Year of Firsts: Yoga

I have long been against yoga. Why this is so, I'm not entirely sure. I guess I've just always been pretty anti exercise-for-the-sake-of-exercise. I mean, I think it's a fantastic IDEA, people SHOULD exercise, but I have never been able to handle things like exercise bikes or treadmills or weights or doing things to exercise that are nothing more than that--exercises.  I prefer to get exercise while doing something, like fencing or climbing. Although obviously I fail at doing either of those things with any kind of consistency so bottom line is I end up without exercise.

Yoga, though, has always seemed to me even more hateful than anything else. It's tied up in all the peace love bullshit, and seemed to involve a lot of sitting around and contorting and not accomplishing much of anything. 

In the summer, Lululemon (there you go, Lululemon, I'm paying you back in free advertising) hosts free yoga classes in the Dupont Circle, which is very near my office. Since this is my year of crossing boundaries and trying Firsts, I decided a free yoga class was an excellent next step. I figured it would be a good push on the physical capabilities front and the keeping an open mind front.

I went with one of the girls at work who has done yoga, and plays soccer, and eats well, and is generally physically superior to me in every way. She is kind hearted though, and one of the few people I trusted not to dissolve into total mockery. At least, not when it comes to me doing yoga.

I sauntered in with my new yoga mat and my workout pants and prepared to flop around uselessly so I could say that I had done it. What actually happened, though, was one of the most intense workouts I have ever undergone, outside of the medieval European martial art sword fighting introduction (please see appropriate blog entry if necessary).

The first ten minutes weren't too bad. Then I started to burn in most of my muscles. We were doing a lot of downward facing dog, which I feel is supposed to be the easy beginner pose but to me was the lowest level of hell.  I suspect I am simply doing it wrong, but in the meantime it is wreaking havoc on my wrists and my upper arms. My knees came down every 5 seconds.

"Bring your right foot slowly up to the edge of the mat," said the serene, petite instructor in an indoor voice.

My right foot lurched forward as my body lurched to the left.

"Stand in your warrior pose," she continued, voice like a low breeze.

I popped up, arms flailing as I teetered into warrior pose. I tried to bring my arms up gracefully, shifting balance to go from warrior to forward lunge, but I couldn't stretch them all the way and in the meantime my thighs were growing weak.

"Bring your leg up into your tree pose." The woman sounded like she had never been un-calm in her life.

I brought my leg up into tree pose and fell over.

There was a lot of this, over the hour, as my legs weakened and began to shake, as my arms began to burn, as every muscle stretched and strained and I became short of breath. I have never felt so worked out in my life.

I've done this twice now, and I'll be continuing through the summer, as it becomes hot yoga in the DC sun. Maybe by the end of it, downward facing dog won't make me cry. But we'll see. 

Year of Firsts: Country Music

Most people, when asked "What music do you like?" will answer "I'll listen to anything but country" (unless you are anyone I have ever dated because apparently I only date people who are super into music and have many specific opinions). I enjoy music well enough, but I've never had strong feelings on it except to say "I don't like country."

I have a friend here though who IS quite into the country music and this friend wanted very much to go to a big country music concert happening in Virginia.  Knowing I can be convinced to do pretty much anything, I was targeted for this venture. I decided it would be another excellent First--my first country music concert, and an opportunity to open my mind to something I had previously stereotyped and dismissed.  

In the weeks leading up to the concert, I was sent a variety of songs by Luke Bryan, Thompson Square, and, most importantly, Florida Georgia Line, who I have come to love. End result, by the time the concert came round I was pretty excited myself.  Turns out country music is AWESOME. Who knew?

The concert itself was quite fun (though it rained through nearly the entire thing, which was miserable for those of us on the lawn), but not an especially exciting tale. There were a lot of girls in cowboy boots, and everyone wore flannel. A fair number of trucks in the parking lot were covered in NRA stickers and I can't count the number of times I heard "God bless America! God bless our troops!" It was quite a different world. Also I was pretty sure Luke Bryan was going to get tackled by some of the more rabidly horny country girls threatening to swarm the stage and throw their undergarments at his face.  He did not help matters by taking some girl's cell phone and using it to take pictures of his crotch before handing it back to her.

The highlight though, for me, is this story I am about to share with you.

My friend and I pitched our water logged camp right in front of two sisters who were probably in their early and late 20s and immediately became friends with them.  It was they who shared some life changing knowledge with us about the existence of the "pee style." Look it up. The other thing they shared that evening was a story, told by the older girl.

"One morning when I was 11, I went out to the chicken coop to count the chickens. I was counting, one, two, three, four, possum, five, six.....possum?? There was a possum right there in the chicken coop! So I turned around and went back to the house to tell my grandfather and he handed me a rifle and told me, 'You know what to do.'"

At this point in the story, I expected her to say, "But I was 11 years old so obviously I did NOT know what to do so my grandfather took the gun back," but actually she continued thusly:

"So I took the gun and went back out to the chicken coop and pointed the gun at the possum.  But that possum just looked at me, and then turned his back on me! Can you believe it? I pressed the end of the gun right up to his butt."

Here in the story, I thought she would say, "But I couldn't do it, I just couldn't shoot a little creature with its back turned."

But what she actually said was:

"I shot that possum right in the ass and took it back to the house. My mother got out the camera and took photos, one of them is still hanging up somewhere."

My suburban girl heart was completely aghast at this story, and my face showed it I suppose because the girl telling the story turned to me and said, "What? Like you've never shot an animal before?"

