All That And A Bag Of Chips

Well, it’s been a long time (again). And I am finally back on the writing horse (again, again).

So, let’s catch up:

I finally finished my typography and drawing courses (adding to the requirements for my Graphic Design degree), vowing never again to take a class from the pompous ass in typography, and no doubt exiting drawing with an insult thrown over my shoulder to my absolutely lovely art professor when I sent her a graphite-drawn portrait I created from her staff picture.

The kids finished up their school classes and started camp . . .at their school.

I might have a new job working as a sort of liason between my potential employer and the Girl Scouts (because apparently, I know people).

I survived the Girl Scout overnight. . .barely.

I broke down and bought a SeaWorld / Aquatica membership.

I’m now halfway through this “Back At It” Challenge at Orangetheory, which requires participants to show up to at least three classes a week. And I feel like I’m going to die.

I finished a flash fiction challenge, and can’t wait to get the feedback and results . . .but I have to wait until September (ugh.)

I’m back to desperately needing to cut Diet Dr. Pepper out of my diet. And cheese.

Things are back open and the world is full of all these opportunities to go out and do . . .everything! This presents a new problem, however . . .

I’m exhausted.

There is so much to do, that there is the pressure to get it all on our plate before it goes away again. Now the schedules are filling up with all of these activities that if I choose not to go participate in, I’m somehow depriving myself and my family of what could be a fleeting joy.

So, we rush to get to Aquatica before it’s gone (this is the last year, anyways).

And we rush to SeaWorld to get on all those new coasters that opened.

And we rush to RSVP to every playdate, overnight and birthday party thrown our way.

And we rush to be the first in line to everything because everything is sold-out if you wait too long: the drive-in, the festivals, the baseball games, the concerts . . .

Because they’re there.

It’s good, really. Just that we went zero-to-60 just like that. And I have to breathe a little to catch up.

I’ll get there. Really.

Today was a good start. Writing this in my blog / diary after months of staring at the computer with absolutely no push to document life or share reflections.

I finally got inspired by the writing challenge I decided to enter. Well, really more like it kicked my butt into gear, because you only have 48 hours to write a piece up to 1000 words based on the prompts you are assigned, and I was going to get my money’s worth.

Ray: “You paid for this contest?”

Me: “Yes, but you can win money and prizes!”

Ray: (thoughtfully) “I don’t know why anyone would pay someone else to do all that writing. . . but good luck.”

They gave writers a genre, setting, and featured object. Mine were better than some others (we can see the whole list from their website):

Genre: Mystery

Setting: Wine Cellar

Object: Jigsaw Puzzle

I wrote a short story about an escape room and two girls that try to solve the clues to get out. Not sure if that’s more “suspense,” though, and that would disqualify me . . .so fingers crossed.

That was the hurdle I had to jump over this weekend, and now over the last couple days I realized that there was little pressing my schedule (other than the morning classes at Orange I try to take every day). So I have been coming home, doing chores, and vegitating on the couch while scaring the crap out of myself (on purpose), watching Netflix’s “Haunting Of Hill House.” Because no one is home needing food or entertaining, and I can actually watch my shows on the living room TV.

Best. Afternoons. Ever.

But, of course this means getting moving again might be a little harder since I’ll be starting from stop.

Kinda like the world. Zero-to-60 and exhausting.

But I think I’ll just take advantage for now for these couple days and take my breath before foraging ahead.

Because . . .it’s what I do.

Men’s Health Magazine: Think You Can Hang?

“I can accept failure. Everyone fails at something. But I can’t accept not trying.”

-Michael Jordan

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DISCLAIMER: I spent the entire month of May smacked down by The Crud. An entire month. It’s awful, and also severely cut into my  plan to follow the workouts and cooking and such. Towards the end of May, I didn’t do any kind of working out at all, it was too draining. I did manage a little before then, though, in between coughing my shoes up. And so, here is an abbrieviated experience for you.

(Now that I’m better, I’ll spend June working on my pull-up. After all, with summer coming, I need pretty shoulders and a rocking back to show off. Since the crud hit, I couldn’t find the energy to do much of anything, and my arms have gone soft. It’s totally gross. Definitely not Men’s Health worthy).

——————————————————————————————————————————

Men’s Health Magazine? I thought it would be a flip of Women’s Health Magazine. The same basic idea of health and well being and product placement, only for guys.

Here’s what I’ve found:

1) The target audience for Men’s Health Magazine is someone who LIVES at the gym.

2) This person who lives at the gym is preparing for an Apocalypse during which Superman will be unavailable, and He will be called upon to bear muscle and save the world.

3) Any and all nutrition is about feuling his bulging biceps, which he will need to save the world.

4) Oh, and he should look like a hipster while assuming his alter-ego.

That’s the gist.

There were actually so many workouts and workout add-in suggestions, I wasn’t sure I would have enough hours in the day. I mean, I only have 6 before I have to go pick up the kids.

So, I chose to alternate workouts.

This might mean I don’t actually achieve a pull-up.

Also? I’ve been in gyms a whole lot. Loads of different workouts. I am completely comfortable in the environment.

But I found myself incredibly intimidated by the weight room at the YMCA. I totally get now what it means to watch guys posture, and show off heavy sets. And the women that throw themselves in that mix? You have to maintain a resting bitch face and flexed muscles, just so you blend. Because you want to blend.

I stood out like a sore thumb.

This was not going to be fun.

But, dammit. I can’t learn to do a pull-up without doing a pull-up.

So, I sucked it up and put the eye-bullying in my periphery.

