Do you even need me to say anything?   I didn't think so.

Veterans Day: Giving Back....

Most everyone knows my philanthropy-of-choice will always be Cancer. Those who know me also know I volunteer, most especially during the holiday season, visiting patients in the oncology wing, and also trying to visit with their grief-stricken families. While I have no advanced degree in counseling or medicine, having lost my Mom to cancer when I was 15 brings with it a wealth of understanding of the disease and its lifetime effects on those left behind.

So, I will do my usual oncology visits… but this year I have added another cause already quite close to my heart. This year I have adopted a soldier!

I have no connection to the military. My Dad was in the Army in his early 20’s but served his 4-years and then got the hell out. :)    I grew up near the Naval Academy and Ft Meade (Army base). I dated a few midshipmen/ensigns, and a Navy pilot when I was living in Southern California ... oh yeah, Top Gun all the way, baby! ... And my close friend and current Bronx, NY Emergency Room Doctor, Brian, upon order will be serving the Army as a doctor (I don’t even want to think about that call from him when he is leaving!)... But beyond this I have no firsthand connection to the military.  I don’t care. I don’t need to have a brother or sister or spouse or friend overseas to feel indescribable gratitude towards the brave men and women who serve our country in uniform.

Recently I was reading an article about our courageous, patriotic souls who are quite literally giving their lives to help protect our nation and preserve our freedom. The article mentioned an estimated 25% of deployed soldiers receive NO mail. !!!!

I was horrified!!!!

My heart broke at the thought of any of them not feeling loved and appreciated, most ESPECIALLY during the holidays. That is simply unacceptable.

The article connected me with this wonderful program to adopt a deployed soldier. I feel guilty I haven’t done something like this before now. The program assigns you a deployed soldier at random and gives you their contact information so you can send whatever you wish: letters, care packages, whatever.

I signed up and received the information for my adopted soldier yesterday, which I felt was quite appropriate on the eve of Veterans Day. I was embarrassingly excited and giddy when I received his name, ready to make certain my soldier is NOT among those poor souls in the 25% no mail category! I feel like a new Mom! ;) I’ve already sent him a letter, several pages in length. I’m probably going to freak the poor guy out with my outpouring of constant affection but I don’t care. Sharpie on a mission is a force to be reckoned with!

His name is SSG Steven Heigh and he is from Oregon. This is his 2nd deployment to Afghanistan. I have no idea if he will able to respond to letters; the program indicated not every soldier will have access to return letters or emails but he/she will receive them. So, even if I never hear from him, I will keep on writing. My lifetime as an only child has made me quite capable of carrying on full conversations without response. : ) If I am able to ever hear from him I will try to report in on how he is doing from time to time on my blog… and for public kudos: THANK YOU, SSG HEIGH, FOR YOUR DEVOTION AND SERVICE TO OUR COUNTRY!

If this idea resonates with you, I strongly urge you to consider adopting a soldier – for the holiday season and beyond.
http://adoptaussoldier.org

I can only imagine how much it would mean to me if I was overseas, living in whatever hell (literally) is going on there, eating the crap we saw Hawkeye and BJ try to stomach on M*A*S*H* episodes, away from family and friends, while quite literally giving my LIFE to my country --- how much it would mean to me if someone cared enough to want to support me however they could. Sending letters or care packages?? PLEASE. It’s the least I can do...

Cheers.

The Eerie Erie....

PLEASE BE WARNED.  THIS BLOG CONTAINS MATERIAL NOT SUITED FOR CHILDREN - AND FOR FEW ADULTS.  OR ADULTS WHO ARE REALLY CHILDREN.  WHATEVER.
SENSE OF HUMOR REQUIRED IF YOU CONTINUE TO READ.....

On Halloween .... why not run?  I mean, if you're going to attend a costume party....
(yeah, a costume party, that's what we'll call it) ... later in the evening, you should have a warmup to your intended later celebration.

So my good friend, Morgan, (previously pictured in the BUI Boulder post in Sept) asked if I wanted to run the Eerie Erie 5k with her, in Erie - about 10 miles from Boulder, for Halloween.

