January Resolution: Week 4, and Conclusions

With the phlegm cleared (sort of - I'm still coughing up some ectoplasm even now) the last week of my January resolution went better than the whole month that preceded it. Have a look at how the week broke down, yoga-wise, in diary form:

Monday: I gamely stretched along to an Ekhart Yoga YouTube video and Esther Ekhart's weirdly calming accent. Trying to get a home practice going has somehow been more difficult than going to class. At least in class I'll commit to the whole thing. At home, anything longer than twenty minutes seems like a gross imposition on my time. Can you put a price on nirvana? No, but a time cap seems promising Still, I found one benefit to practicing at home: if you have cats, they'll attempt to join your practice, mostly by standing under you when you're in your downward dog. Aww.

Tuesday: Off to Perfect Butt Station with my girl Chloe for a Gentle Hatha and Meditation class. Farts were kept in check throughout the yoga portion. I couldn't keep my thoughts in check during the meditation part though. Never try to meditate while hungry.

Wednesday: Meditation. It's important to balance rest and meditation with more active forms of practice. Also: sometimes you get tired of dragging your yoga mat around Toronto. My meditation was guided by the Stupidest Article Ever Written About Yoga. Here's a synopsis of the article: white girl goes to yoga class, a Black woman sets her mat down behind her. Then the white girl can't concentrate on her practice because she feels bad at how whitewashed her studio is, and is convinced that the Black woman is hating her, specifically her, for it. Two real problems are identified in this piece, but only one was done so intentionally. Something has gone sour with yoga (at least as practiced in the West- can't speak to the rest) and who feels like they can practice it. There's a reason why Kula, my favourite studio in Toronto, started some positive space programs. However, there's another problem in this article, and it's that people with privilege often think being an ally means being a spokesperson. They can authoritatively know how everyone else is feeling, and what they're thinking - and, of course, all those thoughts must be about them!

My meditation got stuck on how I could avoid doing that. Was I a good ally, a misguided person, or was I sometimes an ugly racist? Also, what to do with the outrage accelerator that is the Internet? Oh, to think about food again. I think I just ended up falling asleep as I listened to the guided meditation, all of my questions left unresolved.

Thursday: To Perfect Butt Station, Downtown Branch, for a Core Yoga class. I'm concerned that it will just be pilates with added gongs, but fortunately it's an enjoyable, flowing class. I also experience the odd sensation of sweating while being completely cool. It feels damn weird.

Friday: On the last day of my resolution, and unable to schedule a real class with all of my other commitments, I give up and just do a few sun salutations to wake up. Marvin keeps me company. Waking up this way isn't as effective as an espresso, but it's at least on the level of a strong cup of tea. I'll try and do my sun salutations more often.

And with that, it was February. I've continued to go to yoga classes since then - once on Sunday, and again today. In a development that would shock absolutely no one, I am not perfectly calm after 30 days of B-grade practicing. However, I am somewhat more limber, and perhaps a touch more reflective, which seems like a B+ result.

January Resolution, Week 3

*****PHLEGMWATCH 2014 UPDATE****

Buckle up phlegm-watchers: we have an exciting update on my lung fungus! It appears to be... receding! Maybe it was the inhaler. Maybe it was the antibiotics. Perhaps it was the three bottles of cough syrup I drank. Or was it acupuncture? Nope, it was probably most definitely the antibiotics. Anyway, the percentage of my day spent coughing has gone from 85%, to a reasonable 10% (the science never stops on this blog.)

Has the upswing in my health meant that I'm closer to achieving my January resolution, and finding better living through yoga? Ha! No. I pulled some muscle (look at how in tune with my body I am!) around my ribs, and now it hurts every time I cough. Or bend forward. Or twist.

It was the excuse I have always been looking for to attend nothing but restorative yoga, which is like nap time for adults. Unfortunately, my yoga buddy didn't see it that way, and picked an Ashtanga class for us to attend at the Yonge and Eg studio I mentioned last week, Perfect Butt Land.

If you're not a citizen of Perfect Butt Land, let me say that Ashtanga is a dynamic style of yoga where you match your movement to your breath, flowing through vinyasas as part of a set series of postures. Unfortunately, something else needed to flow during that class, and so as I moved into navasana, I let a massive fart rip. The Yoga Ken next to me didn't even wobble in his posture.

All of which proves I should have paid more attention to the "Kundalini Yoga Meditation to Reverse Negative Attitude, Frustration & Depression" video I used as a meditation aid the day before. That night, my attitude swung right back to "negative" when the lady told me to "squeeze the anus." If I had only heeded her words. So, for the next (and final!) week of my January resolution: more squeezing of the anus!

January Resolution Week 2

Last weekend it seemed like my cold/flu/whatever it was (I'll call it a lung fungus because... science) was starting to get better. I was a little congested on the weekend but full health seemed like it was a mere sleep away. Then I woke up on Tuesday morning and it seemed like somebody had mashed a hand mixer down my throat.

So, another week of trying to wake my immune system out of its stupor meant that the whole resolution thing achieved limited success.

Sure, I could have probably made it to a gentle class, or a restorative class, and spent most of my time laying down (I really, really love those classes.) However, you don't make friends by aggressively trying to hork up a pound of mucus during everyone's savasana. Also, I ended up going to a walk-in clinic hoping they could napalm the lung fungus, and I felt that was enough yoga. For it required me to practice the principles of unity, and mindfulness, and waiting for multiple hours in the dingiest of waiting rooms. 

