Day 44: 30 Days of Hot Yoga.

Posted on April 13, 2012 by LaLa

It all started on the Ides of March.  I had been back from Ireland for 4 whole days, and it was time to start doing something about those potato handles that had firmly implanted themselves on my hips.  I remembered going to Moksha hot yoga years ago, and really loved the feeling I got when the 90-minute class was over – so light, calm and detoxified after having sweat my eyeballs out.  I also remembered what I thought at the time was a group of completely insane individuals who had signed up to do a 30-day challenge, which consisted of going to a hot yoga class every single day for 30 days in a row.  Oddly enough, this seemed like the perfect way to start ridding myself of all the pints I’d ingested over the past 2 years, in the name of Irish camaraderie.  It was on!

The easiest way to describe a hot yoga class to the un-initiated is this:  picture yourself in a room heated to around 40 degrees C (that’s just over 100 F), holding deep stretches and balancing postures while your body literally puddles around you, like the wicked witch in front of a fire hose.  I mean, parts of you that you didn’t even realize could sweat all of a sudden turn into faucets – we’re talking your ears, scalp, fingernails… There is not one inch anywhere on your body that isn’t absolutely dripping after thirty minutes.  It’s strangely not as gross as it sounds.  The room has a cork floor, which keeps it all fairly hygienic, it miraculously doesn’t smell, and everyone brings a bath towel that they lay on top of their mat that seems like it was dunked in the ocean by the end of the class, plus a hand towel to wipe the salt from your eyes when you can no longer bear to keep them open.

Classes vary in length from the traditional 90-minute marathon, to 75 minutes, to the ‘quickie’ one hour variety.  One of the first things I noticed partway into week one was that there were good days and then there were other days, which coincidentally seemed to follow any evening that involved partaking in anything more than a sip of wine.  I quickly developed an insatiable thirst, and started drinking everything in sight in a quest to maintain some form of hydration.  I also noticed that sometimes my balance was fairly decent, and other times, I felt spastic, like an earthquake.  I became aware of how imbalanced I was (not just mentally), and tried to embrace even the postures I despised, like Dancer’s pose, where I wobbled around like a figure skater on crack, teetering all over my mat.

But it didn’t matter, because there were days when I was sure that this was how I looked:

Despite the fact that I probably looked like these guys more often than not:

 

 

 

 

The instructors were always supportive and encouraging, making tiny adjustments to my form whenever my mind wandered off somewhere to either drink a fountain dry, or to lie on a glacier.  Yes, there were moments of dizziness when I moved too quickly or tried to do too much, but those were swiftly rectified by adopting child or corpse pose for a brief rest.  Even after 30 days in a row, I don’t think I made it through a single class where I was able to do absolutely everything.  And that’s ok – it is precisely this kind of physical and mental challenge that keeps you coming back for more.  As well, while the basic moves and sequence are the same, every class is a touch different, as each instructor likes to bring their own little (at times seemingly sadistic) twist, which keeps it interesting and shiny for us magpies in the crowd.

One of the unexpected benefits of the challenge was that it helped me to reacclimatize to the heat.  After two years of perma-drizzle and temperatures hovering between 5 and 15 C, room temperature in North America suddenly seemed sweltering.  By contrast, the Irish do not really believe in heating their homes.  The second you leave a room, the rad is switched off.  I could never figure out if this was because they simply liked to suffer and have something to go on about in the pub, or if they merely saw heating as an unnecessary extravagance that cut into their booze budget.  Probably a bit of both.  No wonder the pubs were always so tightly packed – people were just huddling to stay warm for chrissake!

Anywho, after class, I often felt so peaceful, yet so exhausted that it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other.  Case in point, I started walking home yesterday, and passed a funny (at least to me) sign in front of a travel shop, that was advertising a cheap trip to Puta Cana, that slut.  About two steps later, I thought, I really should reach into my beach bag on my shoulder to grab my cell phone and take a picture of that.  And then I realized that the effort to lift my arm and retrace my steps or to even giggle out loud required more energy than I could muster.  Thank goodness the walk home was downhill, because without the help of Mr. Gravity, there were several days that I don’t think I would have made it.