It helps that I’m reading Seat Of The Soul (as suggested by featured actor Michael B. Jordan, P.83). This book is a really intriguing read about our existence and self-evolution. I’m on the chapter regarding judgement of others. So, I’m evoking the idea of karma. These people must have been intimidated in another cycle of their soul.

Well, I’m still allowed to feel the effects. So, they still suck.

Maybe listening to “The World’s Most Relaxing Song” (P.22) will help calm the mind. Except that it really seems to threaten to put me into a trance, not an ass-kicking weight training one. Ten hours of spa music? Find me ten hours. Bet these gym rats have ten hours, those . . .grrr . . .

Yep, I still have a bit of a way to go in my soul’s evolution.

In between workouts, Men’s Health suggests taking advantage of the benefits in “small movements” used to increase overall strength (P.36). Although small, the first week I had done them consistantly four times a week, I found myself a bit more sore in funky places, but feeling strong. I think I will continue doing these after this experiment is over, because they are pretty easyto incorporate into my day, and they seem to be working (yay!).

I really wanted to take advantage of playing on some local obstacle courses, a la America Ninja Warrior (p.38), but then the Crud hit. And life sucked. With summer coming quick and my body finally on the mend, I’ll likely hit these up with my girls, who are obsessed with the show. Plus, you got to start them early. There’s college to pay for.

I’m having a fun time with some of the men’s products. Even though the Baxter Of California deodorant I’m using smells distinctly male (P.17), there’s a sort of comfort to it. It mixes well with the Blind Barber Sea Salt Spray (P.57), which coincidentally smells just like the cologne I just got Ray. We refer to it as, my “catnip”. The spray does work to tame my frizz, but really, I’m in it for the fragrance (plus, I purr all day while sporting that “just come from the beach” look).

I’m also using a lovely Sea Shampoo/Conditioner set from Verb (P.57). The smell and feel is unbelievably good and sexually ambiguous (I don’t want to end up smelling too “dude”). It delivers on increased volume to my already crazy mane of hair, which means doubling up on the catnip spray (again, not a bad thing).

As for the food aspect of the May edition of Men’s Health:

Ray: This pineapple drink is really good.

Me: Thanks! There’s cricket powder in there. . .

Ray:  . . .Was really good.

The kids got a kick out of the bugs in their drink (P22). I figure you can’t really taste it in a smoothie, so why not add it in to up the protein?

We also had a night of incredible salmon (P.26) and not-so-incredible rutabega (p.72). I wanted to like it. I really did. But it was just a little too sinewy for me. Maybe I picked a bad one, I don’t know.

The Knockout Turkey Curry (P.78), however, delicious. That is all, just. MAKE IT.

I tried drinking up quite a bit of Yerba Mate tea, too, just to change up my caffeine intake (P.76). I like it better than green tea, plus it apparently has way more caffeine (when you are fighting The Crud, you need all the help you can get. I thought I would look it up, and Yerba Mate has a really cool international presence and drinking culture (who knew I could be so worldly?). I kept searching out articles, until I came across one that spoke of the correlation between Yerba Mate and cancer. More than one, actually. Although, if my source is Wikipedia, does that affect its validity?

Ahem. Okay, no thank you. I’ll take my chances with coffee.

In the end, although I feel a new kinship with Men’s Health Mag, I feel like it wasn’t given the attention it deserved, given the onset of the Crud. I’m going to try to work on some of the things in the June edition, though. Looking forward to what new things I can learn from the guys . . .

Ray: Why don’t you just ask me?

( . . .Too  . . .many . . .responses . . .)

Me: Mwah. Love you.

And there’s my real bromance.

 

 

Bromancing the Mag

“I’m a girl, but I’d rather hang out with boys because it’s less drama.”

-Unknown, yet known

So, this year’s Girl Scout Nuts and Magazine Sales Season has brought about a new visitor to my mailbox: Men’s Health Magazine.

See, the system wouldn’t allow me to renew my Women’s Health Magazine subscription without also starting a Men’s Health Magazine subscription as well. Those clever little munchkins.

Ray: What did you order?

Me: It’s not really for me. It’s for you. Great motivation, right?

Ray: (looking at the front cover) Oooookay.

So, since Ray wouldn’t read it, I did (paid for it, after all, need to read the articles).

It was really interesting to get a different, male point of view with regards to fitness (I think the number of times I read the word, “shred” could be in the high double digits). The tone could, at times, be off-putting. I’m not saying I was totally offended, and I’m not really calling it “cheuvanistic” (probably because I’m a bit desensitized from hanging around pool halls). But I could see where most of my high school friends would protest (I went to an all girl’s school for high school). I also blame Dr. Laura for ealry influencing my adult years and for encouraging a more “male tolerant” thick skin when it comes to “guy lingo”. Anyways, my point is, it was decidedly “male” (insert grunt).

So . . . Now that I got to read the mag, I was curious. . .what if I lived like the boys for a month? Could I keep up?

Not sure, they seemed pretty hard core. Also, I have to admit, I subscribe to the notion that women and men are naturally physically different.

There, I said it. Totally unpopular point of view in this day and age.

And yet. . .

It seems so much easier for guys to do pull-ups.

And yet. . .

Guys typically bench a whole lot heavier than us gals.

And yet. . .

Guys just seem so all-around stronger than we women. Excluding ridiculous anomaly Olympian exceptions. Or Demi Moore Navy Seals.

Still, maybe I could try.

So, this May? I’m going to pull a Vanessa Hudgens, and try the Men’s Health Magazine side of things.

Hey. Least I could do? Come out with Maui muscles and no tits.

Holy crap. I’ve become one of the guys already.

