Look out. Momma's starting gymnastics class tonight.


I should have started stretching yesterday.

A proper retirement

Yesterday we decided that, despite how much we love the holiday season, it was mid-January and the Christmas tree needed to come down. So after packing up all the ornaments (the tree was pretty anemic in the first place. One string of lights, a homemade star, about a dozen hangy balls) we threw it in the back of my truck and took it to the lot where we have a dumpster. After once again making the kids hang out in the back of our wagon well into the hours of darkness while we worked on the house I decided to reward them with a show. Instead of just tossing the tree into the dumpster I would retire it in a much more noble, Westbrook fashion. Taking advantage of our spacious and mostly saturated lot, I set her ablaze. As this little 4 foot tree threw flames 10 feet or more into the air and glowing embers another 30 feet above that, we noticed the neighbors had all come to their windows to appreciate the festivities along with our family. It was at that point that Lynn reminded, "Did you remember that our neighbor is a fire marshall?"

"No. No I didn't"

Post by Ben (I can't change it now or the comments would be erased)

Some like it hot.

Bikram Yoga. What was I thinking? I don't even like yoga all that much to begin with. But something about the idea of 90 minutes of intense postures in 105 degree heat and 60% humidity was intriguing to me. As I approached the yoga studio (which happens to be one of the only buildings in Hawaii with a heater) I was excited, nervous and a little bit uncomfortable in my barely there black spandex (lycra?) shorts and tank top. I tightly clutched the ten dollar bill that would gain me entry into this unknown territory and wished that I had brought another five for a reward smoothie after class (little did I know that I would not be able to eat anything after that torture, even if it was icy cold and came through a straw). I was 15 minutes early, like the website instructed, and my fears of being under-dressed were quickly allayed as the drenched, but glowing, bikini-clad (yes, bikini) beach bodies that had just finished a class exited the classroom. I could now focus my worries on potentially not having brought enough water to sustain me since my single, but full, 16 oz bottle, suddenly seemed inadequate next to their empty gallon and multi-liter containers.

The room stunk. I guess pretty people can produce stinky sweat, just the same as anyone else. But I blame the men donning the euro-look speedo shorts and the instructor, who also falls into that category and had been teaching sessions back to back (to back). But by now I had paid,
signed a full page waiver that included language like "shall not hold Bikram College of India liable for physical injury or psychological damage that may occur" (I openly laughed at the psych. damage part but the head "yogi " was not amused at my amusement. Or maybe I was merely misinterpreting his achievement of enlightenment as indifference and grim stoicism).

Anyhow, the windows were being shut and the heater cranked up, the point of no return. I must say that I had been rather pleased seeing the collective physique of the 4:30 class. It gave me hope that this could just be the best way I could spend an hour and a half at this point in my oh so close quest to get back to pre-baby constitution. But looking around the room, I'd say that the 6:30 class was clearly the second string. Beginners perhaps...or so I hoped, until I heard two comparing the number of years they had been Bikram devotees. The instructor (who looks like Moby) leads us in a set of cleansing breaths and...what happened next includes psychological damage that I have clearly had to bury because I don't remember much except that I was soaking wet and dripping within minutes of beginning, luckily I enjoy sweating when exercising, the skin around my ankles began to peel off at one point when we were doing a posture that involved maintaining a tight grip on the lower leg (pedicure and a workout all in one!) and I thought that I might die, or at the very least pass out at any moment. The clock that I was watching incessantly, reminded me of the one directly on the wall in front of me in the hospital room when I was having Miles. Or maybe it was the pain and intensity of the yogic discipline that took me back to an equally painful time in my existence.

An hour in, I was really hoping that the last thirty minutes was going to serve as a time to meditate, preferably in a supine position. No such luck. Finally, it was over and the room began to cool down. 95 degrees never felt so good! Head spinning, I quickly thanked Moby and got outside. While everyone else was chatting about going for tabbouleh or hummus or something, I hobbled to the car. Paused before I got in, because I wasn't so sure I wouldn't hurl at that point (now I know why they recommend against eating 3 hours hours prior to the class, and grateful I hadn't) and slowly drove home.

It's taken me a few days to be able to even write about the experience because I felt so awful after. And not awful like, sore. Awful, like the day after having a massage when you haven't been drinking enough water. Like all the junk came to the surface.

I am proud of myself for pushing through each posture and challenging my body in a way I hadn't before, but I can't decide if I want to go back. I've taken challenging/hard classes before (Budokon was my nemesis and painful addiction before). During this class and immediately after, no way would I consider it. But now, I am left wanting to overcome (transcend maybe) the discomfort and rid myself of this weakness in me that I didn't know existed. Plus they say that by practicing yoga you need less sleep. That'd be nice.