So, was it all worth it?  Well, I managed to drop a grand total of about 3 pounds, which is actually pretty remarkable given how much I’ve been socializing and eating out since I’ve been home.  And I’ve rediscovered some long lost muscles that I hope will stick around, at least for the summer.  It has definitely motivated me to try and stay active and flexible, which is always a good thing.  In fact, I’ve even been toying with the idea of extending the 30 day challenge into 40…  But then, common sense pipes up, and I know my mind and body deserve a welcome break.

If you are still curious about hot yoga, and Moksha in particular, I encourage you to read the following two links written from two significantly different perspectives, both of which I found very entertaining:  Click here for a somewhat stunned take on the experience, and how it measures up to Bikram, and here for an even better account.

And with that, I wish you happy sweating, as I’ve got to get back to my fries and fish tacos, not to mention my delicious, long-lost friend Mr. Wine, today of the Semillon varietal.  Ah, the sweet taste of freedom.  Namaste!

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Day 43: Make Peanut Butter Bars.

Posted on April 12, 2012 by LaLa

Ah, Thrifty Thursday… Where to begin?  Firstly, I adjusted my day to ensure I was on-line at 10 am to buy tickets for an upcoming foodie event.  Success!  Next, I went to hot yoga.  So far, so good.  Then, I tried to go for a bike ride with a friend of mine, since the weather has been fabulous.  I figured my new thing today could be to try some awesome bike tricks that I saw on-line.  And that’s where I hit my first snafu, or, more likely, the universe kindly contrived to protect whatever bones I had not already broken.

Popping a wheelie! OK, it's not me... so what's your point?

To be fair, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve ridden my bike.  Mainly because I’ve been in Ireland, but also because I broke my ankle last summer, and even I have my limits.  Needless to say, the tires needed a lot of air, and we have a pump.  So no big deal, right?  Wrong!  Back tire little doo-hickey to make the valve usable in a regular pump got stuck and wouldn’t come off, and all efforts to make the pump work with the tiny little valve on the front wheel were thwarted.  As much as I have considered myself to be an athlete most of my life, I couldn’t quite fathom trying to bike constantly popping a wheelie on my rear tire.  So, I opted to borrow the bike belonging to the male in the household, whom is considerably taller than I am.  No worries; one minor seat adjustment, and we were on our way.

I managed to keep myself upright, despite a few close calls getting my feet out of the cages on the pedals, and enjoyed the tour of the neighbourhood.  When the skies started to threaten, we decided to skip the usual post-bike patio bevies (it’s always important to have goals), and I ran a couple of errands instead.  By the time I got home, I still had plenty of time to try and execute my alternative plan for today, which was to learn how to properly clean (gut and descale) a fish.  So I went to my local fishmonger, who informed me that they pay for their seafood by weight, so they usually buy their fish already cleaned.  But it would be no problem to order one in for me some other time in the future, as in, after today…  Crappity crap!

So, I adeptly moved onto plan C, which was to add yet another feather to my newly obsessive on-line cap – namely, to sign up for Pinterest.  I had heard grumblings about it, and the idea of having a collage of shiny objects fundamentally appeals to me.  So, I signed up.  Or at least, I tried to:

  

WTF?!!?  Apparently, it’s an exclusive club, and, like Groucho Marx aptly stated, “I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept people like me as a member.”  I have two letters for you, Pinterest:  U F.  They are organized in Yoda-speak at the moment, but I trust you will be able to correctly rearrange them to determine the sentiment I am trying to convey (and yes, I know, for the quote to apply, I am assuming they will eventually accept me as a member… but that doesn’t alleviate my current conundrum).

Regardless, I followed the site’s advice to check out some pins.  Lo and behold, one of the very first things I see is like a beacon of light: make Reeses peanut butter bars from the Bakerlady!  OK, to be fair, that might have been Kim Crawford talking (the bottle of yummy sauvignon blanc from New Zealand we had with dinner).  But the chocolate and peanut butter squares did look incredibly tasty and delicious!  And I had never made them before… Plus, as a bonus, it would serve as another way to incorporate more protein into my diet.  Talk about win-win-wine!  (Thank you, auto-correct).

