Pondering Yoga Poses

Chaturanga dandasana. Exhale! Downward-facing dog!

All you yogis out there most likely feel sweet relief from downward-facing dog (or down dog for short), a "restful, home-base posture" allowing you to refocus on your practice and reset your breath. Some of you probably do down dogs at home for a good stretch and for some relaxation. Some of you may quickly deem it your favorite yoga posture.

For me, downward-facing dog is agony. I freaking hate that posture. Honestly, the primary reason I practice hot yoga or Bikram yoga most frequently is that it doesn't have that horrendous posture. Aside from the fact that it sends shooting pains through my shoulders (okay, okay, a bit dramatic there...it just doesn't feel pleasant), I apparently just can't get it right. During a good 25% of the classes I take I am corrected by some way or another by an instructor. Sometimes they pull my hips up and back. Sometimes they push on my heels to get them to touch the mat.

Yes, I passionately hate down dog. None of you will believe this, but I also hate child's pose, another allegedly "restful" posture. I admit I am strange when it comes to my likes and dislikes of yoga postures. Let's continue, shall we? Maybe in list form from now on.

Yoga Postures Listed from My Least Favorite to Favorite
(Disclaimer: this list doesn't contain every yoga pose in existence. Not even close)

1) Downward-facing dog (just thinking about it makes me wince)

Doesn't this look RELAXING?? No.

2) Half-moon (Ardha candrasana)

Worst thing ever. But makes good abs.

3) High to low plank (Chaturanga dandasana)

 

Because we all LOVE planks!

4) Standing Head to Knee (Dandayamana-Janushirasana)
Basically I just can't figure this one out. My balance is just that bad.

Yep, I can only get to step one.

5) Standing Separate Leg Head to Knee Pose (Dandayamana-Bibhaktapada-Janushirasana)

Can't...breathe...so...awful....

6) Standing Bow Pose (Dandayamana-Dhanurasana)
I have a love/hate relationship with standing bow pulling pose. Some days I rock it and others....not so much.

7) Plow (Halasana)

This seriously feels amazing.

8) Tree Pose (Tadasana)

 





















9) Camel Pose (Ustrasana)This is literally my "hangout pose." It's relaxing and fun and feels awesome.

10) Fixed Firm Pose (Supta-Vajrasana)

Okay I'm tired of looking up these pictures, but also, I HATE locust pose with a firey passion. I only do it because a teacher once told me that the postures you hate the most are the ones you need the most. Alright, fine.

Sunrise Run

Yesterday at school I was discussing running with the vice principal because that is our common ground. It’s what we bond over. In particular, after having been mercilessly destroyed by track and field club, we now talk about our love of long, slow, relaxing runs. He said that he wakes up at 4:30 every morning so he can begin his run at 5:00 in order to watch the sunrise. I told him he was crazy.

Like this.

Coincidentally enough, I found myself awake around 4:30 the morning following our discussion. I decided it was meant to be and got my butt out of bed for a sunrise run so see what the fuss was all about. Although I don’t see myself making these runs a routine occurrence, I did appreciate the beauty of the sunrise blazing like wildfire across the sky. It truly was breathtaking, to the point that I paused my run to snap a photo.

On a somewhat different note, but still related to runs, I am always unsure whether or not to greet people whom I pass. Should I give a grin? If it’s a fellow runner, should I flash an “I know how you feel” expression? Should I ignore them completely? Should I give a nod of acknowledgement? Or, should I take it to the other end of the spectrum entirely and give them a disgruntled scowl? Okay, perhaps not the last option.

This morning, I was so chipper from the beauty of the sky on such a cool, crisp morning that I decided to be super cheerful with every fellow human I passed. The first target of my kindness was an elderly, slightly hunched over man with a frighteningly stern face. I didn't let this deter me, however; I went all out and gave him a big smile, a “good morning,” and a nod. A gigantic, toothy smile shattered his stony expression instantly, and he returned my greeting in kind.

I'm gonna make you smile, grumpy man!

The next person I came across was a woman appearing to be in her early 30’s (although this is Japan, so she may have been like 86) riding her bike. I gave her a little nod because that is all I had time for as she passed. Her stern expression did not waver. Whatever, that’s your problem, bike lady. Be angry. See if I care. I wouldn't let her get me down. The next couple was kind, but not over the top, when returning my gesture, but it was enough to keep my spirits afloat. The remaining recipients of my cheerful greetings responded with at least a mini-bow of acknowledgement. That’s good enough for me.

