5 days after the fact?  Classic Bally's.  My location was one that was staying open, and I was told I had the choice to pay $30 a month and be stuck in my own club location, or pay $30 a month and go to any location I wanted.  Since my former boss (we'll call her Gwen for the rest of the blog) and Fred (boo, Fred) both went there, I upgraded to other locations.  This is all just a really ridiculously long explanation for what happened this week.

This week, I told Gwen that I updated my account, and can go to any LA Fitness, because Bally's is dumb.  She got really excited, and we both agreed we should workout.  You may recall she is tall and athletic, so this is a bit of an unnerving idea for me.  She said she hadn't worked out all year basically, and suggested we go walk on the treadmill for 15 minutes.  OK.  So we got to the gym, and things got embarrassing for her pretty quickly.  It went like this (all me). and I will let you guess which comment was found the most inappropriate:
"Holy big."
"The pool is twice as big!  And the tiling for the lanes is straight!!!"
"My whole gym, including the pool, is the size of the lobby!"
"Wait, none of these machines are out of order?"
"There's no rust on any of these machines!"
"Is that sauna only for women!?!?!?!?!?!"
"Oh my gosh! Look at this locker room!"
"Those lockers are twice as big.  They have wooden doors.  There's no rust in here!"
"Zumba at 4:30?  Can we go? Can we go?" (jumping up and down)

You get the picture.  There are some definite differences between the two locations.

So we started our 15 (20) minute treadmill walk, and Gwen immediately started looking around.  She was most impressed by the guys in the courtyard below doing pull ups.  I think that's a goal of hers.  The guy next to me ran the whole time we were on the machines, and so she ran for bursts of 3-4 minutes.  I may or may not have accidentally hit the emergency stop and had to start over.  There's no way to know for sure.  After that, she let her competitive side out (she played 3 sports in high school.  3 sports.  Who does that?), and thought we should do 20 minutes on something else.  So we did the bikes for 20 minutes.  I may or may not have tried to adjust my seat while pedaling and made a horrendous noise, as well as become suddenly, drastically uncomfortable. There's no way to know for sure.  Then, we should of course do some strength training, so we did the hip something-or-other, where you lay down and allow weight to be put on your elevated feet, and you push.  I kept thinking I was going to hit myself in the eye with my knee, and that this must be what childbirth is like for some women, knees up, pushing, all the midsection having to be misplaced somewhere.  Terrifying. :()

Last night we went to Zumba.  Half the class was new.  That was nice.  It was fun, you dance for 3-5 minutes per song, then take a break while she finds the next song.  The music is fun, but clearly out of Miami.  The dances are fun; there is Cha-Cha, Salsa, Meringue, Ballet, Hip Hop and a lot of hoochie mama moves.  Those felt the most unnatural for me.  The instructor was this cute little clubbie (a girl who likes the clubs) looking like NSYNC up there, and I felt bad for watching her butt to try and figure out what she was doing with it, exactly.  I could not get the pumps and the thrusts quite right.  The lady in her 50's next to me was doing pretty good, but I felt like John Cusack before he was cool.  I got a lot of other stuff down well, but those hoochie mama moves just don't come easy for me.  I guess that's a good thing, but it doesn't do much for the old self esteem :)  It was fun.  Next week I'll try spinning.  And I think I'll do Zumba again.  There was one lady there who got certified in Zumba on Saturday, and she was very excited, but she left after 2 songs.  Not sure what to do with that.

So, the quest for fitness continues; won't Fred be pleased.  I haven't seen him since August, when he told me he had a brain tumor and I wouldn't see him for a couple of months.  I hope he's well.  Perhaps I will run in to him one of these days...at the gym. :)

Hopefully we'll get the insurance figured out, now that I am spoiled by a large gym.  One lady said this location was small!  I will need to do some more investigating.  It is a very open layout, and every body can watch everybody else.  But they have racquetball courts, and I think I may invest in some of that equipment.  Good times.  Must wear better shoes. :)

The song of the day is in honor of my recent moving it experience.  Actually there are two today, because I can't decide which one to use.  One fast one, one not. :)  You all know I am full of paradoxes.  I blame it on being born in Northern Lower Michigan.  That's when it all started...

Officer Wednesday, Can't You Let Me Go with a Warning?

