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.

The Thrill of the Chase

First of all, I should point out that after the blog post about my knees I made a series of extra poor decisions that resulted in a near 2 month terrible injury that nearly ruined my Costa Rica trip and destroyed my life. Also my doctor called me weak legged. It was traumatic all around.

My next poor decision though, came after finding this:

http://www.oldsantafetradingco.com/the-thrill-resource-page

Probably most people would have said, aw, that's kind of neat, and moved on with their lives. I, however, chose to put together a crack team and head off into the mountains north of Santa Fe to get us all killed. Except for Julia. She'll probably survive. She's a hardy one.

This will be my first camping trip. Ever.

We set out in just under 48 hours. I hope this doesn't end in a mountain lion related death. If it doesn't, I'll have some much better posts coming in under a week.

Bus Running and Burlesque

Earlier this week I went to a burlesque troupe orientation with my Adventure Friend. We were not entirely sure what to expect from the evening, but came away (well, I did) completely intrigued by the whole fascinating subculture and eager to learn more.  These are the people I need to be making space for in my life. They remind me a lot of the people I knew in Pittsburgh, mainly because they remind me of roller derby people and Rachael (whose name is in this blog but hasn't written since 2010) is a roller derby person and collects like-minded people, all of whom made up the majority of the worthwhile people I know in the city. In any case, I felt quite at home with the loudness, the scatteredness, the constant crafting throughout the meeting, and the vivid personalities. There is a lot more to burlesque than dancing--it seems to be a lifestyle. I admit I am unlikely to be willing to take on a whole new lifestyle that involves glue guns and sewing and creating a stage persona with a clever pun, but I feel compelled to go at least a little further and find some way to fit into this seductive world. 

In any case, while burlesque COULD end up being a Poor Decision, so far everything is going well and I am not terribly concerned. The real poor decision in all this, is what happened AFTER the meeting. 

Originally, I had planned to stay the night with Adventure Friend, because the meeting was late and it is a long trajectory home complete with metro changes (OR SO I THOUGHT!) and we all know that at the end of the metro line, there is that bus I have to catch that I always say I'm going to stop running after. But it turned out, the middle of nowhere place we had our meeting was in fact on my metro line. And we left the meeting with JUST enough time that I thought, "I could probably make the last bus home....."  

I decided to go for it. 

I arrived at my metro stop at 10:33. The bus leaves at 10:35. I decided to make my last stand in the face of hopeless pointlessness and run for it.  Many of you are aware of the layout of my metro station, but for those of you who are not, it looks something like this:  there is a long platform along which the train stops. At the far end of the platform is a normal sized escalator that leads to an upper platform where the exit gate is. Once you exit, there is a short walk to a HUGE GIGANTIC TERRIBLE ESCALATOR OF DOOM that looms above your head and makes novices dizzy.  At the top of THAT escalator, there is another platform to cross, not TOO long but long enough if you are in a hurry, that leads to a THIRD escalator, which is a normal sized one.  That escalator leads you out into the night, and a short walk down the sidewalk leads you to the bus.

Unfortunately, I had not strategically positioned myself on the train properly so I had to sprint the length of the platform before sprinting up the first escalator, sprinting along the upper platform and then sprinting up the GIGANTIC escalator.

I am not a very physically fit person, I hadn't had a whole lot to eat, I don't sleep well, it was late, it was not a good time but I DID IT.  I sprinted hardcore up that entire escalator without looking back.  

 

Be amazed.

At some point I registered vaguely that there was a person following close behind me, but I did not have the time to stop and consider this. I was doing spectacularly. It was 10:34. I was a machine. I'd never felt so proud in my life. I arrived at the end of the escalator, adrenaline high, breathing heavily, and started the sprint up the third, final escalator. 

I nearly made it.

I was a little over halfway up when I tripped on my boots and took a hard fall on my right knee. I tried not to put my hands down because I didn't want my fingers getting sucked and squished in the moving crevices of the escalator. That's when I became more aware of the presence behind me.  

