My aunt got me an Om yoga box when I was in high school. She thought practicing it would calm me down. For a week I gave the CD and flash cards a valiant effort, but my body could not hold the poses -- especially downward dog -- and ever since that attempt, any mention of yoga was scoffed at. My lunch-hour fitness instructor at work is a yogi and always encouraged me to sample her class. When I tried my balance was completely off-kilter, I couldn't keep up with the sun salutations, and the pigeon pose caused me so much distress that I figured I was a lost cause.
I was skeptical when trying my first yoga class at the Greenpoint YMCA. What sparked the interest was a conversation with Jan, the Y's yoga maven, during the Punk Rope Astoria pizza crawl. I complained of knee pain, which had been bothering me for most of the year. After participating in the Prospect Park 5K, the pain reached its apex before going away the day I had an appointment with the orthopedist. She suggested trying yoga, specifically poses that open the hips (like pigeon, uh-oh) to help the discomfort.
With Tim's wholehearted recommendation, I went to Jan's yoga class the next Saturday and found her style of teaching calm and simple. We start the class with an om, end in namaste, set intentions, and stretch like there's no tomorrow. She constantly reminds us to listen to our bodies -- it's not a race to see who's the most flexible -- and always says we're giving our bodies the gift of yoga. I had never considered something I was ungraceful at a gift.
Yet my body always surprises me in each class: I got through the first class with nary a bump, which was a miracle. Before Thanksgiving, Jan led the the class through wheel pose, explaining that you could stay in bridge if wheel was too difficult. Well, I attempted wheel and held the pose for a breath, feeling this surge of energy through my arms when lifting my torso. It felt incredible, and I collapsed from the shock. A similar thing happened last Saturday; Jan offered the class a handstand, explaining the variations if you didn't want to try the complex pose. I attempted the "superdog," standing on your hands while holding your body at a right angle with your feet on a wall, and felt the same energy.
Finally, I'm understanding yoga: It's meant to test the limits of your body so you can push back and excel, much like other (Western) exercises.
In other fitness-related news, I used ten-pound weights for the first time last Wednesday in a weight-training class before Punk Rope. Though my ass was killing me from Thursday through Saturday, the sense of accomplishment was worth it. I had been impatient with my body since joining the Y, figuring I'd shed pounds and add muscle quickly, but it's been a more humbling experience. The changes have been more internal than external, and losing weight won't make me any better at doing push-ups or pigeon -- not giving up will.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Friday, December 04, 2009
something tells me I'm into something good
"Andromeda let her head hit the steering wheel and began crying silently, and he was actually very nice about comforting her. He was a genuinely kind person. She had expected him to call her a crazy bitch or something, and she wouldn't have blamed him. Yes. Yes, I am. A crazy, crazy bitch. How was it possible, she thought then, as she was to think quite often as time went on, that he could be so nice to her?"
--Andromeda Klein by Frank Portman
In September I attended Word's YA Not? event with Frank Portman, author of King Dork and the newly released Amdromeda Klein. I'd never heard of the guy, but Stephanie (a.k.a. Bookavore) encouraged me to go and handsold me King Dork. It was a bit awkward the next day asking a stranger to sign my copy of a book I just bought, but he did so with pleasure, and after reading King Dork I gave it to my brother and demanded he drop whatever he was reading -- screw school books -- and give it a go. Another high-school kid I know is getting a copy for xmas (and, yes, I bought it from Word). I then requested Andromeda Klein from the library and finished it last week.
I'm not reviewing any book in this post, except to say that a book I gave my brother and bought for a similarly aged student deserves your attention, but instead wanted to acknowledge the steps that brought me to read the opening quote of this post. The quote acknowledges adult ideas and insecurities -- Frank Portman is a great writer whose books get put under the young-adult umbrella (N.B.: don't judge a book by where it's shelved) -- ones that have been going through my head recently.
Andromeda Klein, teenage occultist, is an outsider: physically nondescript except for being naturally, painfully slim (and ridiculed for it) and experiencing hearing problems, she spends most of the book trying to rekindle her relationship with St. Steve, an older boy who takes her into bars and gets her martinis, through a magickal sigil. She tells fortunes with tarot cards and sees synchs everywhere. Synchs, signs from the universe that give her advice, help Andromeda recover relics from her soror in the occult, Daisy, after her death.