Track and Field, Japan Style

 So, my undesired training began on Thursday. My first erroneous thought entered my mind as I saw the jolly students slowly jogging around the track. How hard can this be? Famous last words.

I'm not worried!

Before I continue, a little background information might be helpful for my readers. Because many students were absent yesterday for sport tournaments, there was no school lunch served for two days in a row meaning teachers needed to bring their own. I sheepishly asked the vice principal if I could order Indian food and he not only vehemently obliged but decided to join me and asked if any other teachers wanted to. So, three of us ordered Indian and it was, as usual, delicious. I ordered the highest spice level and the teachers all found it very impressive. So, I got a wee bit cocky about my ability to handle spice the next day when even more teachers and I decided to order from the same place. I boasted that I could eat way spicier than their spiciest spice level and asked the ordering teacher to request the non-existent spice level 7. The teachers all gasped. When it arrived, it was tasty but just a little over the top. However, everyone was impressed and I felt special. During track and field, that curry would turn out to be my worst enemy.

Not...spicy...at...alll

So immediately post chowing down curry, I began running with the kids. No time for any good ol' digestion. As we began our stretching, the kids could hardly contain their laughter. How funny was it that Miss Marisa had decided to participate in their club activity? Pretty freakin' funny, apparently. I started feeling a bit guilty for joining, like with me around they wouldn't get much done. After stretching, we did drills where we had to run a certain distance practicing various aspects of our form. Because of my lack of Japanese, the teacher in charge of the club forced the one boy with perfect English to join the girls' line so he could translate for me. I wanted to melt into a puddle of embarrassment for making the poor kid do that. He was clearly not happy. 

That English teacher... SO pathetic

Eventually he could tell that I was picking things up by watching and he asked desperately "can I please stop translating?" and I felt even more terrible, I told him, much to his relief, that he didn't need to at all. So, I survived all of the drills. Now it was time for the four kilometer run. 

Let me just say that I LOVE distance running. That's what I do. Just call me Forest Gump. Sorry, but I don't find sprints relaxing. I don't like panting and heaving to expend every ounce of my energy and then some to drag my exhausted self across the finish line. I prefer endurance; running great distances at a relaxing pace. So, when I found out that some of the kids run 4 kilometers in 15 minutes, a wave of panic washed across me. I became very thankful that the teacher placed me in the slowest group, which I was about to discover was significantly faster than me, still. The first four groups began, and it seemed like they finished before I could even start counting their 20 laps around the track. My adrenaline spiked. It was now my turn. As I began, I instantly felt winded by the pace of my group. Yet, I was determined to keep up. Then, my dreaded level 7 curry came back to haunt me in the form of killer stomach pain. Noooo! Not now, curry! 

I tried so hard to push through. I lost count of the laps, however, each becoming more painful than the last. Finally I was on the last lap. Or so I thought. I was still in sync with my group and even gaining speed. When I realized to my dismay that I still had two more laps to go, I spirits sank, I lost every care I once had about my form, and I fell behind the group. The second I stopped running, I collapsed on the ground, and thankfully my stomach pain vanished. I finished last, but I am still slightly proud that I ran 4 km in 21 minutes. I will probably never go back to track and field again unless I feel motivated to prove that I CAN run faster, it was just the curry. 

Unintentional Speed Training

So, the title of this blog is the reason that I will not be able to go to the gym daily, as I would like. This entire school year, students in the track and field club have begged me to join their practice one day. So, finally I decided on a week when I would attend, and I asked the teacher in charge if she wouldn't mind allowing me to join. She answered gleefully that they would love to have me there. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I innocently assumed that I would just go there for about an hour during their often three-hour long practice and then just go home. I also assumed quite mistakenly that it would be really basic stuff and not physically demanding at all.

Gentle jog!

Then, yesterday, the teacher in charge of the club came up to my desk and asked me how fast I can run four kilometers. Awkwardly, she and I spent about ten minutes trying to do conversions and figure it out. I told her that I generally do distance running, and that I can typically do about 10 kilometers in about 56-57 minutes which is about 9 minutes per mile. She started furiously writing and trying to calculate what this meant in terms of km. I felt like a moron for not being able to figure it out quickly.

 

Kil...o...meter?? What??