Morgan is a RUNNER.  She is this wispy, beautiful little thing (bitch!), all 95lbs of her, and when she runs it's like the vision of an antelope.  She ran for CU and maintained the regime with legendary Coach Wetmore that many of us have salivated over in reading, "Running with the Buffaloes".     My point being, I wouldn't be running WITH Morgan.  I would register with her and then say goodbye until we met again in the parking lot post-event.

I invited roomie, TR, to run with me and he said he was IN!  Awesome.

(TR and I laughed that it had been just short of THREE YEARS since our last run together .... the "Turkey Trot" during Thanksgiving 2006 with our good friend, former pro triathlete, Jeff Boyd.

 

Sidenote: I failed to post one of our reunion pictures when TR and I got a visit from Boyd last month.  Boyd now lives in Boston and the "3 Muskateers" reunion was awesome!)

 (But I digress..... back to the Eerie Erie........)

As we were registering race morning,  since it was the same price for the 5k or the 10k, I decided, what the hell, let's just go for the 10k?   I think Morgan was a little shocked.

Morgan:  Really, Carole?  The 10k?

Carole:  It's the same price, why not?

Morgan:  Wow.  Ok.   Good for you.

Carole:  I mean, I'm out here, right?  Why not run an additional 25:00 since I'm here.  God only knows the next time I'll exercise.  : )
 
After registering I was roaming the turf doing some strides and slight warmup when I heard this bellowing, obnoxoius (ha!), "Yoooooooooooooooooooooooo!  Sharpieeeeeeee!"   In the distance I noticed a bright orange guy next to, of course, the porta-a-potty.
Michael Lovato, in costume.  He was here to do a little pre-festivities  10k run with his wife.
"Sharpie, you here to run the 10k, the 5k or the 400?", he yelled out teasingly.
(The 400 is the kids race...)
"Oh, the 400!", I laughed.  "I'm gonna take down some 5 year olds!"

So the race began.
Morgan stuck with the 5k, and so did TR.  As the race was just about to start, my truly hilarious roommate threw out one of his usual funny one-liners: "Like ice cream at Oprah's house -- I'm gone".

With that, the gun went off and he was gone...

I went to the 10k course.   Like most run races, everyone is off like a stampede and it usually thins out within minutes with the stupid people who went out too fast dying quick.  I am pretty good at restraining myself in the beginning and settled into an uncomfortable, but stable pace.  I ran, and I ran.  The huffing and puffing was soon to follow, but minute after minute after minute I was doing "ok".   Apparently there weren't any mile markers for this thing so I just kept on chugging.


Huff  Puff.   Huff.  Puff.
Shit, I am out of shape.  How come all these big fat guys are passing me?  Really?
WHAT???!!!!   Now a woman pushing two kids in a stroller is going by me??!  You've GOT to be kidding!!!!!!
Huff.  Puff.   Huff.  Puff.
(ouch....)
Huff Puff...

Mile 1 marker must not have been out, I must be coming on mile 2 soon.   What's my pace?   I look down at my watch.
3:14.
UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!
I had only been running for 3+ minutes??!!??!   Mother of GOD it felt like 15 minutes by then!!!!

Are you KIDDING?

Soon, I noticed there was a looooooooong line in front of me, spread out.   The leaders made the right turn waaaaaaay in the distance.   I saw Michael's BRIGHT orange with Cheetah-Amanda right next to him.    Holy shitballs they were FLYING.   They were easily 2+ minutes ahead of me already.....  but that's ok, for over 2 miles (I was guessing at distance) this is not completely hideous.

ummmm......

Then I saw it.  Mile ONE marker!   Holy crap there was a massive spread on me like THIS and it was only mile 1.   This was going to be a long run....

Hunker down, Sharpie.  Think happy thoughts.
As my fat-rolled gut bounced up and down to rival my bouncing boobs, I thought about the pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks I would soon be having to add to my flab.   I mean, think happy thoughts, right?  :)

Man this course is fricking HILLY!!!!
Everyone passed me.  Big fat men.  Women with strollers.  Kids.  I mean, seriously, it was humiliating.  Instead of getting depressed I thought of pizza.   I mean, really, keep the motivation on things that actually make me happy.