Stay tuned. . .

Diatomaceous Diary

“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.”

-Confucius

One night while trolling, I saw this Facebook post from my neighbor:

DIATOMACEOUS EARTH. . .Why isn’t everyone using this stuff?! It does this and this and this. . .

She went on to list all of these incredible benefits. It lowers cholesterol. It increases energy. It clears your body of toxins and parasites. It strengthens nails, clears and beautifies skin, and increases hair growth. And it kills household insects and repels rodents (yes. And yes, that’s a selling point for me). Basically, it’s a miracle.

I have to say, I’m a total sucker for snake oils. Especially ones with as many claims as this one. Another clincher? I couldn’t find one negative review from anyone who ingested it for health purposes.

Ray: Well of course not. It’s harmless, it’s mud. Didn’t you ever eat mud as a kid?

Me: It’s not mud. It’s finely ground silica rock.

Ray: Which is dirt. Mix it with water? You get mud.

I ordered a 10lb bag for about $20.

Ray (shaking head): $20 dirt?! I’m in the wrong business.

Me: It’s going to last forever, honey.

Ray: It’s dirt. We have plenty of our own dirt. That’s it. Get a shovel. . .

The food grade kind suggests a serving size of 1-2 tsp, 1-2 times a day. My mom brought up the possibility of kidney stones (logically, because of an increased intake of calcium, although I never read any articles or reviews suggesting that), so I decided to take 2 tsp mud only once a day.

Gritty? Yes. Unpalatable? Not really. You just have to make sure you constantly stir it and kick up the grit so that you get it all (it is, after all, “$20 dirt“). I did it in a single 6 oz shot.

Only don’t mix it with carbonated drinks. In my first attempt, I stirred up only a small amount, and the whole thing bubbled up and over like a kid’s science experiment. Which is scary, considering how much soda I drink. Crap, would it do that in my body?!

Yet another reason to up my intake of water. Also, they said that you might suffer, “painful, toxic constipation” if you don’t. Yeesh.

So, it’s been a week. I have noticed I’m pretty thirsty, perhaps more so than usual. Could be increased hot yoga visits, though.

Energy wise? I have more focus, and a little more clarity, but I’m also decreasing my rosé habit. Also, since Girl Scout cookie season just ended, I feel like Lazarus.

The other claimed benefits will take a little more time to really notice, though. I’ll be sure to report back.

I’m giving it to Ray, too.

Ray (glancing sideways at me and pausing mid-sip): This is the mud.

Me: This is the mud.

Ray: You sure you’re not trying to poison me?

Me (So clever): Didn’t you ever eat mud as a kid?

Ray: No, I ate dirt.

Touché.

Tickling The Pickle

“I won’t give up, no I won’t give in

Till I reach the end, and then I’ll start again

No, I won’t leave, I wanna try everything

I wanna try even though I could fail”

-Shakira

 

 

It’s like ping-pong, but bigger.

It’s like tennis, but with a more friendly wiffle ball.

And the name.

“Ray, oh my God. I have to play something called, ‘Pickleball.’ My mom says it’s super popular. I looked it up, I think it’s going to be huge.”

“You’re a dork.”

He’s right. But I had to see for myself. Tennis was not really my thing (I did passably well in summer sports camp as a kid, but not enough to beat anyone soundly). I wasn’t a whiz at racquetball (I can barely see that blue ball, and often spend court time cowering near misses at my head). But when it came to ping-pong, I was Olympic-awesome.

“You remember, Ray? I totally smoked you every time. You refused to play me anymore.”

“Oh, yeah, right. . . I don’t think so. I let you win. You needed something.”

“Excuse me? Want to go again right now?”

“You’re a dork.”

I had some skills I could bring to the courts! I suddenly had visions of amateur teams just begging me to join them. A jersey with my own name and number. My own paddle. I would name it Silver.

I am a total dork.

I called my YMCA to participate in a beginners’ clinic they were offering so that I could check it out. The gal on the phone paused when I said I wanted to sign up.

“You know that this is an ‘Active Member’ class, right?”

Active Member classes are generally for the 55 and up crowd.

“Yes, I get it. But it’s 18 and over . . .”

“Well, yes . . .”

“I’m in.”

And I was. I was going into a group who would probably hate me for my age alone. Who does she think she is? They would ask each other, to come into a group like this and strut her stuff?

And, I have to say, I thought I had this world dominated. After all, what had my Orangetheory classes trained me for?

Yeah. Not THIS.

Nope. I was worked.

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Our director of play was a woman easily in her late 70’s named Marla. Her first paddle, which she brought to show us, was one that she fashioned herself. She had sawed a wooden Smashball paddle to match the dimensions of a Pickleball standard paddle, and then used duct tape to cushion the handle.

She gave us each a ball and then asked us to bounce them off the tops of our paddles. After a few hits, mine made direct contact with the front of Marla’s skull.

She didn’t even flinch.

“Yep, that’s bound to happen,” she said, and then continued the clinic.

We learned how to serve the ball to the opposite side of the court, and were told to volley it between the teams as many times as we could.

You would think that a wiffle ball slows down as the air blows through it.

Yeah, no.

Especially when that wiffle ball is being beamed at you at about the speed of light by what is apparently an extremely strong arm wrapped in a frail-looking one. If it bounced on the court, I had a pretty decent shot at hitting it, but after the first return, you can hit it without bouncing. I never did do well with things that come straight for the middle of my forehead. And I lack the cat-like reflexes of the retired, apparently.

Marla got her revenge on my earlier transgression.

Yup, that’s bound to happen.