You may not know that I am abhorrently hated by Humpday.  I guarantee, if anything bad is going to happen to me, it’s going to be on a Wednesday.  I don’t know why this is; it’s a case of the Mondays multiplied by 10.  Most weeks I get up, get ready for work, and don’t realize it’s Wednesday until I drop something in the toilet, or people are driving while putting on pantyhose.  Suddenly it hits me like a bus; “Is it Wednesday today?” I ask aloud, with a hiss in my voice and an emphatic first syllable. Sadly, it usually is.  Arrest me, Wednesday.  I'm guilty of waking up on YOUR day.  

Yesterday I was astutely aware that it was indeed Wednesday.  I decided to not let it win.  I got up, made myself an amazing lunch (fruit salad and a Black Forest Ham sandwich on whole wheat with horseradish mustard and Muenster cheese), packed it up, and left early for work so I could stop at Sam’s club.

Immediately out of the driveway, I looked both ways to make sure I could cross the intersection at the yield sign.  It looked clear.  It looked clear, because I did not see the white car in the snow and with the sun in my eyes, zooming toward me.  I was sure an accident was imminent.  I braked, missed her by about 2 feet, and she decided this was a perfect time to stop her car and scream at me for about 30 seconds, while the guys at the bus stop looked on, amused at the stupid women.  I get that it was my fault, but I made the monkey sign, like, “clearly this was my fault, and I’m really sorry” with big hand gestures, and that just wasn’t good enough.  So she blocked the intersection and screamed at me, and I went on my way; I may have started to cry.  There’s no way to know for sure. 

I got to Sam’s, still shaking, parked next to a car that was well in my spot and expected a ding on my door,  and loaded up my cart with 9 items.  I know this because at Sam’s they count your items and match up your receipt because due to the lack of bagging supplies, they assume you are stealing everything that is loose in your cart.  As I was walking up to the counter, a man with one package of butter (one package, at Sam’s Club??)  and I let him go first.  As it turns out, my single item friend was really there to pay off his entire Sam’s card.  He had 7 different checks to accomplish this.  And, as luck would have it, the cashier was new.  After much debate and conference with his fellow employees, the credit card was paid off.  This only took about 10 minutes.  I happened to notice (because at Sam’s, all the information comes up on a monitor now, and the buyer is not able to read it, but the rest of the line is) that he paid off $10,772.00.  This is exactly, to the dollar, how much debt I have, which I am trying to not have, and on days such as this seems to be ruining my life.  I think I actually let out a groan. I mean, what kind of guy actually goes first, then takes 15 minutes?  A non chivalrous, boring, middle aged, balding white guy, that's who.

The gentleman then started his transaction for the butter, but could not figure out the card swiping machine, and every time he signed his name, he hit “cancel” instead of “accept.”  So that was fun.  It was fun 4 times in a row!

I got back in my car, which miraculously did not have a ding in the door (it was probably the single man in front of me), and drove to work.  I took the backroads because….well because it was Wednesday, and that’s really all there is to it.  As I came up to the building from the back, I went to turn left in to the parking lot.  I was stopped with my left blinker on, waiting for the opposing traffic to turn right into the lot.  I hear this noise, and think, what is that?  I know that noise…it’s a screeching eel from the Princess Bride.  They always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh.  I looked in my rear view mirror and saw (in slow motion, of course) an old, beat up silver Buick literally careening (yes, carEEning) behind me, about to hit me, but trying to swerve.  I floored it and cut off the person turning right, and very very very narrowly avoided getting rear-ended.  I did glance up just in time to see him flicking me off, so that was nice.  At least I admitted it was my fault when it was.  That’s when I parked (I don’t even know where) and called Captain Awesome with one whiney sentence, all screechy and teary: “I (snurgh) hate (snargh) Wednesday!!!”  He responded with, “It’s all uphill from here.”  Which is very funny if you’ve seen Due Date; Zach Galifinakis says that, and the RDJ corrects him, “Uphill?  No it’s all DOWNhill from here.”  “But nobody wants to be down, they want to be up…” I cried for a minute or so, then walked inside, ready to tell my fabricated story of how it’s SO cold, my eyes were watery. 

I got in the store, and instantly a woman said, “excuse me,”  and I thought good gracious, I’m not even on the clock, I still have my coat on, and already bombarded.  But, to my surprise, she said, “are you the one who almost got killed by that maniac?  You were sitting there for the longest time with your blinker on, and he just came around that corner like a crazy person!!!”  Turns out she was the one I cut off, but she didn’t even care.  She actually stopped, hoping I’d turn in and not get hit.  So that was the best Wednesday in a while. 