As I got close to mile 6, there was TR cheering for me at the sideline.  Ug, what a good friend!!  He jumped on the Sharpie-train (caboose) and ran along side me as I tried to contain my loud, lactic-filled breathing.

TR: How ya feeling, Sharps?

Sharpie:  Like a cow.

TR:  Awesome.  Keep it up.

:)

Sharpie:  Do you know this is the pace I ran for the marathon at IMF?  (2006)

TR: <silence... my sweet friend is likely trying to think of something supportive to say>    Well, move your fat ass then!  Let's go, pick it up, fatty! 

:)    :)   Funny.....!
I choked on my own inhalation as I laughed.

huff.  puff.   hufff. puff.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, the finish line.

Collapse.  Wander in a stupor towards the buffet and inhale bagels, coffee and chocoloate chip cookies.

See Morgan and we grab the cow, pardon the pun, for a group photo!

Cheetah-Amanda fricking won the whole damn event in a 37:06.  And let me tell you, that course was HILLY!!!!!!!!!!!    Good for her!!

I was about 10 minutes behind her.  10 MINUTES!!  in a 10k!!!!!   Hilarious.  I really did laugh at that.   2 minutes and you're like, oh man, just a little harder effort and I could have been closer.   10 minutes is so ridiculously behind you're not even in the same race.   So I just laughed, and ate more cookies.

Later... there is an annual event in Boulder that has gone on to be a time-honored tradition here.
The Naked Pumpkin run.    Seriously.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/10/31/naked-pumpkin-run-at-risk_n_341166.html

I assure you CAROLE did not participate in said event.... promise!!!! .... (gotta put that in case my mother's brothers read this!)  .... but as a spectator, this event really is something to behold.
 http://nakedpumpkinrun.org/home.html

Seeing is believing.....

Happy Halloween!

It's not even Halloween yet!!!!

Again, welcome to Boulder.

Yesterday I was in shorts.

This morning these shots were taken.....

 

It has continued to snow ...... it is expected to keep coming down through tomorrow.  I still find this pretty (we'll see if I am saying the same thing in a few weeks) ....

For the next couple of days, this is how I'll be getting around town....

Just kidding.....   :)

My friend Brian called me this morning from Miami to remind me it is 85 degrees there today....

The bastard.  :)

24 Hour HELL..... Noooo, 24 Hour Triathlon

I’m not really sure what possessed me to mention doing this event to my good friend, Lara Edwards (former “ Lara Cooper” now Edwards having married Billy in June). Clearly I was suffering from some sort of poor cognitive wiring, or perhaps I was simply delusional.

This summer, on a nice August evening, Lara invited me to The Res (Boulder Reservoir) to come cheer for a couple of her colleagues who were doing an impromptu, small triathlon. The great thing about Boulder, especially in the summer, is the constant array of activities available, all within close range. I hopped on my cruiser bike and pedaled the 2-miles to The Res to join her. While chatting, someone was talking about the upcoming late September 24-hour triathlon and my ears perked up. As I eavesdropped on the details of this thing, the wheels began to spin in my head.

As soon as the group walked away, I launched into what I would later painfully regret. :)

CS: Hey Cooper (my continued nickname for her), we should do that!

LE: What?

CS: That 24-hour triathlon those people were talking about.

LE: Really? That’s crazy.

CS: I know. It totally is. Let’s not.

Le: NO! Let’s do it!!!!!
(What I have gone on to learn about this woman is she is truly fearless, and probably among the toughest people I have ever met.)

What have I gotten myself into??? I hadn’t been doing any sort of training for months. A swim or run here or there, but nothing consistent. But I wanted to finish out my abysmal 2009 year with SOMETHING different and something I would be proud of. This certainly was different. I had never done anything like this before, but how hard could it be? I was an athlete!

Only someone this naïve could truly be so STUPID. :)

Cooper and I launched into planning mode. We searched for 2 other partners, but hoped to get 1. A 4-person team would be ideal, but we could handle 3. Naturally, we went to our beloved JZ first and tried to coerce her into getting on board.

CS: C’mon! Do this with us.

JZ: Um, hell no.