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By the end of an hour and a half, my feet hurt and I was sweating. Some of these gals didn’t even look winded. Most of my exercise had come from constantly running after my own missed balls, which happened more in my corner than theirs.

At least I got in my cardio for the day. Maybe for the week.

Marla called us all in.

“Alright, not too bad for your first time. You all did really well (she didn’t look my way), and we hope you take what you’ve learned and bring it back. You have all now earned the Pickleball pin. You are now part of the club.”

Now part of the club. Maybe at the bottom of the pack, humbled and ashamed at my ridiculous ageism, but still part of a club. And despite the fact that I absolutely need more practice before going out on the court with the regulars, I really can’t wait to go back.

After all, I have a pin to show off now.

And this ain’t over, Marla.

My Pride And Joy

 

Nothing to Fear . . .

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

-Neil Armstrong

 

So, the other day. I’m in a workout class on a circuit. This particular station was designated “cardio.”

“You have a choice,” our very large and intimidating instructor said. “You can choose one minute of jump-rope, step-ups, or jump-ups.”

Note that, for me, this is not really a choice. It’s probably residual competitive nature from my Orangetheory days, but when I hear that word, it is anything but. What the instructor was actually saying is, “If you don’t choose the hardest exercise, you suck. You sad, sorry little wimpy butt.”

That left me with jump-ups. One of my biggest fears.

My chickens are watching American Ninja Warrior these days. My oldest asked me one night, “Mommy, do you think I could be the Next American Ninja Warrior someday?” Glowing, absolutely glowing with Wonder Woman, feminist pride, I told her, “Baby? Absolutely. You can do anything.”

So, I had to channel my own personal American Ninja Warrior. For her. To conquer that stupid box only a couple feet high and to show my daughter, who wouldn’t even see me, that you can conquor your fears and do anything. A teachable moment, just . . .without an audience.

But, hey. I would share with her later. So that counts.

And that’s what I did. I could hear the announcers in my head:

 

You know, last year, Jimmy? She could not make it past the infamous “Devil’s Staircase.” One has to wonder if she can summon her strength and to conquor that this year.

Well, you know, Stan. She makes it past this stage, and she’ll get further than any woman yet this year.

We can see here she’s taking her time, settling in. She looks solid . . .and . . .?

 

And I nailed it. Boom!

Now, why would I be afraid of jumping just a few feet onto solid ground?

I have visions.

Visions of falling backwards, mostly. Nailing my knee on the way back. Spraining an ankle. Straining my back. All of which would put me out of commission, something I just can’t allow to happen. Old people fears.

But ha! to you, stupid box! That’s all you are, two and a half feet of stupid box!

 

Stan! She did it again! Is there no stopping her?

Jimmy, I tell you what. See those little girls right over there? Those are her daughters that came all the way from San Diego, just to cheer their mom on to victory.

 

Okay, a small victory. A ridiculous victory. But I actually took time to write about it, because it felt that good.

So, go conquor your version of my box. I swear, you’ll find that one sweet moment will translate to the next. And the next. And the next, until you feel unstoppable. I guess that’s how American Ninja Warriors are made.

So, later that night, I told my oldest, Lucy, what I did.

She thought my announcer voices were funny.

“Mommy? Who are Jimmy and Stan? Their names are Matt and Akbar.”

A teacheable moment indeed.

 

 

How To Heat Up A Room

“When water starts boiling, it is foolish to turn off the heat.”

-Nelson Mandela

My yoga journey started a little over two years ago. I should say my “more-than-passing” yoga journey, really. I re-upped my membership to Corepower after the chickens went back to school, determined to get my om on and look like Madonna.

I had had some experience with Bikram years before, and looked at this studio as kind of a more mainstream, less strident type. They offer a nice array from beginning to advanced, so I figured I would work my way up the ladder to maybe eventually go back to that hard-core practice.

Let me take you through my journey:

C1:The Beginning

This class is the same every time. Which is a great way to build the foundations of later practice. And your triceps.

Since the poses and flow is always the same, you choose instructors pretty much based on their choices of music. It’s always nice to “shavasana” (rest) at the end to a little “Clare de Lune” or  Jack Johnson’s easy vocals. My favorite was a soft piano version of Pearl Jam’s, “Black” (I tried desperately to find the version I heard to share with you, but I couldn’t).

You do a ton of tricep push-ups. One instructor had us place a block under our chins so that we would know how far down to hover in our “chaturanga dandasana” (low tricep plank). He told us he was the former football coach at the local high school. I expected him to ask us to drop and give him 20, which, actually? I think he did.

You also learn the beginnings of “crow,” a pose that forces you to balance on your hands with your feet off the ground, and your knees somehow tucked into your armpits. Instructors often call this part of class “playing,” or “recess” as we all struggle to “fly” but often just topple over. Fortunately, it’s not too far to the mat.

I managed one day to balance both feet off the ground one day, and I swear you think I had won the lottery! I felt amazing! I felt accomplished! I felt ready to move on!

Yup, That’s About Right

C1.5: The Next Level

This class has differing poses for half the class, but still relatively same structure as the C1. This is the class I started seeing differences in instructors, and finding myself gravitating towards certain ones. Cool! Must mean I’m getting up there, becoming, like, a pro.

Oh, yeah. Bring it! I can totally do C2!

C2: Nice Taste Of Humble Pie

You know you’re in for it when half the class is upside down before class even begins. Not that I judge, or that I allow anyone to intimidate me by their intense level of bendiness. It’s more annoying, really, if you feel like they are doing it to show something off, rather than legitimately working on improvement, or meditation. But whatever, I was ready!