After a regimen of antibiotics, inhaler, and hourly shots of Benylin Dry Cough (magic in a bottle), I felt like I could finally trudge to a class on Friday. A power yoga class, even. Downward dog, knee to the nose, step into a lunge, attempt a handstand... fall to the side, off the slippery rental mat. Sweat, sweat, and repeat. At least I only coughed once. The next day, I headed up to Yonge and Eglinton to try a new studio. If you're not in Toronto, I think that's technically Midtown, but it feels like Uptown. Downtown, they wait in line to buy tacos at Grand Electric. Uptown, they wait in line (and out the door) for the Pickle Barrel*. It was a surprisingly intense Hatha class, and my mat was behind a girl who had perfect skin, perfect hair and a perfect butt. At least resentment helps to focus the mind, and unite the breath to the body. 

*I witnessed this outside of the Yonge and Eg Silver City post-class. Yoga and a movie? Nah, dinner and a movie is still better.

Om, my brothers.

I've been a very naughty girl lately.

I've even picked up a crochet hook.

I thought I had sworn off hooking ever since the Ugly Hat Debacle of Aught Four. Then I tried to make a yoga mat bag. I started off with good intentions and the Om Yoga Mat Bag pattern from Stitch and Bitch Nation. I did well for a while, but since you're knitting it lengthwise the rows are very long, and I am very capable of screwing up even the simplest lace patterns when the stitch count gets to anything above, oh, 75. So, I frogged and cast on for the Lacy Yoga Bag from the Summer '07 Interweave Knits. I knit one whole pattern repeat, and decided I wanted my bag sometime before April. God, if I wanted to knit lace that badly, I could just go the whole hog and get a Heirloom Knitting pattern. Then I remembered that crochet does at least, and possibly only, two things well. It goes quickly and it's easy to make a 3-D object. Except I couldn't find a yoga mat bag online or in books that I liked. Apparently yogis only knit between their shavasanas. So I cracked open a beer and my copy of the Happy Hooker. This bag is the result.



Pattern: The Lazy Yogini Mat Bag
Yarn: Kertzer Butterfly Super 10
Hook: 5.00 and 4.00 mm
Notes: Seriously, this took me about a night to make. All hail crochet. I started off by making a circle in double crochet just large enough to go around my mat. Then, I single crocheted around without increasing, to create the beginnings of a cylinder. I used fishnet lace for the body because it rather handily uses a multiple of four, just like my circle. Sub whatever crochet patterns fits with the number of crochet stitches of your circle, or can be fudged in. Once it went about 3/4 of the way up my bag, I did about 5 more rows in single crochet, and then bound off. You want to make it a little shorter because it will stretch in this pattern. Chain stitch until you have cord about two feet long. Thread this cord through the last row of fishnet lace before the single crochet border.

Sew on a 2" thick strip of sewn fabric, thick ribbon, or even crochet a strap for the bag. My strap came from Americo Original, and cost an obscene amount of money- I had a momentary lapse in fiscal judgment. Okay, I just didn't want to seem cheap. At first I thought it was just embroidered burlap, but after touching it, I think it's llama, or alpaca, or God knows what else. It also, hilariously, came in a classy little boutique bag that looked like it came from a lingerie store.

Toss your mat in. It may be tight the first few times, but this bag stretches. Cinch the top closed, toss it over your shoulder, and you're ready for some deep meditation, along the lines of "God, I hope I don't fart in class today."

Harry Potter and the Rebellious Wand

Smitty demonstrates the "Beseeching Sheltie Pose"

I liked the new Harry Potter, right up until the epilogue. I won't give the ending away, but while I found the content satisfying, I found the writing clunky and lousy with exposition in the last few pages. Since there's a lot more death and violence, and even curse(!) words that aren't cut off in time by other characters, I'll be interested to see what rating the movie gets when it's made.

Oh, screw it. Spoiler time.

Harry is lives and, marries Ginny. Ron marries Hermione. Draco marries some lady who doesn't even get a name. They all have babies with meaningful first- and last- names who all look like their parents. Does this mean that all the Potterites reproduce by binary fission or budding instead of sexual reproduction? Damn it, that would deprive me of the amusing idea of a Snape-lead sex ed class where he breaks down over Lily and makes Harry stare at him until third period. End Spoiler Time.
I haven't been up to much, lately, except advanced sloth. I went to my first Yoga class on Monday. It's work! I was expecting two hours of breathing to sitar music, but instead I ended up sweating. A little. it did make my back feel better, although I am unsure if I am the ideal student. During relaxation time, when we were supposed to concentrate on our breathing, I instead pondered that great, pressing question: Is it the borrowed yoga mat that smells of feet, or do my feet.... smell of feet? I'm also curious how one of the few guys in our class managed to achieve his magnificent pompadour. It was rockabilly fabulous, and no amount of cat pose or downward dog would deflate its splendour. He also had a pair of tight little shorts, and I found myself immediately fascinated. My thoughts went something like this: "Did he dress like that at home? Did he sleep in a hair net like those beehive girls did in the sixties? Had I just checked out his ass from sheer desperation?" Torn between giggling and collapsing into tears I instead looked mildly constipated, and lost my balance.

The next day, I wasted my new spiritual transcendence on my first manicure/pedicure, in a very un-Namaste shade of deep burgundy with bronze glitter.