CS: Shut up. It will be FUN! Just do it for fun!!

JZ: There is nothing about that idea that sounds even remotely fun.

*Laugh* How can you not completely love this woman! She is nothing if not direct.
Lara chimed in to remind me that there is really nothing that JZ does “for fun”. It’s competition or it’s nothing.

Lara then contacts her friend Amber Rydholm. Amber had just done Ironman Canada but was up for something “fun”. (I think we are all total nutcases as to what we think is fun!) Little did I know this chick would be our fastest player (she would go on to post the fastest bike and run splits for our group!  Stud!). We decided we would do this thing as a gritty, 3-person all-female team and as Lara said, “Our goal is to have some fun and beat some boys!”

24-hour race morning arrived. We had meticulously planned. Thankfully Amber and her husband, Eric, had done events like this before and were completely in the know as to what we would need. I cannot even fathom how completely ill-prepared Lara and I would have been without them. Together our group brought a tent, sleeping bags, a small electric grill “for the warmer food we’d need during the night”, a million changes of clothes for all temperatures, food for an army, head lights and bike lights for the dark hours, and our excited attitude. In addition, Eric offered to be our “race support” for the event.

Why would we need race support?? “Oh, you will!”, Eric insisted. “You’ll need someone with a level head to help keep you guys organized as the night goes on. You’ll need me to be sure everyone is ready for their shift, has eaten, can go get something if you need it, etc.”
I gulped heavily as I realized the scope of this thing was bigger than I had realized. I couldn’t imagine WHY Eric would ever offer to do something like this for us but we all voiced our continued gratitude. I am telling you, my friends all have the GREATEST husbands! Truly.

(I can’t begin to convey how important he, in fact, TRULY was!! I had no clue!! Eric was a GODSEND!)

The rules of 24-hour triathlon are such that you must complete equal portions of swim-bike-run over the 24-hour period. The teams with the most completed tri’s are the winners.
Swim: 500 yards
Bike: 12 miles
Run: 3 miles
Meaning, if you did 19 swim portions but only 16 bikes and 15 runs, your total would only count as 15 completed triathlons and essentially your extra swims and bike would not count. So, planning was imperative to make the most out of the time and keep the total count even at the end.

You could do things in any combination you wished, but there would be no swimming after dark (liability). All swimming needed to be completed by 6:45pm and could resume at 6:45am. Our group decided to front load the swims – we would do approximately 12 swims and then we’d start bringing in the bike and run portions to catch up.

There were about 90 teams doing this thing – all different categories of gender and number of team members. There were 20 teams of 3-people. We’d be racing against some all male teams with some mixed with male-female. We were not intimidated by this, however, and were poised to bring down who we could… all in the name of fun, of course! : )

At 9am the event officially began with about 90 people at the swim start. We rotated through swim loops until about 11am or so and then Eric instructed us to start biking.
Here is me amid some swim loops and then Cooper on one of her loops.

 

 

We each rotated through several hours of tag-team 12-mile cycling loops, resting as much as possible in between our shift. You had the other 2 people doing 12-mile loops until it would be your turn, so you knew you had an estimated 1 hour – 1:10 before you needed to go again. Keeping track of time was critical so you weren’t late for the start of your shift – Eric was AMAZING at how organized he kept our group, giving us time checks when we had a certain amount of time before we were due back in the transition area for the handoff. I can’t begin to tell you how difficult this task would have been as the night went on had we not had him.

By the time you finished your loop and wandered back to the tent area and calmed down your reignited adrenaline, you had about 40:00 until your next shift. It really was impossible to get any sleep like this, but we all relaxed as much as we could. The same was true with the running. Eric organized us each to run 2x 3-mile loops, in essence giving each team member an approximate 1:40 break. Again, you’d try to rest, but there was always music blaring from other team sections or people being rowdy. Plus, you’d meet people and strike up conversations. There really wasn’t a lot of time to be sedate.

We were doing pretty well, but after much of the day our energy began to wane a bit. At one point when Amber was doing her run shift I remember looking at the official clock and saying to Lara, “Oh, wow. It’s already 10:00pm. We’re doing ok.” Lara looked at me to say, “That’s 10 hours, dear.” Ugggggggggggggggggggg. It was only 7:00pm. I was struck by the reality that we weren’t even halfway done. Later I’d get an occasional text from JZ, “how’s it going?” and could only respond in jest, “I’m in hell!” Part of me wasn’t kidding.