Luckily, there is a grocery store about 6 blocks from my house, so it took no time to zig-zag my way over there to pick up the necessary ingredients.  Back in the kitchen, I assembled everything, including the last of the wine, because it’s always important to keep the chef in the right spirit of things.  Then, I got down to business.

For once, the recipe really was as easy as touted (and certainly much easier than pie – for the life of me, I will never understand that expression!)  In no time flat, I had the peanut butter base in the pan, and the chocolaty peanut butter topcoat melted in the microwave.  Into the fridge they went, and an hour later, presto!  In a word?  Yum!  To keep the calorie count in check, I offset the square intake with some detox tea, because after all, life is about balance.  Oh, and I should probably get those 10 minutes on the ultra vibe before bed, as reinforcement.

Ultimately, a happy ending – no broken bones from stupid bike tricks, no yucky fish guts and scales under my nails, and one less shiny object to keep me from finalizing my finances.  It kind of makes you want to celebrate, and pop a wheelie… or at least a cork.  And with that, I bid you sweet dreams!  I know I’ll be in a glycemic coma in a matter of minutes…

    

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Day 42: Go to the NFB.

Posted on April 11, 2012 by LaLa

Anyone raised in Canada will remember seeing short films produced by the National Film Board (NFB) when they were in school.  Depending on the province, you may recall:

  • The Sweater (about rural Quebec’s adoration of the legendary Maurice “Rocket” Richard, and the horror of one boy having to wear a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey);
  • The Cat Came Back (the very next day… you gotta love it, if only for the catchy tune); and
  • Log Driver’s Waltz (a 3 minute Vignette, which is reportedly an Alberta classic, at least according to LeLa; this one was new to me).

    

Today, I visited the NFB Toronto’s Mediatheque, which houses a library of more than 6000 films, all available for free to the public to watch from the comfort of their own personal digital viewing station.  For real.  In a word?  Amazing!

In addition to attending events, screenings, and renting space there, you can also buy or rent DVDs from their boutique, including David Suzuki’s Force of Nature.  Not to be outdone, the NFB website also allows you to view over 2000 titles on-line from the comfort of your own home for free, and to save your own copy for a nominal fee.  Hmmm… Looks like I’ve found a new wormhole to crawl into whenever I’m miraculously caught up on email, Facebook and Twitter.  Well played, Mr. Procrastination, well played.

Anywho, back in the building this afternoon, I settled into my cozy chair with my personal surround sound to watch the 44 minute black and white classic: Ladies and Gentlemen… Mr. Leonard Cohen – circa 1965.  This film opens with a young Leonard (no, not the one from the Big Bang Theory) talking to a room packed full of literary too school for cool types, that strangely look as though most of them just walked right out of a Starbucks.  In any event, he effortlessly delivers stand-up commentary that is deliciously deadpan, yet charmingly witty and with a boyish guile that the audience simply devours.  From there, the camera follows him as he meanders through his low-budget, carefree and smoke-filled lifestyle, pausing on occasion to emphasize his secretly industrious and virtuous nature.  People are drawn to his magnetic persona, and you instinctively want to be part of his entourage, even today.  I can see why it’s a classic.

As a child of the seventies to straight-laced parents who would occasionally venture out of their classical comfort zone to dabble in some dangerous jazz, I don’t remember hearing much about Leonard Cohen when I was growing up.  It wasn’t until Closing Time hit the airwaves in 1993, and I was living in a house full of waiters and cooks for the summer, that his writing and sultry voice really entered into my consciousness.  Until then, I had no idea that he had published books as both a poet and an author prior to becoming a songwriter.

Today, I further learned that he was the president of the McGill Debating Union, attended a term of law school, received the Order of Canada in 2003, and has since been lavished with countless other literary awards.  He even made a guest appearance on Miami Vice.  True story!  As if all of that weren’t enough, he was also ordained as a Buddhist monk after spending 5 years in seclusion in the late 1990s.  Apparently, it was this Zen Buddhism that later lifted him out of depression.  In 2010, at the ripe young age of 76, he played a four-hour concert in Sweden, which was part of a 3-year tour.  I mean, who does that?!!?  He’s even been referenced in a Nirvana song. Not too shabby for a Jewish boy from Montreal.