After I left work, I couldn’t find my car, being so flustered when I parked.  I tip-toed across a pool of ice, and stepped over a snow bank to get to it, and as soon as I thought I was in the clear I stepped on another patch of ice and fell.   And there were witnesses.  “Are you OK?” they asked, “I’m fine.  It’s Wednesday, and that’s really all there is to it.”  

Since my Wednesdays bring on a case of the Mondays, today's song of the day is:

I think I need a nurse...

I'm sick.  I know this because....well because I am admitting it.  I never admit when I'm sick. Also, last night, my neighbors had a massive Pot Smoking festival, and the smell made me so nauseated, I knew I must be sick.  Normally when Marijuana seeps through the walls, I get the munchies.  I've had no interest in food and still don't.

It started off as a mild Sinus irritation I attributed to all the dust at work, but yesterday exploded into a high fever and dizziness (actual dizziness, not blonde dizziness).  I had Captain Awesome come get me early from work (he had a fever too), and we were asleep by 4pm.  It was sleep, but that frenzied, fever sleep, you know?  My whole body was shivering, but my lips were on fire.  I could not speak, and all my thoughts were in Shakespearian English, and I think iambic pentameter to boot.  In my delirium, all I remember is thinking something like, "I do not condemn your family, but your treatment of them, the very basis of which gives rise to your villainy."  I think I was talking to Liam Neeson.  I could not, for the life of me, form any modern sentences.  This is a big deal because typically my stream of consciousness flows in Jane Austen speak, not Shakespeare.  To be fair, I did just watch "Much Ado About Nothing" last weekend.  I woke up with my pillow soaked around my head, and I think my fever had broke somewhere in there.

I am not at work today.  My plan was to go in and try to get through it, because my boss is out of town, and I knew things would be bare schedule wise.  Last night I called another one of my bosses, and we worked out a plan.  For this I am very grateful.  I did not realize how ill I feel.  I have been up for one hour, and am presently returning to that bastion of rest, my bed. That's the update from the ole' homestead at the moment.

Now Here's the Story All About How...

...My life got twist-turned upside down...Wow. I can't say I have woken up with the Fresh Prince of Bellaire theme song in my head since 8th grade. I know it's 8th grade, because I was sitting in Margo Sirrine's English class (which I LOVED), and we had one of those directional/trivia sheets to get to know each other at the beginning of the year. The items were numbered 1-20, and some were questions, and some were directions. The first one said, "Read this entire page before you answer anything." One of the other questions was, "What show comes on Tuesdays (or whenever it came on)," and I started to write the Fresh Prince, when I remembered the instructions said to read the entire page before answering. So I was one of 2 people who only filled out my name and turned it in because the last item said, "Write your name on the top of this paper and only do #1." Yay me. This has absolutely NOTHING to do with why I write today. How is that for a stream of consciousness? Any psych students doing case studies? No? Well, you are now. :)

I write to tell you the tale of how Captain Awesome turned a boring, particularly cold and frigid January into a month of luck and fortune. I can see you there, on the edge of your seat. Let us begin.

The year started out like any other, excepting that out of sheer exhaustion, New Year's Eve was spent doing laundry and in bed by 10. Two people cold, bored, and unsatisfied with their life at the moment (go to work when it's dark, come home when it's dark) had only the St. Paul Winter Carnival Medallion Hunt to anticipate with any glee. This tradition, however, did not begin until January 22, and that seems like an eternity in the frozen tundra that is the East Metro.

On January 6th, on my way to work, I happened to hear that there was a pineapple hunt sponsored by Sun Country Airlines and KS95 that was happening at that moment. The winner received a trip for 2 to Mexico (Mazatlan, to be exact), and a slot as a judge for the Ugliest Hawaiian Shirt Contest the following Tuesday (this winner ALSO won a trip to Mazatlan). I thought it might be nice practice for the medallion hunt, and called Captain Awesome to tell him about it. I didn't think much of it until I got a call at 4pm while I was at work, and he was at the Mall of America, sure the pineapple was there. He stayed until 8, and we met at home. No luck. The next day we took off work a bit early and went back to the MOA to search for it. We knew it was on the East side of the Mall, and was either in Nickelodeon Universe (an amusement park in the mall themed in Spongebob Squarepants) or Underwater Adventures. Our guts told us it was in Underwater Adventures, but to go in, you needed a ticket, and we really didn't believe we would have to pay to find the pineapple. There was a guard standing at the escalator, and we wrote it off.