We would go on to learn that planning was of the essence. Teams from previous years (they came back again???) had it dialed in – when they would swim, bike or run. We planned it as strategically as possible but still learned a million things we could have done better from watching the other teams. Still, we were doing alright. : )

One of the highlights was the arrival of our friends, Jon Robichaud and Pamela Robbins, at about 9:30pm. They came to support us, bringing us food and renewed energy. They ended up staying through the night to help us, too. What great friends they are!

That beer was for Jon, not the athletes! : ) 

 

 Pamela kindly rubbed by aching back in between my bike shifts.

Jon even grabbed a mountain bike to ride next to me for my 2:00am 6-mile run shift. I had fallen during my previous shift because my headlight was too dim and I tripped over rocks and branches along the off road course. I was exhausted and at this stage your running was more like the Ironman shuffle. I asked Jon if he would go with me this time and he didn't hesitate - he put a bright light on his head so my path was much better lit, and pedaling at snail pace next to me, kept me going with funny stories for the whole 6 mile shuffle. I was really touched by how much our friends were doing to support such a ridiculous thing we were doing. They really wanted to help us.

Every once in a while you'd see a white light bobbing in the distance that slowly would make its way towards you in the darkness of the night.  There were no other lights out but headlights, it was pitch black.  You wouldn't see an actual person until they were right on you, but you both would always exchange an exhausted, encouraging nod. "Good job", I would breathlessly say to each person.  As if on cue, a somber "You too" was heard in response.  Like veterans of the same war, we helped our fellow competitors along this CRAZY ASS journey. 

As the night went on, it became colder, and colder, AND COLDER. Someone said it was 48 degrees but I refused to let that register. Despite my 3 bags full of stuff, I somehow failed to bring more warm clothing. This was a critical error. Only having brought one sports bra (WHAT was I thinking?), this would increase how cold I got as the wet bra from sweating during the run or bike would then turn to ice against my body when I stopped moving. No matter how many layers I put on, I could not get warm. Hours 1am-4am were among the most horrible of my entire life. I cannot convey how absolutely frozen I was and how completely miserable I was. Thankfully I kept my complaining or whining to a minimum, but I couldn’t stop thinking that I had signed up for this bullshit as something “fun” to do. Eric kept bringing me scalding hot tea to try to get me warm and often expressed concerns by how blue (cold) I looked as I shivered profusely. The other hours had not been too bad but I have to admit that these 3 hours were utterly horrific to me. I realized in these hours that I am not nearly as tough as I had once thought.

I don’t remember a time in my life I had wished for daylight so heartily! Once 6am hit and the sun rose, I began to thaw and our team was motivated to finish this crap! :) Our final 3 hours were among the fastest splits of the whole event.  We gals started hauling serious ass.  Despite very little sleep and a night of bitter cold, our dispositions improved, there was tons of laughing and cheering, and we were rocking! I don’t know where the hell that came from but we were on fire. As we crossed the line at hour 24, the results were in. We had done 21 full triathlons, a feat we found amazing, and SOMEHOW ended up winning our division!! Only 1 team of all-men had beaten us! For our first attempt at a race like this we more than impressed ourselves. We were proud of one another as a team.

 

Both Lara and Amber were utterly amazing to me. They were both so tough and remained so resilient throughout the whole thing. Never once did either of them complain and they were always pushing themselves harder. They were the glue of our team, that was for sure --- and both of them most certainly got me through it. I had gone into it expecting to toe the line. Despite being out of shape I was the professional athlete in the group. Clearly the mental and physical edge was mine and I would be able to help them both a lot. WRONG. Are you kidding? Those two were 10x what I was, mentally and physically. I am not joking. I was both inspired and humbled.