Coincidentally, April is National Poetry Month at the NFB Mediatheque, and this particular Leonard Cohen film is being screened there next Wednesday, April 18th at 4 pm, as part of their ‘Favourites at Four’ screenings, at the very reasonable price of:  free.  I highly recommend it if you can swing it.

Needless to say, I followed up the movie with The Sweater, and The Cat Came Back, to round out my delightful viewing experience, as what trip to the NFB would be complete without them.  The interactive touch screen in the viewing station allows you to search, pull up and view any of their films without ever having to leave your seat.  I could get used to this!  If only they made a female version of the Stadium Pal… Sigh.

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Day 41: Make a Speaker.

Posted on April 10, 2012 by LaLa

As a former project manager, you would think that I would have this entire year planned out, in terms of what I will be doing each week, if not every single day.  And you would be mistaken.  Of course, there is a spreadsheet ‘bank’ with around 300 or so ideas in it, all nicely colour-coded (I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – Excel rules the world!); however, those ideas were merely collected to give me some reassurance that there would be enough new things to draw from during the course of the year that I hadn’t already tried in my years of stupidity, aka early twenties.  I mean, I do try to line things up a week or two in advance, and in a few cases, even months ahead, but there always seem to be a few days where I end up winging it.

Like today, for example.  It was already 3 pm, and I hadn’t a clue what my new thing would entail.  I had managed to get my butt to the really freaking early yoga class, got caught up on email and Facebook, and finally started tackling my finances (it is tax season, in case you had forgotten, or merely believe that procrastination can be a successful lifestyle choice, which I’ll get around to proving, sometime soon-ish).  Being self-employed, I realized I hadn’t paid myself since December, let alone completed my Q1 expenses, HST tax return, updated my Quicken, nor filed my T4 slip (luckily, I’m the only employee in my company, so no one has complained.  Yet.)  Deep breaths.  My accountant is no doubt calmly waiting for my frenetic call any day now… as per our usual April ritual.  I think he secretly enjoys it.  Who am I to disappoint?

So I am delighted to announce that, once again, my passion for vouchers has saved the day!  How I do love my Daily Deal Tips.  FedEx delivered a package shortly before 4 pm that contained the Rock-it 2.0, which allows you to turn anything into a speaker!  Oh, the hours of entertainment this will bring.  It’s just too bad that the deal wasn’t offered in time for April Fools’ Day, as I would have loved to have seen the expression on people’s faces when incredibly loud music suddenly boomed from the post right behind them on the subway… and then just as mysteriously, disappeared.  Muwhahaha!

My real motivation behind the purchase was its portability, as it’s fairly compact and lightweight, which I think will be nice for sharing tunes while sitting outside over a bottle of wine with my fellow travellers later this summer.  This, of course, is the image I have in mind.  No doubt reality will tell an entirely different story, but hey, that’s one of the great joys in life, unraveling the little surprises it has in store for you.

So, as soon as I got the gizmo out of its package, I naturally completely disregarded the instructions and spare parts, plugged it into my phone, launched Tune-in Radio, the best app ever, and… nothing happened.  Hmm.  Apparently, it needed a couple of batteries.  Right.  Okay, found some in the junk drawer in the kitchen, popped them in, connected it to the phone, and… success!!

I then promptly made an arse of myself, running around the house and sticking it to everything I could think of.  Oddly enough, the box it came in was one of the best sound conductors, but by far the winner was my set of bongo drums.  Oh man, the sound completely exploded!!  By the way, in case you were wondering, people do not make the best speakers, although the vibrations running through you are reminiscent of the biggest, baddest concert you ever rocked…  No doubt there’s some warning against that in the instruction pamphlet.

Speaking of the user’s manual, I thought I might peruse it in case I had missed something.  Apparently, there is a little protective film over the vibration head that I was supposed to remove.  That might explain why it kept jiggling around and falling off the various objects I tried to attach it to.  Right.  As well, hollow objects work best, which would explain the bongo success.  Surprisingly, an empty wine bottle (like there is any other kind in my house) is not the best, but boxed wine works wonders (okay, this last point was not in the pamphlet.  Call it a bonus.)