You also know that you have an awesome teacher when the class is wall-to-wall yoga mats, and you need to arrive at least 20 minutes before or you’re out of luck. Close quarters during Prasarita can be uncomfortable, so if you can get a corner, highly suggested.

Ray: “Yeah, I couldn’t do that with some guy’s butt in my face.”

Me: “Baby, trust me. No one’s really looking.”

Ray: “You told me some guy was in a speedo!”

Me: “Well, I try not to look.”

It’s all about your teacher. Each class is completely different, all depending on the emphasis that instructor wants to focus on over a month (usually). It’s all your preference. I’ve had drill seargants, meditative gurus, aerobic instructors, and flat-out torturers. One looked and sounded like Matthew McConaughey, and seemed to get lost in tangent thought, forgetting we had been holding the pose already for about ten breaths.

Or did he . . ?

Matthew-look-a-like: “I see some of you are in here for the first time. If you came here for Vinyasa flow, this is not that class. This is old school.”

I was dying. And I wasn’t even moving.

So, ok. I’m not an expert. But at least I was learning the ropes. What else did the studio have in store?

Hot Yoga: Spiritual Stretching

Bikram yoga lite. Instead of 90 minutes, it’s an hour. Instead of 108 degrees, usually they keep the class around 105. Not the full 26 poses of Bikram, maybe half that. Still with the same restorative mantra though, so if you need a good meditative detox, this is it.

Loud breathing is encouraged. Some take it a little too far. Also, the constant resting poses after every pose that follows the second half of class gets a little annoying for me. I’ll go to this class to get a yoga fix, but it’s not in my regular rotation.

Hot Power Fusion: You’ll Feel This One

This class is relatively the same every time you go. The difference between this and the Hot Yoga? This one may vary slightly, depending on the teacher. Plus, you do a number of “horse” poses which always kill my adducter muscles, since my ankles and knees have a tendancy to roll inward. More flow, and a section that focuses on a core strengthening series.

Read: Ab killer series that may or may not employ use of torture blocks. As of late, it’s the trend. Prepare to curl into a ball after.

Yoga Sculpt: NOT YOGA

My beautiful, very sick friend Elise made me do this.

Come join me, she said.

It’s awesome, you’ll love it, she said.

The last time I had taken yoga sculpt was back in my 20’s when I had a brief free week with Corepower. I remember being held in awe by the amazing tiny women besting me with their arm strength, utilizing 8/10lb weights in yoga poses with total ease.

Fast forward to now, I had been taking yoga regularly, coupled with routine Orangetheory classes. I was way more conditioned now than I had been then.

How hard could it be?

Elise (now a curse word) is my very in-shape, very Zen, incredibly sweet and caring friend. She and I try to schedule classes together when it fits into both our schedules. Sweet and caring, I said. I trusted her when she said that one incredibly popular instructer in particular was totally worth going to class for.

I had been curious. One weekend I tried to get into his class,  only to get laughed at when I approached the front counter 10 minutes prior to class to check in.

“Um . . .yeah. If you don’t come a half hour ahead of time, there’s very little chance you’re getting in.”

“Well . . .there’s some space on the balcony right outside? I can just practice there, right?”

She was not amused.

Neither was I.

So, this time prepared, I showed up to get my spot the suggested half hour before. And we ended up right up against the mirror, mat-to-mat with the hundred or so other people that had done the same.

Ok, community. Ok, the closeness. But these 20-somethings were all here for the same amazing class, right? The average age should have been a red flag, but Elise wouldn’t steer me wrong. . .?

Well, see. For her? Pain and dying aren’t wrong. They’re cleansing. And meditative.

The instructor came in already yelling. Not at all amused by the guy wearing a hat. Not at all allowing for any kind of resting on our laurels. He started moving in what can only be described as Shawn T’s T25 workout on steroids. And all those 20-somethings managed to keep up, and so did I . . .

For about half the class.

It was hot. It was manic. It was most certainly not yoga.

Someone before me tried to walk out for fresh air and a breather, and got called out (what happened to listen to your body?!). Not wanting to explain my imminent fainting spell fast approaching, I waited until our instructor was on the opposite side of the room and turned away to dodge kicks and flailing limbs and swiftly exit.

Not. Yoga.

“You did well,” said Elise. “I didn’t finish my first time, either. He’s no joke.”

“First time” implies there will be a second.

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So, there you have it. I just started back on the yoga train this week, with the children back in summer camps, and I can’t wait to get my om back on. The journey has been amazing, and I’m hoping to work on getting out the kinks that seem to be creeping up on me in old age.

After all, Madonna still looks amazing.

 

 

 

 

Women’s Health, Week Five: I’m Officially A Stalker

“Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I’ll be watching you.”

-The Police

Ok, please don’t call the real police on me. It’s not as creepy as it sounds, I promise.

Sorry for the extended delay in wrapping this up. Between water days, field days and end of the year parties, the kids’ last week of school kept me pretty slammed.

Vanessa Hudgens is the cover girl for the May issue of Women’s Health, which has been my bible for the last thirty-one days. So, it makes perfect sense that after following the magazine with her on the cover that I should at the very least make some reference to her, right?

Did one better. I became her.

Ok, well maybe not exactly. Still working on those abs.

I did, however, follow her lifestyle laid out in 16 Healthy Loves (p.66) as the closeout blowout to this month.

#1: Yoga

Yup! I love my yoga. It is absolutely theraputic. I have missed going as often due to my back injury after the weekend, but after going I always just feel like a better person. Mostly because I’ve sweat up a storm while working into my always really tight hips. Which means I have some late night wine calorie wiggle room.