I am not sure I would describe this race as “fun”. As Cooper put it, “We did it once, no need for us to ever have to do it again!” … but I will say it most definitely got me out of my comfort zone which I think always forces you to face things about yourself you may not like, or reveals your weaknesses –and your strengths. Perhaps all of these. And, really, only in these moments of learning can you TRULY choose to be brave or choose to quit. Though I am surprised by the many personal weaknesses I saw in myself, I also CHOSE NOT TO QUIT.

That’s the Sharpie I respect. And, I have always felt, there is no feeling finer than true self respect. There is no self respect when things are easy. Self respect is felt when you stand there, face in the fire, and press on. You don’t need to do a 24-hour insane event to feel this about yourself. Learnings like this are all around you – if you have the courage to face them.

Do you?

Yoga Reloaded :)

Recently a friend of mine asked if I wanted to take her yoga class. She is a recent convert and has begun teaching her own class. People in Colorado are SERIOUS about their yoga and being yogis. It is almost its own religion.

This prompted my memory of the last yoga class I took and thought I'd repost my blog about it for some of you who didn't catch it then. Writers are typically not great fans of their own work - we are too self critical - but I'll admit to getting a slight giggle from myself with this one... ;)

A paste from September 2008:

I recently had another birthday. Oh goodie. :)

As a birthday treat, my dear friend and life/work mentor, Susan Edwards, exclaimed she wanted to "take me to Bikram (hot) yoga". I'd been resisting this for a while now. My Boulder cohort, Brandon DelCampo, is an avid, psycho hot yoga fan, often going multiple times a day! "C'Mon, Sharps. Come to yoga!", he'd try to coerce. But I wasn't having it. Mostly it was due to my PT's insistence I not go ... too many poses and awkward positions not too good for the healing SI joint.

The other reason... let's call a spade a spade: FEAR.

But for Susan, the woman who has hauled my butt out of more dark holes and given me the platform for several professional upgrades in the work force, I would do most anything. In keeping with my theme of trying new things this summer, being brave, facing fears, accepting new challenges without shrinking, I decided it was time for Bikram.

En route to Susan's place that morning I lamented with my best friend Doreen over the phone... "Dude, she wants to take me to hot yoga! Is she serious? Couldn't she take me to BREAKFAST? Or take me to the Zoo? Nooooo, she wants to take me to BIKRAM YOGA!"

Doreen giggled at my usual histrionics.

Anything new is a big deal for me. To put it more plainly: I have a sports-ego and always have. I don't have to be the best at something, but I have to be able to do it adequately. This ego makes the development of new skills extremely tough. I also worry that someday I’ll be on Youtube as entertainment for thousands. I seem to have two problems: concentration and coordination.
Think Yoga requires these things??

As Susan and I drove over, she counseled me that I may have various reactions, that "stuff" may come out of me during class.
Stuff? Like what? gas?
NO!, she laughed... stuff like issues. It was a pretty intense experience.
Phew... if it's not triathlon I certainly don't want to be releasing butt-gas on people!

We walked into the studio and I felt myself gasp involuntarily. Here I had spent my entire summer escaping the brutality of Atlanta temperatures yet I was now paying to relive them. The heat hit me in the face like opening the oven door to check on cookies. That, and there was this odor -- kind of like day-old Chinese food mixed with that smell of the dirty gym bag you open a day too late.

Like many women, I immediately calculated the comparative fat levels in the room: I was by far the fattest person. The female instructor came in and 90 hellish minutes began.

“If you’re here for the first time, remember if you’re going to pass out, just stop. Drink water at any time. Don’t start wandering around in a stupor, stay on your mat. Then I know you’re safe … Don’t worry, you probably won’t be able to do everything and that's ok. You are your own person so don't compare yourself with anyone else in the room.”

Whatever, chick. Get these people to a pool and I am kicking everyone's ASS!

We stood, feet planted 6-inches apart, and stretched our arms up. OK, I'm a bit dizzy but I can handle this. She instructed us to breathe. On cue the whole class began a frightening, loud, gutteral panting series that sounded like Darth Vader practicing Lamaze. My eyes popped open, I had to see this. I bit my lip HARD to help keep me from bursting into laughter.

As the class progressed, my hair was soaking wet and sticking straight out like a clown. Eventually I barely noticed the 103 degree room heat. I just concentrated on doing the poses correctly.