At about 3:58pm, KS95 read the final clue: The pineapple was at Underwater Adventures, and if you said the password ("Mazatlan or BUST!") you could gain access to it. We ran and called the password over our shoulders as we passed the guard. We went around the corner...and just missed the winner by about 3o seconds. Facebook had the clue 2 minutes earlier than the station, and I did not have the notification sent to my phone. Technology spoils another hunt!!!! We went to Bubba Gumps and told the bartender we were in great need of consolation, which arrived in the form of some fruity Beachy drinks with umbrellas, on the house. That was nice. We lamented our loss and the fact that we were not rule breakers, or we would have found it first. After a couple of fruity drinks, I sent a text message to KS95. It went like this: "FYI, we wanted to look for the pineapple @ Underwater Adventures, but the signs prohibited us. And Facebook beat you with the clue." I felt satisfied, and we went home.

About 7pm I got a text. It was from Sun Country Airlines, which had received my forwarded text. The sender was apologetic about the confusion, and in consolation for second place, she offered us 2 first class upgrades for free on any Sun Country flight. I thought that was actually really cool, though I had no travel plans. It's always a good thing to have in your pocket. I thanked her profusely, and went to bed consoled with umbrella drinks and a future flight in First Class. I dreamed about what Ugly shirt I might wear, bought of course at a thrift shop I had yet to visit. The contest was the following Tuesday, and this was Friday, but I had plans to sweep it.

Monday, January 10th, I went to work and was accosted by cranky Minnesotans who, in their winter blubber have forgotten all manner of manners, including a simple "hello" or "excuse me" before bombarding me with questions, aimed at my back. It was a particularly rough day, finished with a teeth scraping dental appointment, and when I came home, Captain Awesome tossed a piece of paper at me. It was very cryptic. It was bulleted and had odd half sentences. "Teri has a crush on her chiropractor." "There was a dream about a baseball player." I stared at the sheet, not able to make any sense out of it, my eyes burning from my long day and the exhaustion. He began to tell me that the same radio station, KS95, was having a contest, and if you could answer questions about what they had talked about all day in between songs, you could win a trip to Cancun, Mexico (through Sun Country, of course). He listened all day. He called. It rang for over 6 minutes. The first three people missed the first question. He was caller four. He gave all the answers in a matter of fact, academic tone. "That answer would be..." When he answered the last question, the DJ's rejoiced!!!! And the air was dead. It went like this: "Hello??? Do you have a pulse? You just won a trip to Mexico, you realize that, right?" And there he was, cool as a cucumber, pulling a Korbin Dallas from the Fifth Element: "Yeah. Thanks." I told him that's a DJ's nightmare, and I could picture them in their studio, putting their mikes on mute and SCREAMING. Then I asked (very selfishly), "Can we still go to the Ugly Shirt Contest tomorrow?"  I had the shirt you see in the photos....Hibiscus flowers and Woody Station wagons decorated in American Flags?  HOW COULD THAT BE BEAT?!?!?

When he told me, I didn't believe him. A) that he had won, and B) that he was so cool about it. It wasn't until the next day I was driving to work and I heard the promo on the radio. "Call in and play Know The Show and win a trip to Mexico!!!" They played little blurbs of previous winners, there was Captain Awesome in the promo saying, "Well that answer would be 7." Then it started to sink in.  I needed to get to the gym and a tanning bed, STAT. :)

We went to the Ugliest Shirt Contest on Tuesday. We didn't care if we won. We were hoping to come in third, and win a first class upgrade so we could travel first class both ways. I had gone to Goodwill and picked up 6 choices, and we chose some doozies. We accessorized with coupons, brochures, sunscreen and my 35mm digital camera on a strap around my neck. Suddenly I got really cold feet. Just like (my mother reminded me) when I went to audition for the Nutcracker and chickened out at the last minute because there were so many dancers there when I was a kid. I chickened out again. There were some truly horrid shirts, and I didn't feel like I had any right to take any pictures. Nobody was talking to anyone else, it was awkward. Captain Awesome bought me a mojito and talked me into it again. I clumsily got in line, and there was no audience anymore...everyone who was sitting was now waiting to strut their stuff on the catwalk.