Anyways, eventually we figured it out. I assumed she asked me out of mere curiosity, an assumption I quickly realized to be a grave error when she began to decide with which group of students to place me with for their training on the day I would attend. She stroked her chin pensively and said, “you know, with some training we could get you down to 4 kilometers in 17 minutes.” My eyes widened. That is crazy fast in my world, where I am accustomed to running long stretches at slower paces. She continued, “you are interested in speed training, no?” I felt obligated to answer yes to her eager expression. “Of course,” I managed to say in a weak voice. And thus, with the utterance of two words, I agreed to participate in a speed-training regimen. Goody.

This is just not me...

Yoga Torture Chamber- The Saga Continues

Just call me Patty Hearst. First I was tortured in the way-too-hot yoga chamber, then I was taken prisoner. I figured, you know what, after that first hellish experience at the Bikram studio for which I bought a Groupon, there is no way things can deteriorate any further. I certainly can't say that last night's class was worse than Tuesday's. The good thing about that scarring experience was that I had rockbottom expectations for last night. After I changed and stepped through the studio doors, my body did not automatically turn into a fountain of sweat- good sign number one. The teacher walked in and seemed substantially less like an evil dictator than the the one on Tuesday- good sign number two.

As class kicked off, I got through the first postures absolutely fine, and the instructor made a significant amount of small suggestions that really benefited the way I think about my alignment in postures. When she told us to hang our heads during our first backward bend, she said "pretend your head is a tomato on a vine." Nice visual. During triangle, she explained that when the instructors tell us to have our "thigh bicep" parallel to the floor, they mean the "bicep of our thigh," and I always thought they meant "thigh and bicep." Yes, lots of truly life-changing tips there.

So, around an hour and 20 minutes into the practice, I admit I just got bored. I wanted to go home and get ready for bed. So, I waited for a posture where everyone has their heads down so they would be less likely to notice me sneak out, grabbed my mat and towel and rushed towards the door. Of course, the teacher noticed and asked if I was okay, and I just said "yeah, fine," and stepped out. Well, just when I thought I was in the clear, the two people at the front desk, the evil instructor from Tuesday and some little twat who helped sign people in, called out and asked if I was okay. Not wanting to admit that I just got sick of being in a 90 minute yoga class that was clearly going to run overtime, I just mumbled "yeah, just a little light headed…" and rushed into the locker room. WELL, twat girl followed me in as I was grabbing my stuff to make a run for it and told me I needed to come out and sit down. I wanted to slap her in the face and run away.

I hesitantly complied and sat awkwardly on a bench in the lobby area while she brought me a cold towel for my forehead. I placed the towel on my forehead like a damsel in distress simply to humor them, but got increasingly annoyed as she began to make conversation with me.

"You know, we can't just have you wandering about feeling light-headed. Have you ever done hot yoga before?"

"Um…yeah for about two years. I guess the humidity just seemed high."

"Yeah, it has been for a few days. Well, are you ready to go in to finish class?"

I gave her my best "you've gotta be f***ing kidding me" face and said "um, no, I think I'm just going to head out."

"Actually, you need to sit for awhile."

So, feeling like a captive or a child in timeout, I sat and stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick by slower than molasses moves in winter. Finally, after about 5 minutes, I decided it was time for a prison break. I stood up and tried to sneak past my captors. I grabbed my stuff, and on the way out was stopped once again by evil dictator instructor from Tuesday.

"Um, can I make a suggestion?" Boy, I love questions that aren't questions.

"Sure."

"You were in my class Tuesday and left, right? Well, you need to try to go to an earlier class. And you need more electrolytes."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'll try that."

"I'd highly suggest it." He said, in a monotone.

I made my rush for the for the door and finally escaped, just as class came to an end anyhow. At least I didn't succumb to Stockholm Syndrome. I did learn from this experience, however, that I would not do well as a captive. If I went that stir crazy being forced to stay somewhere against my will for 10 minutes, imagine what days or weeks would do to me…

I'd say "I'm never going back there" but I still have 13 classes left on my Groupon. We will see what horrors I experience the next class on Tuesday….