"ARE YOU OKAY???????" said an extremely concerned male voice.  But there was no time for niceties! The clock had just changed to 10:35! If I didn't make these FINAL FEW STEPS all would be in vain!!!!  "I'm FINE," I said, as I hauled myself up in great  pain using the banister. I took a step forward and my legs gave out from under me. The sprinting had made me too weak to even stand. I fell down even harder this time, on both knees, and in the shock of it all I lost total control and reeled sideways, smashing my face against the side of the escalator, knocking my glasses frames out of shape and off my face, and hurting my head.  

"OH MY GOD!" said the poor startled man behind me. Again, I just said, "I'M FINE!" even though I was not at ALL fine, I was in terrible agony in every part of my body and soul, AND on top of it all COMPLETELY humiliated.  I believe it is worth noting at this point, for reasons that will become more clear later, that the guy was was likely in his mid to late 20s, fairly attractive (the attractive part is irrelevant, but I will mention it anyway), and hispanic. 

I continued the race up the final two stairs, having gotten up JUST in time not to face disaster at the end of the escalator, and arrived in the night air to see the bus, lights on, doors opening, waiting. 

"THANK GOD!" I shouted aloud, not caring how insane I looked at this point. Dignity was already gone forever. 

At that moment, the bus closed its doors, turned off its lights, and drove away.

"FUCK EVERYTHING!!!!!!"" I shouted waving my fists.  I didn't think I had it in me to chase it, and I knew it was completely futile. 

BUT THEN

the stranger behind me TORE past me at a truly impressive pace, completely destroying my pride in my sprinting skills, and ran across the bus area, clearly intending to head the bus off as it rounded the far corner. In this pivotal moment, I was faced with a choice. Did I a) fuck it all and stay perfectly still and wait alone in the cold darkness for 30-45 minutes? or did I b) suck in a lungful of air, let two tears escape my watery eyes, and run as fast as I could after the stranger?

I ran.

I made it JUST behind the stranger, who got on the bus, but as I started to step forward, the bus driver shut his doors, nearly snapping my nose. I pounded on the door. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!! PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS TO ME!!!"  The stranger said something to the driver, who opened his doors.  "THANK YOU!!!!!"

I staggered erratically down the bus aisle and collapsed in a heap right behind the stranger, who asked again, "ARE YOU OKAY?????"
At this point I had time to be friendly, so I heaved, "Oh yes, perfectly all right! Completely humiliated! But that is not new!"
He laughed, hesitantly and concernedly. We sat quietly for a few minutes before he spoke again. 

"I am sorry I scared you!"
"Scared me? Oh no, it was great the way you ran for the bus! I would never have made it without you. And if I hadn't made it after all that....I would have just laid down and died."
"No, I mean in the metro. When you were running away from me."

The guy thought I'd been RUNNING AWAY FROM HIM that whole time!! I was struck with horror. 

"RUNNING AWAY FROM YOU???"
"Yes..."
"NO! I was running for this bus!!! Oh my god....I am so sorry! I just wanted to catch this bus!!"
"Oh! Good. I wanted to help you up when you fell but I was afraid if I touched you, you would think it was an attack."

I have never felt more horrible in my life. This poor guy was trying not to frighten me, but also couldn't stop running because he needed to catch the bus too!

We had a laugh and a chat, and eventually I had to admit that I didn't even take the bus very far, just a mile, and I got off and hobbled home and I am in copious amounts of pain.  

I really need to stop running after that goddamn bus. 

Physical Training, Physical Torture

Several weeks ago I went to a training session for some kind of medieval euro MMA along with my friend Julia, in a dinner-theater place in Alexandria, Virginia.  The people running it are....interesting.  They told us the following story.....