But I also love teaching the poses to my kids.

Me: “Samasthiti!” (They jump to attention, hands at heart center) Ok, this one is called, ‘Wheel Pose‘” (At this point, I’m attempting to get into position).

Lucy: (Executing perfectly and now watching me while upside down) “Mommy? I don’t think you’re very good at this.”

Me: (On my back) “That’s why it’s called, ‘practice.'”

Anyways, It’s nice to know Vanessa and I om regularly. Too bad we live so far apart, we could, like, totally go together.

#2: Cheat Days

Yup, again! But I’ve been so good, I really didn’t want to blow my diet.

So I only kind of did.

If your area boasts one, please get down to Ike’s Place and order . . .well, anything. I ordered the “Sally’s Ride” (vegan), but added the “Godfather” sauce. The garlic is still with me. But since I’m Italian, it’s all good. One gal in line let me know that the San Francisco location regularly has lines out the door. Fortunately for me, the San Diego location has yet to be discovered. Which is fine by me.

I only ate half, thank you very much. The rest, I’m saving for later.

In five minutes.

#3: Broadway

I’ve been listening almost non-stop to Avenue Q and singing at the top of my lungs. In the car. To all the parts.

Ray: “Why is our data all used up?”

Me: “Uuuuuuummmmm . . .the kids like to listen to Moana?”

Ray: “Oh, well . . .that’s okay. Just maybe not as much.”

Okay.

#4: Long Term Relationships

Ray and I are still going strong after ten years! Mwah!

#5 and #6: Being On Powerless and Alan Tudyk

I went to go binge-watch the series, and it’s been cancelled. Which is a total bummer, as part of the reason she did this spread in WH was to promote the new season. It also made it difficult to find on the internet without paying. I found episode one, but two through four are MIA. The rest of the first and final season episodes are available using the NBC app.

Alan Tudyk is really fun to watch, his character is awesomely awful. Plus, he’s been in every Disney animated film since Wreck It Ralph. Which means I’d be a fan anyways.

Actually, the dialogue for most of the characters is pretty wicked: witty and fast with plenty of put-downs. Except for the main character of Erin (Hudgens), who can’t seem to stop smiling and cheerleading a group of people who obviously don’t want to hear it.

Poor girl, no wonder the series got cut. If you’re the center of all the episodes, you need more than one-note-cheery-Ana dialogue (not her fault). Maybe I’m too old and jaded to appreciate Pollyanna. Maybe I’m still pissed that they ripped Buffy The Vampire Slayer off the air (another Joss Whedon series). But I just had a hard time watching Hudgens constantly shoving rainbows and lollipops at my face. Unfortunately, I didn’t buy it any more than her co-workers on the show did.

#7-#9 and #14: Soulcycle, Other Group Classes, and Cool Sports Bras

I’ve joined the ranks of active women in their 40’s who want to save their knees. We still want cardio, just not the impact of asphalt or hamster wheel.

So, I took this week to try Cyclebar, who is offering totally free classes until June 18. This was my first experience “spinning,” and my friend Kaylie gave me the low-down:

Kaylie: “There’s crazy dancing.”

Me: “Dancing?”

I finally hooked into the toe clips after a rather embarrassing struggle (yes, the toe clips won). Then all the lights went out except for a spotlight on the instructor, and several strategically placed red stage lights across the back of the room. Of course, the workout playlist took me back to my clubbing days.

But that was only in my mind.

The “dancing” involved coordinating an up-down body motion (either arm “push-ups” or booty push-backs, or both) with the movement of my legs. My forty-two-year-old body couldn’t quite keep the beat (so much for those dance classes, Mom and Dad). Likely as I get stronger, I’ll hopefully get more coordinated.

Hopefully. Because I think I’m totally hooked. As for Vanessa Hudgens enjoying the front row, I’ll leave that to her for now. Need more time to get my groove. Also, sorry,  not wearing sports bras unless covered by a top. I won’t get “motivation” seeing my body. Not next to the svelte twenty-eight-year-olds (oh, wait! Like Vanessa).

I also tried out a new gym, F45. It’s like Crossfit-lite, no barbells. Like Orangetheory-lite, no treads. But it’s not really “lite” at all. HIIT workouts give you all the cardio you need, and incorporates free weights, medicine balls, and random weighted hammer swinging and bag throwing. I felt a bit like I was training for either the zombie apocolapse or an upcoming obstacle course. But it was awesome. As soon as they come up with a location closer to me, I’m in.

#10 and #11: Avocados And Sweetsalt Food Shop

I’ve had an avocado on toast for breakfast every day since starting this whole thing. And that was easy because I love avocados. Sprinkle some chia seeds on top, on my way to healthy fat heaven. Check #10!

#10 was a little more difficult. I wasn’t going to go all the way to Los Angeles for a salad. So I Googled Sweetsalt Food Shop’s menu, and grabbed the ingredients to make their Pear and Pomegranate salad myself.

Problem: Pomegranates are not in season. I used strawberries.

Problem: I hate bleu cheese. Skipped it.

Problem: No candied walnuts. Used plain.

As for the pear vinaigrette? You can access this recipe. I added fresh baked salmon simply prepared with garlic, lemon, olive oil, salt and pepper.

The result? A symphony. Soooooo good. Had it twice.

#12 and #13: The Show Must Go On And Mom

Mom: “Abby, you do what you need to do.”

Me: “Mom, I know, okay?”

My mom is an awesome tough cookie. I also bother her waaaay more than I should.

Mom: (after I had to call her back for the third time because I finally remembered why I called in the first place) “This is entirely too many times.”