Yoga Torture Chamber

As I jaunted joyfully to my first Bikram yoga class in many moons, I felt both excited and nervous, but also confident that I would feel amazing after a 90-minute detox in a hot and humid room. My mood worsened slightly from the way the front desk attendant treated me. After affirming her inquiry about whether I had a Groupon or LivingSocial deal or not, she asked me in a monotone drone if I read the fine print about sending my information to the studio in advance. I admitted that I hand't, and she scolded me about not reading the fine print. Seriously? I was there over 45 minutes in advance in order to provide adequate information-providing time. She then thrust a clipboard in front of my face and told me to fill it out, not even trying to mask her annoyance with my lack of fine-print reading.

As I filled out the form, an awkward silence descended upon us like an ominous storm cloud, and I quickly tried to ward it off by making conversation about their studio, etc. She wasn't having it. Note to self: not reading fine print really rubs people the wrong way. My mood still chalk-full of excitement, I left the desk as quickly as possible so she would stop lowering my happiness level.

The beet-red faces of the practitioners exiting the preceding class and the lady sitting on the floor beside the studio door should have been blaring warning signals of what was to come. Yet, naive as I was, I believed that after two years of never having a horrendous Bikram class, it was simply impossible for them to exist. No matter how much I struggle during the course, I always managed to push through and feel an incredible yoga-high afterwards.

I hadn't the slightest idea what I was about to get into. The moment I set foot into that studio, beads of sweat began rolling down my body. That's not supposed to happen until at least five minutes into class. This had me worried, yet by no means panicked. Then class began and things changed. I felt light-headed within the first ten minutes of class. Chalking it up to not being used to such extreme humidity after just moving from a dry climate, I swallowed my pride (almost choking on it) and took a seat on my mat. Yet, my heard rate never subsided from nearing one which would induce cardiac arrest. About 15 to 20 minutes in, a petite blonde from the other side of the room rushed out, her face flushed.

My skin's appearance upon entering the studio 

Another practitioner quickly followed, clutching an empty water bottle. As he passed the instructor, he was met with the snarky suggestion by the teacher that he "bring a bigger water bottle next time." The next time he revealed his inner a$$hole was when the woman next to me did a modification to a posture due to an injury and he pranced over to her and informed her that she was "not allowed to make modifications without notifying the instructor ahead of time." Seriously…? After that, the third or fourth person exited the studio, clearly dying from the seemingly noxious heat bearing down upon us. This infuriated the instructor, and he stopped class to lecture us like a teacher does a class of five-year-olds.

"Um, FAR too many people have left today!" He said sternly. A woman near me retorted that the class was "way too hot" and he simply responded in a matter-of-fact tone that this was his third class in a row (of course, not mentioning that all he has to do is stand there and shout commands) and we should just chill out and "meditate." Wow. That comment made me up and leave instantly. In the locker room, I encountered the first to fall from the torturous heat- the blonde. She asked me how I managed to withstand it for such a long time, and I simply shrugged. At least what shall forever be known as the Bikram Class of Death for me caused me to make a new friend. We commiserated about how we were both stuck in that studio for at least 15 classes because we both bought coupons prepaying for them, so we decided to always attend the same ones.

Her name was Alexis, and she said she literally had to rush out to vomit, and officially labeled it a yoga torture chamber, and noted her concerns because of people dying of hear strokes at that temperature. She then assured me that it is typically not that hot at that studio and that I had just chosen a rough class to be my first. Well, we will see how it goes tonight… 

Yoga Discrepancies

All the instructors worldwide of every type of yoga need to have a conference to get on the same page and save us poor practitioners from endless hassle. I began my yoga journey as a Bikram yoga addict thinking there was no better yoga workout on the face of the earth. The instructors gave me personal adjustments for a year to the point I felt I had mastered some of the postures. Then, when I realized how expensive Bikram memberships are, a fact I had not realized as I was working at a studio thus receiving free classes, I switched over to doing hot yoga, which is essentially the same thing without paying Bikram to use his name. Also, the classes are generally 15 to 30 minutes shorter which is nice considering the 1 hour 30-minute length of Bikram sessions.

So, here I was, thinking I had mastered the stance-distance of my triangle pose, only to be told by some pretentious, self-righteous hot yoga instructor that my legs were too close together in "extended side-angle." First of all, can we all agree that the postures that are the EXACT same should at least have the exact same name? Confused is not the best mind state in yoga, and telling me to do "extended side-angle" when I have had the posture name of "triangle" ingrained into my mind puts me in exactly that state. So Bikram's "triangle" is also known as "hot-style triangle" which is also known as "extended side-angle" which is also known as "trikonasana." "Dancer's pose" is also known as "standing bow-pulling pose" or just "standing bow." "Fixed firm pose" is also known as "supta virasana" which is also known as "reclining hero pose" and a slight variation of the pose is "sleeping diamond." That is just a few of the many examples. I want to meet the person/people in charge of creating all of these confusing names and slug them in the face.