So here I am, standing in line, watching those before me do a little dance (which I did not know we were doing until this moment), when this woman walks up to me. "Hi," she says, "I am with Sun Country, and I noticed you have a pretty nice camera there. The guy I hired is not taking any pictures, and I'd like to hire you. I'll give you 2 free first class upgrades, how does that sound?" My face immediately turned red, and I think I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. I instantly turned into a photomaking machine. A machine, I say. I took about 300 pictures over the next hour. AND, I made the top 15, thanks to my Napolean Dynamite dance (why I didn't Riverdance that second time, I will never know...I couldn't decide how to move, so I went for stupid). I took some fun pix of the winner, who can now, FINALLY go on a Honeymoon, though he has been married for years. He did go all out with a grass skirt and paint his belly. Take a look, at the OFFICIAL Sun Country Facebook Page. All mine. And they even gave me photo credit. We spent a bit of time with them after the show, and we shared our good fortune and told them C. Awesome had won a trip the night before. The winner's wife instantly flew into a frenzy. "That was YOU!?!?!? I wanted to slap you!!! You were SO cool, SO cool, like, 'Yeah. Thanks." Ohh, I was screaming at the radio, I want to slap you right now, but I won't! Oh! Oh! I bet those DJ's were pulling out their hair behind their microphones!!!!!"

So there it is. The next Thursday we went and picked up our information from the radio station, called Sun Country and asked if we could put the upgrades I earned towards the trip he won, and they set everything up. We went Feb 3-7, and that, dear ones, is another entry entirely.

For now, the Fairy Tale pauses. More to come soon, dear readers. Good Night.

PS: We didn't find the medallion this year either. We were WAY off, which is actually a consolation. The last 3 years, we've literally been within a foot of it, or walked right over it. Right over $10,000

Hmmm...Blog acting up?

Hey, I noticed today I cannot respond to any comments or hit any share buttons. I also noticed my counter stopped working. Please email me if you are having problems too. It's weird, right?

My next blog will be the stellar adventure of just exactly HOW Captain Awesome and I, through joint efforts, secured a free trip, with upgrades. Oh yeah, you're on the edge of your seat, I know.

Fake it Till You Make it

I started Gym-ming it again (gummi word. I blame the Yoga teacher). I have never given up my membership, even when I was unemployed, because it’s only $20 a month. In the last few months I have been goading myself to get there because I found an insurance plan that pays $20 a month towards a gym membership if you go 12 times in that month. This seemed reasonable to me until my boss, a fit, athletic Amazon, said “Oof! That’s three times a week!” If SHE thinks that’s excessive….oh lordy. Suddenly this reasonable request started to lay bricks on my motivation, and built a wall 5 feet high of self doubt. Then the brick layers went to lunch; like a French lunch. I’m pretty sure they “lunched” 4 hours (in dream time….have you seen inception? That’s like 2 months) and got drunk. Then they returned, saw the wall, deemed it ugly, and went off to do French things. Yep, pretty sure that’s what happened. Very sensitive artist-y, my motivational brick layers.

The funny thing about the gym is that every morning you jump out of bed, like it's Christmas. You come running downstairs and ask the scale, "Am I skinny yet?" It can be very disappointing. But it's not all bad, and you have to remind yourself why you're doing it, blah blah blah. :)

Anyway, like any lame New Years Resolver, (to my credit, I never actually RESOLVED to go to the gym for New Year’s, it just happened to coincide with a particularly unflattering picture of myself), I started back at the Gym in January. I thought, “If I start early, I can get 12 sessions in,” and I went. I walked the treadmill to music on my iPod. I thought, “Everyone is looking at me,” and then, in style typical of me, I started thinking about whether or not that was true. Here’s my theory on gawking at the gym:

You can give yourself any reason not to go; I for one can talk myself out of almost anything. The worries are always the same: What if I only spend 10 minutes on the treadmill? People will think I’m lazy. What if people look at me? Am I cute enough to get hit on by that one guy who spends 8 hours a day on the weight machines, trolling for chics? What if my clothes make me look fat?