Honest, too.

God, I love that woman. Just like Vanessa, yay!

#16 Lipstick

I noticed recently that my lips are thin. Way thinner than I ever thought they would get. I mean, I’m all lower lip and I’m sporting that get-the-hell-off-my-lawn look. Could I blame the children? So your face will actually freeze that way if you make it look like that enough?

Let’s not accentuate what we don’t have (the reason I forgo short shorts). Lipstick out, but lip plumper followed by lip tint? That is function meets fashion!

I’ve been using XXX Pillow Plumper and Burt’s Bees Tinted Lip Balm. You have to wait a bit after applying the plumper before the tint, because it can be a bit sticky. I liked the vanilla smell, not so much the stickiness of the plumper. The cool buzzing on my lips makes me feel very little of that get-the-hell-off-my-lawn feeling, though, so perhaps I can reverse all this nonsense. And when I walk out the door with some sort of lip anything, I feel a bit more dressy.

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So, there you have it! I made it through a fantastic month of awesome change, just in time for a messed up summer schedule to destroy all my hard work, yay!!

But I am using a lot of what I learned going forward. I’m doing the extra workouts suggested in the June issue (significantly harder than May!), I’m eating a whole lot better after having to cook more than normal, and I read June’s WH cover to cover.

I’m also seeing Vanessa Hudgens, like, everywhere.

I heard her voice in my living room, and turns out she was hosting the Billboard Music Awards. I watched an old episode of Sesame Street, and up popped a great parody of High School Musical. The other night, I turn on the TV, and there she was, judging the preliminary round of SYTYCD.

Hmmm . . .what a coincidence . . .

Maybe she is stalking me. . .?

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Thanks, Women’s Health, for a great ride! It’s been real, and while I do not yet look like your cover girl, I have reignited my interest in doing my best to try to get there.

Peace!

Women’s Health, Week Four: Meow

This week is all about food, really.

Probably because being on a diet makes me look for new things to eat, guilt-free.

Or because I’m simply hungry.

Anyways, I’ll start there.

Food

I love when I eat cleaner. Your body is like this engine, and when it has good fuel, it purrs like a kitten.

Rawr.

And what do kittens eat? Apparently, sardines.

This week’s food was all about energy. The article, Get Pumped (p.108) offers some suggestions for incorporating some better means of energy than my usual 5 cups of joe. Maybe I won’t be as shaky. Certainly, the suggestions they make work very nicely with my “eating clean” bend.

Disclaimer: I hate raisins. So no way, no how am I eating those wrinkled little devils from hell. I’ll stick to their fatter parents, grapes. Thanks.

Bring on the fishies!

Ray: “Oh, my God. What is that rotten fish smell?!”

Me: “No, not rotten. They’ve just been sitting around in this little tin, waiting for me to open.”

Ray: “All you.”

I mixed them up with the suggested pasta, cauliflower, and red pepper flakes with olive oil. Super tasty.

Ray: “You did see here that you could have just eaten beef?”

Me: “All you.”

The edamame was also a great snack, along with the strawberries, chia seeds (sprinkled on avocado toast), and almonds (didn’t have time to bake anything, but I’ll try giving it a go next week). I do wish they had had a little insert with portioned out recipes to follow, but I just kind of figured out the measurements to taste. Here are some links to recipes you might want to look at:

Pasta With Sardines and Roasted Cauliflower

Garlic Chile Edamame

Strawberry Spinach Salad

Healthy Ways To Use Almond Flour

Chia Seed Recipes

Whether or not eating them gave me more energy because of their properties, or whether it was just eating better, I don’t know.

I do know that I need some serious breath mints.

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I also gave a go at a “smart swap day” (Eat Smarter With Simple Swaps, p.92). I was particularly excited to have a go at the fruit smoothie. My youngest is not a particular fan of peanut butter, but was happy to drink her strawberry “milkshake”.

Until she took a sip and made that face.

Alexa: “There’s peanut butter in this.”

Me: “It’s super good for you, baby. . .Lucy? Do you like it?”

Lucy: “Yum!”

Alexa: “Lucy can have the rest.”

More for us.

The other two swaps were equally delicious, and made for a lovely afternoon of healthy eats. The dressing with avocado, kefir and mustard was especially good on my black bean salad.

And, yes. I ate some of my leftover rotisserie chicken in my sandwich. And it was delicious. And I’m okay with that.

Fitness

Nothing has much changed in the “fitness” catagory, still doing daily workouts in rotation.

I have noticed a stronger lower back, thanks to the 15 Minute Workout (p. 82). My Supermans seem to be just a tad higher off the ground. Not feeling as much strain after my regular workouts, either.

Didn’t seem to matter, however, when I totally threw out my back trying to learn how to waterski. I’ll be recovering with a heating pad for the next few days and hopefully get back to normal. But maybe I’ll recover faster.

Fashion

Ahhhhh! Just in time for Memorial Day weekend, my bathing suit from Athleta arrived! I need to be considered in the “active” catagory (Suit Yourself, p.52), with all the watersports my kids engage in.

I say, “kids.” I personally hate the water (it’s my inner kitten), but because our family gets in so often at the river, I need to be able to keep up and keep everything in place.

This suit is so comfortable, and the colors are so happy! And nothing is going anywhere (no wedgies!). Definite love! Might get me in the water more often. Certainly did this weekend, as I wore it when I had my waterskiing back fiasco.

Since I wasn’t going to be able to move much, I thought I might also try the “lounging” suit from Modcloth, which had also arrived. Loved the idea of a reversible suit, and the pattern was super trendy. Super chic. Ray seemed to think so.