Lacking self-esteem, Andromeda is amazed that St. Steve takes interest in her and can't believe that he shows more concern for her after she crashes his car into a hedge -- hence her head on the steering wheel from the quote -- than for the car. It was a touching moment for me, especially after experiencing a similar "Shit! I fucked things up with so-and-so" moment. And it turns out I hadn't fucked things up with so-and-so.
In the Thanksgiving spirit I was wondering about where I'd be had I not befriended Bitchcakes and consequently joined the Punk Rope gang and consequently became a member of the Greenpoint YMCA. Where would I be had I allowed my insecurities to prevent me from having a blast at the BEA and consequently getting to know the literary ladies at Word? "They" say 90% of success is showing up, and it's not what you know but who you know. I've internally transformed into an awesomesauce redhead¹ thanks to these pillars in my life that had not been there a year ago.
Call it synchs, call it fatalism, but November was one of the finest months in my twenty-three years: I discovered that my body's in tip-top shape, testing negative for diseases and normal in all blood-work categories; received a promotion and raise at work; and dived into a fantastic relationship. Though my body's not the size six I wish it were, though work causes overwhelming stress, and though I'm worried of coming off as a crazy bitch, I'm showing up and keeping my company confined to people who are nothing but positive influences. Moreover, I'm not beating myself up for not making these changes sooner.
***
Upcoming posts:
More Greenpoint-Williamsburg reviews, and relief of knee pain (and enlightenment) through yoga.
¹Copyright Stephanie of Word, another awesomesauce redhead.
--Andromeda Klein by Frank Portman
In September I attended Word's YA Not? event with Frank Portman, author of King Dork and the newly released Amdromeda Klein. I'd never heard of the guy, but Stephanie (a.k.a. Bookavore) encouraged me to go and handsold me King Dork. It was a bit awkward the next day asking a stranger to sign my copy of a book I just bought, but he did so with pleasure, and after reading King Dork I gave it to my brother and demanded he drop whatever he was reading -- screw school books -- and give it a go. Another high-school kid I know is getting a copy for xmas (and, yes, I bought it from Word). I then requested Andromeda Klein from the library and finished it last week.
I'm not reviewing any book in this post, except to say that a book I gave my brother and bought for a similarly aged student deserves your attention, but instead wanted to acknowledge the steps that brought me to read the opening quote of this post. The quote acknowledges adult ideas and insecurities -- Frank Portman is a great writer whose books get put under the young-adult umbrella (N.B.: don't judge a book by where it's shelved) -- ones that have been going through my head recently.
Andromeda Klein, teenage occultist, is an outsider: physically nondescript except for being naturally, painfully slim (and ridiculed for it) and experiencing hearing problems, she spends most of the book trying to rekindle her relationship with St. Steve, an older boy who takes her into bars and gets her martinis, through a magickal sigil. She tells fortunes with tarot cards and sees synchs everywhere. Synchs, signs from the universe that give her advice, help Andromeda recover relics from her soror in the occult, Daisy, after her death.
Lacking self-esteem, Andromeda is amazed that St. Steve takes interest in her and can't believe that he shows more concern for her after she crashes his car into a hedge -- hence her head on the steering wheel from the quote -- than for the car. It was a touching moment for me, especially after experiencing a similar "Shit! I fucked things up with so-and-so" moment. And it turns out I hadn't fucked things up with so-and-so.
In the Thanksgiving spirit I was wondering about where I'd be had I not befriended Bitchcakes and consequently joined the Punk Rope gang and consequently became a member of the Greenpoint YMCA. Where would I be had I allowed my insecurities to prevent me from having a blast at the BEA and consequently getting to know the literary ladies at Word? "They" say 90% of success is showing up, and it's not what you know but who you know. I've internally transformed into an awesomesauce redhead¹ thanks to these pillars in my life that had not been there a year ago.
Call it synchs, call it fatalism, but November was one of the finest months in my twenty-three years: I discovered that my body's in tip-top shape, testing negative for diseases and normal in all blood-work categories; received a promotion and raise at work; and dived into a fantastic relationship. Though my body's not the size six I wish it were, though work causes overwhelming stress, and though I'm worried of coming off as a crazy bitch, I'm showing up and keeping my company confined to people who are nothing but positive influences. Moreover, I'm not beating myself up for not making these changes sooner.
***
Upcoming posts:
More Greenpoint-Williamsburg reviews, and relief of knee pain (and enlightenment) through yoga.
¹Copyright Stephanie of Word, another awesomesauce redhead.
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