Good questions, all, and likely to keep you at home. I opted to put on my tightest clothes, fake my confidence, and go anyway. I have this athletic shirt that is kind of huggy, but promises to “wisk away moisture,” and as you likely have guessed, have never worn it. I have this philosophy about bolstering self confidence; it’s basically a “Fake it Till You Make it” idea, and it works…mostly. So I went. I tied my iPod to my arm, and I climbed on the treadmill. These can get VERY fancy, by the way. I figured it out, put on my music and did my thing. And yes, I looked around. Nobody was looking at me, I was the only looker. I started worrying about my time on the treadmill (there were 2 highschool girls on the treadmill in front of me, running. I started worrying about my speed. Then I realized (or convinced myself) that everyone there was really only worried about themselves, just like me. And I saw people do circuits; 10 minutes on each machine, and I realized nobody was really paying attention to me at all, and people come and go. My confidence started to become real until I felt my shirt start to creep up my back, and I spent a good 8 minutes tugging it back down. Now I go, and I ride the stationary bike (this is really fancy too; I just set how long I want to go, what level, and then hit “surprise me” for the route. I actually enjoy this, and can read at the same time), then I swim for a while, and I’m getting a routine down.

I have always wanted to do a yoga class, and I’ve done it at home, but it was some sort of milestone to do it in a class with people. I so wanted to do this, and was so resolved, that right before the brick layers started to pile on stones, I told my bosses I needed Wednesday nights off for Yoga. And I really wanted to go. I finally did, yesterday. I had a decent amount of confidence, as I know many of the poses by name, and did not think I would fall behind. Besides, I’d been singing “I have confidence in Sunshine” all the way to the gym, but this may have been because it was 20 below zero, and I was being optimistic. So I get there 20 minutes early, assured that I don’t have to bring a mat, and I’m excited, because Yoga is about connecting the mind to the body through breath, and focusing on the transitions between poses. It’s relaxing but taxing, as I like to say, because the pose may not be that hard, but hold it for 20 breaths, and you’ll feel uncomfortable. Get to know your discomfort! J I know a few of things about Yoga: 1.) If it hurts, you need to find a modification so it doesn’t. 2.) Moves like the Plow can kill you if you do them wrong, and should be supervised closely, so you don’t snap your neck while your feet are over your head. 3.) Yoga is meant to calm the body and the mind to focus on your next tasks, with a team of mind and body calmly floating through the world, ready to deal with anything (even MN drivers, which is another blog entirely).

So I get to the class 5 minutes early, and there are already territorial issues. People want their mats far enough apart so they don’t hit each other with a wayward warrior pose, but there’s not a lot of room to fit in. So in Fake it Till You Make it style, I ask, “is it ok if I scoot in between you two?” and they both move 2 inches to let me in. That was nice. The teacher starts, and says how important it is to breathe, my breath should be the most interesting thing in the room, etc. We take deep breaths, get started to Enya, and begin. She doesn’t do any poses herself, she walks in between all of us like a severe school teacher, yelling out poses so quickly, that there is no time to transition into one before she is two ahead of you, let alone breathe correctly. I imagined that she had a whipping stick she was slapping into her palm, but I am pretty sure she didn’t….pretty sure. Oxygen deprivation can do interesting things to memories. Calm area CRASHED. She slows down a bit, and we start to get in line again, and I am excited, because I know the poses she’s calling (which is good, cause she explained exactly NOTHING about how to do them), except a couple, and I look around to see what they look like, and people are doing different things, because clearly they don’t know either. I get a sharp look for looking around (not ONCE did this lady say to anyone, “Nice job,” “that’s it” or anything of the sort), and I’m having a really hard time finding a calm center. Every time I start to come back to center, something happens. A knock on the door, then my teacher (who STILL has us holding in chair pose), says very snappily, “I can only take one of you, I’m full. Class started SEVEN minutes ago.” She wants to sit and argue while we’re balancing, trying to find a peaceful center. The music changes to the local pop station instead of something that is conducive to yoga. Something wrong here?

A few of the poses are particularly painful in my hips, specifically the right side. I modify them. I get a look. LOOK lady, I’m not killing myself to be YOUR star pupil, ok? Then she starts throwing in extras for the people who have been her student for a while; “Option to go into bird of paradise. Option to raise that left leg,” and it’s clear it’s not for our benefit; she’s trying to place us in order of advancement (Which is SO not yogi material). Then, just for laughs, she tells us to transition in to PLOW. With no insight on modifications, nothing. People do it. They’re falling, they’re whimpering because it hurts, and I…well I refused, frankly. I’m not breaking my neck over this, and I’ve got neck issues; I’m a terrible candidate for plow, as are the ladies on either side of me, easily in their 80s. I did another pose, in similar form, so as not to draw attention to myself.