Long ago in the middle ages knights in certain areas of Europe (Britain??) were taught a unique and distinct fighting style, mixed martial arts combined with swordplay, and it was the deadliest, most effective, efficient combat style in all the land and it was SUPER SECRET such that no one would write down the moves lest the information fall into the hands of the enemy. And so the art was passed down, generation to generation, until eventually it was lost forever as there was no written record. 
Then one day about 10 years ago a woman up in her attic cleaning out things discovered a series of drawings and diagrams which turned out to be an instruction manual on this secret deadly art of combat--someone had illicitly written it down after all and hidden it away for hundreds of years! Anyway, after the drawings surfaced, they attracted a small but cultish following of men and women set on learning this most incredible of all mixed martial arts.  

These people have come across some money, and are investing in a building somewhere possibly in Virginia that they plan to turn into a medieval military training facility where students will be taught the lost art and trained from childhood to adulthood in the ways of battle, chivalry, and honor on a quest for glory and possible world domination. Their vision for this school appears to be much like marine corps training, and only the best, the most fit, the most brilliant will graduate after years of training and testing in both physical and mental arenas.  Graduates of the program will earn KNIGHTHOOD, a most high and esteemed honor granted to a very select and superior few.

Obviously they are going to need instructors for their school, and since there aren't a whole lot of people with background in this particular area, they need to get creative. And so they advertised these free training sessions in order to train a small but elite fighting force that they will eventually hire in full and part time positions at the battle school.  At the end of training, they will review us and determine who the best are, and who they wish to hire on as instructors of KNIGHTS.

After this whole explanation I already began to feel a little concerned about my presence there, but mostly it was just fascinating.  There were 6 of us, plus the leader man, plus his 2 knights there to train the rest of us in knightly pursuits.  Three were men, 2 aged about our age and 1 aged about 40, and then me Julia and a girl our age.  The leader, or "Duke," told Lady Jennifer to take the rest of us "out to the alley" for "PT" which at this point I can only assume stands for Physical Torture.  

When I heard "out to the alley" I raised my hand and inquired, "We will be....outside?"
I received only stares of contempt. 

So I put on my ankle length gigantic puff coat, wrapped my scarf around my face, whined a lot at Julia, and headed outside to the alleyway behind the restaurant.  Upon arrival, I was told to start running, just to "warm up."  So off we went running around Alexandria in the cold winter night air, me in my giant coat and the others in sensible running wear like sweatshirts and those stylish headbands.  

After running a quarter mile, which is more than I have run in 10 years, we returned to our alley where I attempted not to cry.  Lady Jennifer, who was not winded, thought for a moment and said, "Okay, just to warm up....do 20 pushups, sprint to the end of the alley, when you get there do 20 squats, sprint back, do 20 scissor kicks, sprint back, do 20 jumping jacks and I guess we'll go from there."

I raised my hand. "What's a scissor kick?"
I received stares of contempt.  

I had to get down in the alleyway in my coat with my scarf still wrapped around my face and do pushups.  I only did 11 and then acted like I'd done 20 and sprinted off to do the squats.  Which are hard to do in that coat! I really did not have freedom of movement....
Eventually by watching others I discovered that scissor kicks are when you lie on your back and kick your legs up and down straining all of your muscles until you start to cry. I did not want to lie down in the alley but I was also already humiliated enough, so I did. 

After finishing THAT, Lady Jennifer had us do a minute of planking, which I will not even describe to you but it is basically horrifying. And also involves lying down in the alley. 

Remember also it is FEBRUARY OUTSIDE.  

I have never been more unhappy.  

Eventually we did get to learn a bit of the swordplay which was super awesome, but we were STILL OUTSIDE so I was still very unhappy.  It was pretty interesting though....in some ways very similar to fencing but of course in other ways extremely different.  

Only 15 minutes into sword lessons in the back alley, I turned to Julia and said, "I'm going home."  

I left her there. 

And that is my medieval European mixed martial arts experience. Julia is continuing on, and perhaps can continue telling us tales about the weirdness.