“Look in the mirror”, our instructor called out.

“I’d rather not,” I thought to myself.

The part about not being able to do everything was an understatement. I listened hard to the constant instructions. We went into one pose after another. I was sweating and dripping all over my yoga mat. While some of the poses were extremely hard, others were impossible. Our instructor would explain a move and I was shaking with the effort of just the preamble to the move. Sometimes to deepen a stretch we were instructed to wrap our fingers around our toes for resistance, upon which, my fingers would slip and snap loose because my sweaty hands and feet were as slippery as a hooked fish flopping on the floor of a boat. Ugh. I was exhausted.

Finally, class was over. I collapsed on my raft and waited for rescue.

Susan was right (and so was Brandon). It’s a great experience. I may even keep it up. You do feel great when it’s over. You are all stretched out, soaking wet, and you have taken a total break from your life. In those 90 minutes your biggest worry was getting your chin up or not falling over when you were standing on one leg.

In the crowded class of about 25 women and 10 men, I got what I came for. Calm, pain, clarity, sweat, even-ness, respite.

I also got an absolutely killer leg workout.

More than anything, I appreciated the way that hot yoga is "quiet". Not in the aural sense, but in the experiential sense. It is so different than any other physical activity I do. Slow and intentional. Reflective in its agony. Relentless in its insistence that you stop rushing and start paying attention.

And amid the searing pain of holding, holding, holding (those bastards make it look so easy!) I solidified and finalized my thoughts around what I want for myself this year, and how I’m going to make it real.

Whoever said you have to be good at everything? :)

"Crazy Lady" down the street

If you are here looking for a touchy-feely, the world is sunshine and roses blog about how wonderful life is....STOP, turn around and back away slowly. Don't make any sudden moves, you don't want to startle the natives. My life is like a car wreck - you don't want to look but you just can't help yourself! As my loyal readers know, I am blunt, cynical and sarcastic - all necessary character traits for the successful navigation through this insane world. I call it like I see it. You have been warned. ;) My latest update speaks to my warning.

I’ve not written about her yet, but this story is worth the introduction.

There is a woman I have affectionately dubbed “Crazy Lady” who lives a few doors down.  She’s prone to social missteps and is now known for her unintelligible (and inaudible!) attempts at sentence structure in order to convey her thoughts.  Oh, and don’t get me started on the beehive hairdo and wool knee socks worn with sandals…  Oye!

Crazy Lady homeschools her 10-year old kid, whom I’ve naturally dubbed “Crazy Spawn”.   I’m not necessarily a huge advocate of home schooling even when the parents are intelligent (there are success stories – but I worry about missed socialization aspects), but Crazy Spawn is indeed taught at home.    I’ve made numerous attempts to befriend Crazy Spawn, as I have a cordial, waving hello relationship with a few of the other kids on the block.  Many of them play outside during the daytime and they’re good kids.

Against my better judgment and intense dislike of crazy, her kid has been playing in our yard lately. Yesterday afternoon after school, a bunch of the kids played with sidewalk chalk. I stayed out there for a little bit to make sure everyone was getting along.  They were playing hopscotch and hangman, thankfully there was no plotting to overthrow their parents or planning a coup to take over the neighborhood.   After about half an hour I was bored out of my mind and had to go inside to make dinner and left a few of the good kids in the next door driveway with Crazy Spawn. An hour later, I went outside to take a look at the chalk drawing progress.  Take a look at what my bulged out eyes saw!  I confronted a few of the good kids who said that Crazy Spawn had drawn the picture and he had identified all the body parts for the whole neighborhood.   Lovely.

 

In the middle of that picture, do you see the reason for my eyebrows to be almost off the top of my forehead? Still not sure? Let me show you a little closer.

 

Still not totally sure what you're looking at there? Hmmmm. How about this one?

 

My first thought upon seeing this drawing was that the chalk lady had some massive boobs. Then I noticed she was headless. Then I happened to notice she was also either a transvestite or perhaps a hermaphrodite.

For Real?

The sidewalk chalk has now been retired until next summer.  I had to hose down the driveway before any of the other neighbors saw the porn and got scared.

I feel dirty.