Awkward Pose & Hot Yoga

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One of the most challenging work outs for me has always been yoga. Particularly hot yoga. Originally hot yoga was something that I got into because I really enjoyed yoga and a friend had said it was a great work out. But then I stopped because it was a) expensive and, b) inconveniently located. Going just wasn’t worth it in my books so I stuck to going to the gym and eventually got into running because I really don’t like going to gyms anymore. What can I say? I’m getting cranky in my old age.

So over the last week and a half, I’ve been going every other day with a friend. We started last week at this place and it was kind of rough going at first. It’s not that my muscles were sore, it was that they were damn tired. The day after our second session of hot yoga I decided to go for a run, because I’ve actually started to crave running lately and after about 15 minuets of intervals, my feet felt like they weighed 500 pounds each and I was struggling to pick them up to walk home in the end.

Oh, and not only was it rough because my muscles were fatigued, it was rough because I suck at being still and I suck at balancing. Plus, you know, this was hot yoga, so the room was frickin’ hot and I was dripping sweat while I shifted from one pose to the next. And by “dripping sweat”, I literally mean that every pore on my body was pouring sweat. It was dripping down my face, my neck, my arms, my legs, my ass and even between my toes was dripping! Which is why I’ve come to love this thing called “awkward pose”.

You would think awkward pose looked something like Emma Watson on the red carpet...

You would think awkward pose looked something like Emma Watson on the red carpet…

After spending some time in class being told to grip my sweaty body and hold onto a pose that way and continually having to readjust because I’m so damn slippery, awkward pose is a damn nice change. I mean, I really like the laying down part of hot yoga too, but I have to say, even with that in mind, I still love me some awkward posing. You’re standing, you’re on your toes, your arms are out in front of your and you’re just chilling out in your awkward pose. My little toes dig down into my town and I can take a moment to feel my leg muscles really work to stay balanced and I truly do feel nicely grounded down into where ever it is that I happen to be standing. Last week during my first class with this place, I felt like I was going to fart while I was awkwardly posing myself, but I managed to hold it it.

But really, this is what people look like when in awkward pose in one variation or another.

But really, this is what people look like when in awkward pose in one variation or another.

I did not want to find out what happens when I let a potentially smelly fart fly into a hot enclosed space when there are two people within three feet of me on either side and in front of me. That would just be rude. It would be darn funny in the correct setting, but in this one, it would be borderline cruel. My the air bursting forth from my butt these last couple of weeks have been particularly fragrant and I have no idea why. By fragrant I mean that I’ve gagged at the smell of my own ass gas and other people would probably want to stab me in the eye after they’ve punched me in the clavicle should they catch a whiff of what I sometimes let fly out of my butt.

Now my friend and I are into our second week of hot yoga and I’m getting better at being still. I haven’t farted. My flexibility is increasing and I find myself pushing a little bit more than I did last week now that I’m comfortable with most of the poses. I mean, I’m still pouring sweat from every available pore so when I have to grip my a body part with my hands, that doesn’t work, but the rest is going pretty darn smoothly. And I’ll be darned if I don’t find myself doing some awkward pose while I’m standing around and doing nothing through out my day. It just feels so good.

If you do yoga, do you have a favorite pose?

I got chased by a firework

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Today’s bloggy-ness is brought to you by the words: bits, rooms and raging.

fire-7I am scared to bits by fireworks, gun shots or any other loud and sudden noises. I’m the jumpy sort and I have no idea where this fear comes from. In fact every time my family decides to set off fire works, shoot off guns, or do something else equally bang bang bitches I run and hide with my family’s various pets in one of the rooms in our house. Last New Year’s me and the dogs, Moose and Betsy, went and hid in the bathroom when my family set of fireworks and shot their guns at midnight to ring in the new year.

This year with my sister not being home, my mom decided to shoot a gun instead while my dad set off his “hand held” fireworks. That meant that I had to take pictures of the whole process and well that more or less meant that I had to be brave, pretend like the process gave me a raging hard on and watch my family do all the crazy things that I am absofrickenlutely terrified of. As a result, my mom got to coin the term “firework karma”.

You see, those bitches (bitches being the fireworks) sense fear. They know when you fear them and they plot to exploit that fear. And they plot to do in a very bang bang bitches manner. The first time that this happened was a few years back. My mom had convinced me to stand on our back porch and watch my family set off our usual New Year’s fireworks. She’s probably in cahoots with the fireworks because deciding to trust my mom, I stood out on the back porch to watch a spectacle that I in no way, shape or form enjoy in the least. Well, that year we had one of those pinwheel things that you attach to something and you set it off and it spins in circles. Well! That year the pinwheel wasn’t pinned very well and it spun right off the side of the smoke house it was pinned to and came pinwheeling straight for me.

It actually took me until this year to get brave enough to be around loud things that go bang bang.

I survived my mom and Uncle D shooting off their guns at midnight. That wasn’t so bad. I may or may not be slowly getting over this intense fear of gun noises. I mean, I can shoot a gun and hit a target just fine, but it scares the poop out of me much like a laxative would cause me to have a case of the screaming squirts.

Sadly instead of lighting and throwing a screamer, my dad lit and threw something else. It landed, shot straight back at us and then flew up in the air with a bang. I swear that thing was going to fly right at me and bite my face off. And all that I could do was sit there in terror and hope that I didn’t get hit. I was smart enough to know that if the firework wanted to hit me that there was no out running it. Thankfully it shot off up into the air. But it had to make a run at me first. Like it was warning me not to mess with it or other fireworks.

So I said “fuck that game” and I decided to go back in the house.

And if I knew that I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble for it, I would have gone inside, gathered up all the fireworks in our house and drowned them in a bucket of water in full view of where that original fire work had exploded into the air. Then all the fireworks in the world would know not to mess with me anymore.

All of this makes sense in my head.