Fact vs. Fiction

Generally portrayed in film and on television as romantic, fun, sexy, or some other pleasant adjective, the following are just a few examples of things that are, in reality, just the opposite.

1) Sitting in the grass under a tree: every typical college student portrayed on screen does their most productive studying under a big, beautiful tree in an emerald green field in the middle of campus. Well, every sitting-under-tree experience I've ever had ended absolutely terribly to the point I will most likely never sit under a tree or even in the grass ever again. Countless times, insects have attacked me from above, falling from their leafy homes above. Today, ants crawled up the leg of my pants unbeknownst to me and bit me all along my calf, leaving a nice trail of mosquito-like itchy bites to remind me of the pleasant encounter. After sitting about 15 minutes in the grass, I was covered in bits of foliage and ants managed to make their way into practically every article of clothing I had on and into every crevasse of my body.

Watch For Falling Insects

2) Holding Hands with Your Sweetheart: Why does this look so romantic in movies? Probably because while the lovebirds clasp hands, there is romantic instrumental music accompanying their actions and it occurs during some lovey-dovey montage portraying the highlights of their perfect partnership. Let's be real for a minute. When you're in love, you don't really care, but no one can deny the sweaty, slippery, nasty mess created by clasping your palm against another's while intertwining fingers. It is gross, period.

Clammy, sweaty, gross

3) Riding in a Car with the Top Down: I can't even imagine the amount of hairspray used to hold up those coiffed, magically flowing, fairy princess hairdos of actresses in convertibles. The reality is quite simply the opposite in every way- you put up your hair all nice and your makeup and it is nice out so why not get in a car with the top down beside a sexy, muscly man? Well, mostly because gust of wind after gust of wind blast you mercilessly in the face and leave you with a humongous rats nest that would easily outdo Marge Simpson's 'do in a crazy hair contest. The practice of riding in a car with the top down also causes your eyes to produce more liquid than Niagara falls leaving them bloodshot and irritated once at your destination. You can also end up with bugs in your face. Charming, really.

LIES

4) Riding on the Back of a Motorcycle: See above. About ten times worse.

No, it is NOT this wistful

5) Working Out: every time you see an actor or actress working out in a movie, they look like they are having the best time, grinning from ear to ear while running through a park or having a nice conversation with their mat neighbor in yoga. The alternative is only seen in comedies, where the characters take it to the other end of the spectrum and are falling over or otherwise over-exaggerating their lack of gracefulness.

This is how I look when I run, too....

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… 

Burpees

Whoever invented the burpee is evil, and whoever decided to incorporate them into a yoga class is more evil still. If you don't know what a burpee is, I am truly happy for you. You should never give them a fleeting thought except while reading this blog. Just for the sake of understanding this blog, I will explain: a burpee is a horrid exercise move involving squatting down, kicking back into a high plank, kicking forward between your hands, jumping up off of the ground, and then doing it over and over again until your heart is pounding and you hate your drill sergeant of a fitness instructor. Every time a yoga instructor makes us practitioners do burpees in "yoga with weights" class, I vow never to return to their class. Well, I certainly won't return to yesterday's class after not only doing burpees and around 60 pushups (yes, I did the vast majority on my knees), but doing a slightly altered version of a burpee called a "man-maker" (how sexist... just kidding- this move would have made a man out of Mulan after doing just one and eliminated the best song in the movie). Actually, the man-maker was slightly worse. Please see the video below. (I find it ironic that every image of "man-makers" on Google images was of a woman- the videos featured men, however...)

In what universe is this fun?

I bet if I took that class even once a week I would be ripped to the point people would label me a steroid abuser. I'm not sure I want to be that ripped, especially if it means doing the kind of exercises that make me extremely thrilled not to be in a branch of the military. I am ready to go make and send thousands of care packages for everyone who is, just to thank them for all the burpees they must have done during boot camp, and probably still do as part of their daily fitness routines. During this self-imposed 30-day-in-a-row workout challenge which I am about 16 days into, I am going to stick to what I know and love. Hot yoga balanced with running so I can get ready for me 10k. Burpees, I simply don't need or want you in my life. Sorry. 

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....

Clique-y Yoga

About a year ago, I would have told time travelers from 2012 informing me of my future yoga-doing, kale-eating self, I would have told them to take a hike to the nearest time machine mechanic, since theirs seemed to have brought them from an alternate universe where I was super hippie. I also would most likely have punched them in the face as they had offended me so deeply.

Then, when I had to chance to try Bikram yoga for free last July, I became instantly ensnared past the point of no return. As free yoga was one of my employment benefits (gotta love L.A.), I completely took for granted the fact that this particular type of elitist yoga cost around $185 per month. Upon returning to Colorado, unemployment forced me to get a bit creative and do something drastic in order to continue practicing yoga. I even recognized that the scant amount of Bikram yoga studios in Boulder and its immediate surroundings would force me to try out *gasp* different styles of yoga! Shocking!

When I first betrayed my beloved Bikram yoga to take advantage of CorePower Yoga's free trial week, I felt a bit guilty. I always knew of the animosity bubbling between Bikram yoga and other styles of hot yoga which allegedly copied Bikram in its entirety but were mere greedy wannabes. So i couldn't have felt more out-of-place when I sheepishly entered CorePower wearing my Bikram Yoga Marina del Rey shirt. It actually felt a little West Side Story. When the CorePower yogis eyed my Bikram shirt disapprovingly, I half expected all of us to smart snapping and circling each other Sharks vs. Jets style prior to breaking out into a spontaneous musical number.

Yet as much as I didn't want to, I completely loved what CorePower had to offer. I was wrong in my characterization of the Sharks and the Jets, however; after attending another Bulder yoga studio, Radiance Yoga (where they teach Batiste-style yoga), my mind formulated a new and more accurate analogy. I realized that yoga studios are more like high school cliques. CorePower is the jock clique, as they are definitely the most popular, nation-wide studio bullying smaller studios in the hallway. However, they are really cool to hang out with so people like them anyways. Radiance Yoga is the clique of girls desperately trying to be popular but aren't quite there yet. By that I mean they will adapt their personalities according to who they are hanging out with and try to please everyone. Radiance Yoga doesn't kick their participants butts for the sake of giving them an awesome workout- rather, they basically let members do whatever they want to feel good about themselves.

Bikram is a weird case in this analogy. Bikram yoga is that cool, elusive kid that wears a lot of black and hangs out by himself or just a couple of other equally elusive kids. Bikram sort of slinks in the shadows of the hallway and that aura of mystery emanates the kind of "cool" that high school kids want to be associated with. Hence why other studios copy Bikram yoga.

Wow, that was one elaborate analogy, Marisa...