This posture and the one below have the same name. WHY??

I just want all yoga instructors to sit at the world's largest conference table and decide once and for all the proper placement of one's hands on their feet during camel pose, or, ustrasana. For the entire time during which I had practiced yoga up until taking a course in India, I was told to bend back and grab a hold of my heels with my hands. The instructor in India thought this was absurd and told me to lie my palms flat on my feet. Now I am just confused. I don't know who to believe anymore! I guess it makes sense how all of this craziness came about- yoga postures have been taught and retaught so many times that it has become like a big game of telephone. Still, it drives me nuts!

The flat-hand method

The heel-grab method

Demanding Drug Dealer

I'm starting to think it would be easier to be a meth addict as hard street drugs are generally sold by dealers requiring no more than a bundle of cash from their prospective buyers and a seedly location for the transaction to occur. My drug of choice, endorphins, come at a much higher price from a demanding dealer: the anterior pituitary gland. That particular part of the gland, which secretes hormones controlling everything from tissue growth to sex hormone production, gets a massive ego rub whenever someone requests something of it.

The posterior pituitary, the siamese twin of the anterior, boasts a far less bloated ego on account of only being responsible for anti-diuretic hormone and oxytocin (though that is important for couples gettin' it on- I suppose if they feel like going the personification-of-glands route, ladies can claim that they had to fake because their posterior pituitary simply refused to dole out the oxy). If the kidney asks for some anti-diuretic hormone, posterior pituitary happily obliges, or decides to be a jerk and gives you diabetes insipidus (which makes you pee everything out, basically).

Yet Mr. Anterior Pituitary, as I mentioned, is not the kindest gland in the body for a variety of reasons. If you rub him the wrong way at all, there's no telling what he will do (I don't know why the anterior pituitary is a guy in my mind- the image of a woman is not the first thing that jumps into my mind when I think of a seedy drug dealer). Well, actually there is: he can screw you over and give you gigantism or pituitary dwarfism by bombarding you with or withholding growth hormone, mess with your estrogen or testosterone levels via secretion of luteinizing hormone, make you fat, crazy, anxious, and depressed via hypo or hypersecretion of thyroid-stimulating hormone, give you Cushing's disease from unleashing too much adrenocorticotropic hormone, fatten you up by holding back on lipotropins... the list goes on. And that list is ridiculously long as it is. I have just educated you all on the endocrine system, you're welcome.

I shove those dreadful evils of which Anterior Pituitary is capable, however, on the back burner when I remember my favorite hormone he stashes away in a glass case on the top shelf- endorphins. Anyone who has watched Legally Blonde has heard of endorphins from the famous line: "exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don't shoot their husbands- they just don't!" Well, Elle Woods is right.

Endorphin highs morph crotchety Scrooges into hippie life lovers who, let's face it, drive those who haven't just run five miles insane. When you realize the demands of Anterior Pituitary to convince him to release that addictive hormone, it's easy to see why people turn to crack/meth/insert street drug of choice here as opposed to giving in to his absurd demands. Our encounters go something like this:

Me: yo man, I'm jonesing... I need my fix. I just need a tiny dose of endorphins to get me through the next couple of hours!
Anterior Pituitary: you know I can't just go givin' handouts, dawg (he talks like a dealer, too). You gonna have to earn it (because drug dealers have notoriously bad grammar).
Me: anything you want, man, I'll do it!
AP: I need you to go do a killer workout- none of this sissy stuff. You ain't gettin' the goods til you're sweating and about to collapse with a racing heart after at least an hour of cardio. Get yo desperate ass to that point, come see me, and we'll talk. (What a jerk, he just called me desperate!)

That anterior pituitary is the bane of my existence! He's such a self-righous jerk! I want to give him a piece of my mind (even though that's exactly what he is...)! Maybe I'll just give meth a chance instead. I've always wanted to partake in a drug deal in the parking garage of a seedy motel (if it's one that even has a parking garage). Okay, maybe not...

I WISH it were this easy....