Ray: “Hot.”

Me: “Cool.”

Unfortunately, I should have taken a hint from the picture of the model on the website (there was no model wearing it in WH). Only for the superskinny. With boobs. It’s a beautiful bathing suit, really nicely made. Just not for hippy, flat me. The ties also accentuate the wrong parts of short me.

No worries! Couldn’t have skiied in that thing, anyways.

Ray: “Well, you might, if you had actually stood up.”

Blah.

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Next week, I’ll be running into June a bit, as it’s a short week. But I may finally achieve what I did this for . . .

Vanessa Hudgen’s abs.

Will her “avocado-a-day” habit save me from a summer of perpetual cover up? Will her spin cycle habit imprint itself into my routine?

Stay tuned . . . .

Women’s Health, Week Three: Birds, Burgers And A Stairway To Nowhere

Week three, and still going strong!

This week, I’m still wearing my now-broken-in Align sneaks, doing regular workouts, and got the chance to try new burger combinations that I am sure will be my undoing. So much for being swimsuit ready, but at least my tastebuds are singing.

Fitness

My back has never felt better. The workouts on p. 84 (15 Minute Workout) I can attribute to that. Plus, it’s translating into my regular workouts, as I am noticing that with any back-strengthening exercise I am finding more flexibility and mobility. Yeah, baby! This girl is strong!

Also, going from 10 to 15lb weights now in both strength and metobolic workouts (p. 160). These arms are going to be summer special in no time.

It’s still really easy to incorporate these workouts regularly. Calendaring them out once a day during the week with weekends off to recover is simple, as they are short enough to get in after putting the chickens to bed. Glass of wine after? Earned.

Food

Ray: “What is this?”

Me: (Wrestling yet another bird into the slow cooker) “Chicken.”

Ray: “Again? I thought you were done.”

Me: “It’s for chicken soup. Sounded good.”

It did. Because of course that’s what you want when the weather heats up to some ungodly degree.

Don’t ask. It’s my diet.

It’s 10:00pm on a Friday night, and since I put in the bird a little before 5:00pm, now my house smells friggin’ amazeballs.

But instead of “warm”, it looked like my slow cooker had stalled on “cook.” So the chicken got a little more time in the hot house than I wanted.

Damn.

Well, into the soup it goes to get a little more moisture. Just in time, too.

Ray: “I’m coming down with something.”

Damn.

To the leftover bones and root vegtables I simply added water and some more spices, to create the most fragrant stock ever. Sautee the veggies, add in semi-dried out chicken and barley. I made a little too much barley (and did you know that it will boil over like pasta, if you don’t watch it?), but that prompted me to look up barley recipes and I am looking forward to eating more of this great grain. This was an amazing bowl of soup.

But now I’m sick of chicken again.

Ray: “More for me.”

Yes.

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Ray: “You just made all that chicken.”

Me: “Yes.”

Ray: “What’s all that stuff?”

Me: “Fancy burger stations. Put everything on there that’s at each station.” (Breaking into song) “Try it, try it! You might just like it!”

Ray: (Looking over at WH) “But, it says here that this one needs a chicken breast, and this one needs a veggie burger . . .”

Me: “You want to eat a veggie burger, Ray?”

Ray: “Er, no.”

Me: “There you go.”

Of course, the only flavor combination that we both seemed to enjoy belonged on the elusive veggie burger, but tasted just as good on the beef patty (Stack That Patty! p. 36). I used regular red onion, as I tried to find them at the store pickled. When I couldn’t, I Googled “pickling red onion”, only to find that the process was a little more involved than I was hoping. In some cases (probably the best tasting ones), it took months. Did I really want pickled red onions so badly?

Nope.

Still delicious.

Ray; “You’re cooking more. I like it.”

So maybe I’ll give it a shot at a later date.

Health

The article, The “Smiling Depression” Epidemic (p.144), resonated with me. As a mom, you are constantly forced to put on a happy face for the kids’ sake (no, I do not believe in full disclosure at all times. Sometimes kids just need the time to be kids without adult melodrama). Not that I am in any way in any kind of downward spiral, but I can relate to that feeling “when feeling unhappy or anxious . . .[trying] even harder and [raising] . . .expectations higher only to continue to feel as if . . .not good enough” (Masters of Deception, p.149). Basically, if you’ve seen “Bad Moms,” it’s kind of like that.

WH gives some suggestions to help calm the mind (Tools of Calm, p.149). I wasn’t particularly anxious, but I had a little too much energy a little too late one evening, so I thought, why not?

Ray: “What’s this for?”

Me: “Ice pack. For your eyes.” (Wincing) “Supposed to help calm you down.”

Ray: (Wincing) “It hurts. That’s not calming.”

Me: “Pain transference.”

Ray: “Lame.”

It felt amazing afterward. But I can’t say that it made me more calm necessarily. Maybe I need a little more conditioning. Could certainly help my pores.

The stairway trick they suggested was pretty helpful in getting me focused for tackling the Girl Scout financial report, due in June. I still have a ways to go. It is truly a long . . .long . . .long set of stairs.

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Sorry this came out so late this week! I probably could have used less time envisioning the stairway of financials, and more time actually completing them. But with the end of the year fast approaching, and about a million other kid things to keep up with, I’m glad I am semi-keeping-up.

No biking this week (crazy schedule). But before this month is out, I’ll be trying my hand at spin class and enjoying breathing in a pleasant mix of air conditioning and death. Yippee!!!

Next week, I’m trying a hand at eating clean. Right before Memorial Day weekend. . .

How hard could it be?