As a side note, my apologies to my friends at Bose who make a living out of producing proper, kick-ass speakers with phenomenal sound, to which the Rock-it does not hold a candle; however, for a speaker in a pinch that’s also a pretty cool conversation piece, I must say, I’m inordinately pleased.  We will, we will rock-it!  Oh yes, indeed-y we will.

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Day 40: Ultra Vibe Machine.

Posted on April 9, 2012 by LaLa

Just another miser Monday…  It’s been almost a week since I’ve mentioned a daily deal purchase, and frankly, that’s just far too long!

Darth Vader's original helmet. Fail.

Back in February, I saw an offer for a portable vibration workout machine (not to be confused with more personal portable vibration machines).  The advertising claimed that you can get fit fast with Whole Body Vibration; using the mini vibration plate just 10 minutes 3 times a week, your fitness goals will be reached – guaranteed!!  Surprisingly, I hemmed and hawed, but didn’t end up buying it – shocking, I know.  Probably because I didn’t have any fitness goals at the time, other than being able to continue to lift my wine glass to my mouth.

Then, I was chatting with a friend of mine who bought one for herself from a different deal site a few months prior, and she was raving about it!  I mean, I had tried full-sized versions of these machines myself several years ago, and had noticed my wobbly bits did tone up…  So when the deal came up again, that was enough to make me jump at the chance to make this home model mine, all mine – and at such a fantastic price, I’d be losing money not to buy it, right?

Due to popular demand, it only arrived last week.  I managed to take it out of the enormous box it arrived in, and hauled it upstairs, where it has sat, mocking me, ever since.  As the website boasts, “at just 52 pounds, it is a very solid unit…”.  No shit, Sherlock!  Thanks to my mild dyslexia, I had remembered this as being 32 pounds.  Let me tell you, 20 pounds does, in fact, make a difference.  I guess I’ve been lying to myself about that ever since school days… Who knew?

Patient Priscilla pining to play.

Anywho, I decided it was time to peel back the bubble wrap, and fire that baby up.   Gawd, I love popping bubble wrap – yes, it is just as much fun as when you were a kid, pretending you were setting off firecrackers by jumping around on it… c’mon, it couldn’t have just been moi?!?  It seemed fairly self-explanatory to assemble, so I plugged it in, screwed on the handles, turned it on, grabbed the remote, and stood on it as it shook me all night long for like 10 minutes.  That seemed like the appropriate moment to peruse the ‘Users Manual’.  Now, I want to know whose job it is to write these pamphlets, because clearly, they are underpaid.  I mean, I learned such invaluable tidbits as:

  • “Keep the unsupervised children away from the vibration plate at all times.”  I presume the unsupervised children are never to come in contact with the supervised ones?
  • “Do not smoke while using the vibration plate.”  Even if your hookah is handy?
  • “Handicapped people should not use the vibration plate without help of others.”

Seriously??  And right at the back, after I finished the default 10-minute session, my personal favourite: “Do not use the vibration plate the full 10 minutes for the first time.  Gradually increase time with use.”  Oops…  You’d think that would be more page 1 worthy.  There’s also an introduction and training DVD that came with it, in a plastic wrapper that looks tricky to open.  After standing on that thing for 10 minutes, though, I’m pooped!  Okay, not really, but I’ll look at it later.  Probably.  Maybe.  It could happen…?

Priscila says, Looking good, Sistah!

In any event, I really like this thing!  This might be my best voucher purchase to date.  I’ve named her Priscilla.  She’s sassy, and, with any luck, she will help to make my assy more classy!  Sorry, couldn’t resist…  10 minute workout sessions though?  Talk about a dream come true for someone with Shiny Object Syndrome like moi!  I am looking forward to getting more good vibrations on a regular basis.  Hmm…  Why is it that everything I type these days sounds dirty?  Must be spring fever – or maybe I’m just getting jiggy with the vision of my future svelte self, hard to say (pun intended).  Now where can I find me some unsupervised, handicapped smoking children to come over and play?  I mean, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?  (Sooo kidding!)  Happy Monday.

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