I kept thinking, “just get through the hour, you’ll be happier and feel better,” but I didn’t. I mean, I got through the hour, but I can’t say it was worth it. Then this nice lady comes up to me after, and tells me that if I’m going to use the gym mats, I should use 2, because they are very thin. And if I have one, it’d be better, because they smell, and people snot on them, and they don’t get cleaned very often. Also, I should come ½ hour early on Saturdays, and put my mat down, then go do my circuit, because they fight over real estate in there.

So there it is. My first experience in a yoga class, and I can NOT resign myself that it was normal. I don’t have any respect for this “yogi,” who said she wouldn’t do any poses because a couple of days ago she was doing Crow Pose and kneed herself in the eye, making it black (it wasn’t black). She did do a couple after class when her star pupils talked about themselves; she had to get the attention back so she did a couple to show them how it should be. I’m a bit sore today, but not at all calm. Just irritated. It’s like going to a spa and they play heavy metal music through your massage.

And what is confidence in sunshine anyway?

Vacation, Take me Away!!!

Children live lives of permanent vacation…the days seem long and empty. As we grow, time seems to grow shorter also. Is this because we’re always coming off vacation mode? Or is it because we’ve come off vacation mode so long ago that even when we get the rare vacation (or vacation day), we try to plan out how to maximize our time? Get out the old Excel, boys, we need to do some linear programming on maximizing down time!

I get a discount at the gym if I go 12 times a month. I’m thinking “no problem! That’s like a few times a week.” My friend points out, in her Gen Y tilt of the head (we ALWAYS want the Gen Y opinion), “that’s like every other day.” Suddenly I’m thinking, “A month is so short!” A cycle when all the bills are due, and they always seem to be due too early.

I’ve been in a rut of nose grinding for a while now. So much so, that even when I’m home, I’m freaking out about time. Here’s what goes through my head for the last hour of work: “I’ve got my gym bag in the car. I’ll go to the gym, take my shower there (I HATE my shower, but this is another blog entirely), run home, cook supper, put the dishes away (and some Mondays I get a cheerful pick-me-up) watch “Chuck.” I think we all know I love Chuck by now. I get so worried about getting there, I am stressed out all the way there, imagining phantom cars behind me, riding me, waiting for me to turn left. I just gotta get there. Just be faster, just make better turns, just be…superwoman! Sometimes when I am in this rut, Captain Awesome will point out that I am stressing him out. Or he’ll not be ready to go when I am (really???). I usually try weakly not to freak out, but he says something like, “are you hungry?” and I resent this question (it is akin to “are you PMSing? Here, have some wine), so I turn in to a toddler that says, “No. I’m not hungry…hmmmpf!!!” I usually eat something to appease him, and it turns out I usually am hungry, and apparently this adds to all I’m worried about. Millions of people dying and starving in the world, and I whine about not wanting to be thought of as hungry. But I digress.

So I’m driving along, speeding, needing to be there, when I realize I need to be. Just be. Then my mind laughs out loud….”like Drew Barrymore!!!” In Ever After, when she wears that terrible dress and pulls her hair up and glitters up her face. The camera comes in close to her, from underneath (really?) and she says, “just breathe.” NOT the Drew Barrymore school of acting, which is a fictional place that Captain Awesome and I made up where actors go to learn how to fake cry, but never really graduate; they just make the whiny face and nothing comes out of those stinking tear ducts (sidenote: I saw a commercial, they have eye drops for that).

So time flies by faster and faster, and suddenly one day you realize that It’s been 2 months since you saw your best friend, and you’re not sure how that happened. People don’t even invite you places anymore because the chances of you going are pretty slim. You realize you’ve been devoting all your good energy to something you don’t love, and there doesn’t seem to be energy for things you do. Even at home, on my rare days off, I try to figure out how to maximize my time and still get a little time for myself. Why do I always come in last? No, second to last. My friends seem to always come in last. That sucks, and it’s not OK anymore.

I am one of those people who need time alone and in QUIET to really settle myself, and with neighbors like mine, goals I’ve set, and a boyfriend who works where we live, it’s tough to do. I really need to change my perception about a lot of things, so that I can enjoy the journey a bit more, and live in vacation mode for longer periods of time.

Today’s Song of the Day is

Why so Serious?