I said, "NO! NO, of COURSE I have not SHOT AN ANIMAL BEFORE!"

She looked at me with pity. "Guess you're a city girl."

I guess I am. 

Year of Firsts: Paper Cranes

For those of you who are unaware, there is a Japanese legend that tells us if we fold 1,000 origami cranes, we will be granted one wish. Or good luck. Something good. Experience, however, tells us that this story is bullshit.

You can read more here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thousand_origami_cranes

The story has long been at the back of my mind. For years and years, I have always thought I should go ahead and fold the thousand cranes.  However, such a task requires several traits that are alien to my nature. Focus, for one. Patience, for another. Also follow through, commitment, fine motor skills, tranquility, and mostly, patience. Also patience. And more patience.

So when I was making my lists of Firsts to accomplish that are supposed to push my boundaries and teach me new skills, I thought this would be an excellent exercise.

But with a twist.

When I finish folding all 1,000 cranes, I am going to start giving them away to people I know and leaving them in places I go that are interesting or mean something.  Because really what I wish for is to know 1,000 interesting and meaningful people and places in my lifetime, and when all of the cranes are gone, I will know that I have succeeded. 

My dearest Kate was supportive enough of the endeavor to send me a block of 1,000 tiny colored origami papers last month and I have been working my way through them.  I probably have somewhere around 150 done at this point.  Hard to say. Instead of counting, I'm just going until all the paper is gone.  This also means there can be no mistakes.  A lot is at stake!

My goal is to be done the day of my birthday. 

Year of Firsts: Burlesque

Many of you are aware that I dedicated this year as my Year of Firsts in which I try to do as many things for the first time as possible, push my own boundaries, try new foods and activities, and see what comes.  I am going to dedicate the next several entries to a few of these firsts, none of which really count as especially poor decisions, at least so far, but this blog needs some new stories.

We will begin with burlesque.

This, mainly is the Adventure Friend's fault. At least at first.  She and I decided it would be fun to do the LivingSocial Bourbon and Burlesque.  It was a fun time, the instructors were a little wacky, but they were friendly and they were covered in glitter so I liked them immensely. At the end of the 2 hours, they handed out cards and told everyone they came from a group called the DC Gurly Show and that new members were welcome. The usual promotional stuff.

"We should BECOME BURLESQUE DANCERS!!" said the Adventure Friend, still basking in the adrenaline glow from our end performance.

"Sure," I said dismissively, not imagining she was serious or intending to follow through.

I make this mistake periodically with her.

A few weeks later she was sending me emails filled with information about the group, and it turned out their new member meeting was only a few days away. We decided to go.

The world of burlesque is glitter and sequin filled, and the women who make up the world are glitter and sequin covered. This is because they are always gluing glitter and sequins to things--bras, underwear, shoes, corsets, headpieces, pasties. Everything sparkles, everything is colorful. Even they are colorful--bright clothing, brighter lipstick, wigs, tattooed skin.  All spoke loudly, with energy,

It was quite a scene. One girl with white blond hair pinned elaborately sat on a cushion painstakingly gluing ribbons and tassels to a purple bra. Another sat on a couch attaching clear glinting rhinestones to a black corset. Girls were piled on top of each other on the small couches, crouched in front of chairs, standing behind plush seats. It was a bit overwhelming.

We signed some contracts, received a copy of the manual, and learned a little about the process of becoming a burlesque dancer with the group.  Firstly, we learned that we had stumbled upon what was billed as DC's only "queer" burlesque troupe. This didn't mean we HAVE to be lesbians, but I would say a good 60-70% appear to be. Burlesque seems to be about acceptance, comfort, body positivity, friendship, and a LOT of glitter. Like, more glitter than you are thinking right now. Nope, more than that. Okay, you're getting close.

Also, creativity. Every show has a theme that has a fair amount of thought, discussion, and argument put into it, and each dancer choreographs her own, original performance and creates her own costume. They all sew, cut, glue, hem, everything. Most of them tell some kind of story through each number. Burlesque is a lot of clever puns, and plays on words, and 

Besides the glitter, one of the concepts I like best about the whole thing is that it is not ABOUT stripping. It is about confidence, and comfort, and you can perform a whole dance and take off nothing more than your gloves.

That said, nearly everyone gets nearly naked. Just a warning, in case you decide to come to a show. Consider yourself disclaimed.

The process we are going through has several stages. The first step requires a new member to "kitten" at least once.  A kitten is basically a stagehand. But dressed in sexy clothing and covered head to toe in glitter. Once you've done that, you can become an AprenTit, which is like a beginner, and can perform her own dances but doesn't necessarily get first pick and gets paid less. After two performances and some marketing work, you can move up to Gurlie, which is when you know you've arrived.

As much fun as I've had learning about this fascinating subculture, and as cool as I think the other girls are, and as awesome as shows are, I'm not sure burlesque is the lifestyle for me. And it IS a lifestyle.  I'm not creative (at least not with anything but writing), I'm incredibly un-crafty (my big boundary-pushing project this weekend is to glue some rainbow rhinestones to a black and white dress), and it's too time consuming to fit into all of the other things I want to be doing.  But I set the goal for myself to participate in one show, as a kitten, and prove to myself that I can be up on a stage and show the confidence I've learned from being around such strong willed sparkly women.

After, that, who knows what will come next! It's also been really great to spend time with a more diverse group.  My friends are nearly all white, straight, from a middle class background and holding/pursuing white color jobs. Which makes sense, but it's nice to get out of that bubble for a bit and meet some very different people for a change.