On the scale of lameness (10 being, super), is it an 11 that it's Friday night, or Saturday morning, as it were, and I'm blogging? The problem, you see, and I'm about to reveal new heights of lameness, is that I just ate about a zillion tons, plus chocolate, plus ice cream, and now I'm too pukey to go to bed.
The night started off innocently enough. Bob picked me up so that we could head to the Ana Forrest workshop. Since the Sox were playing (they won!) we had to leave like an hour early just to get parking in Back Bay, and in the end it paid off b/c we scored a really sweet spot. (Sad that I get excited about parking spaces in Boston, but they're so rare it's like finding money.) Tonight was the second Forrest Yoga class I've ever taken, and so why not jump right in with its founder? (Forrest yoga, that is - not all yoga. Yoga's like 5000 years old. It's older than Jesus. Ana isn't.) Anyways, there's a reason she's famous. Because it's physically easier to run an ultra-marathon barefoot and naked in Antarctica than it is to finish one of her three hour workshops. Holy shit. I had no idea what I was in for. In case you're wondering, yoga is like cereal -- the underpinnings may be similar but there are about five million different flavors -- so it's possible, and likely, to be proficient in one lineage and get your ass handed to you in another.
I knew I was totally screwed when we started off the class with abs. In my own practice, I always wait till almost the end to do them and by that time I can make the excuse that I'm too tired to do them. Having no reasonable excuses at hand, I partook and it wasn't pretty. She teaches abs in the most preciously articulate (read: S-L-O-W) way which ensures maximum benefit (read: unadulterated pain). The next 2 hours and 45 minutes were really a blur. I would have just curled up in fetal position and wept, but I have my pride.
Okay, in truth, I had fun. I was a total beginner and much of the practice was completely foreign to my body, and yes, this is my definition of a good time. I was sliding on my mat (I forgot a towel) and I hung out in child's pose a lot, but I really liked being challenged in a new way. I'll definitely be taking more Forrest yoga classes in the future. I also found it interesting that even though I "accepted" being a beginner I found myself with a full set of expectations and an overflowing cup that had to be emptied regularly.
One exception to the class -- same thing in the last Forrest class I took (that one wasn't taught by Ana) so I'm not sure if this is unique to the style or what?? -- why do you Forrestonians have to make all those loud orgasmic sounds when you're practicing? Once or twice, okay -- emotion is overtaking you. But every down dog, every twist, every sit up? Come on. It's distracting, annoying, and well, weird. On the up side, I was slightly turned on.
So the last thing Ana said to the class was something about eating clean and light. The state of my brain at that point was pure mush, so I took "clean" to mean fried. Bob, Adam, Chanel, and I went to Pho Republique for dinner. At 10:30. Very European of us since it appears that Boston practically shuts down at 11. Pho Republique is like new-Vietnamese and the kind of restaurant I wish I would have discovered eight months ago. After a short wait, we quickly devoured two orders of sashimi tuna spring rolls, golden tofu, crab fried rice, and, well, some pho. The only thing that prevented us from eating more was the promise of chocolate-drizzled banana spring rolls for dessert. We left disappointed (relatively) b/c they don't serve those on the weekends anymore. Completely uncool.
After waddling out, I got home, and since it's been 4 days since I last indulged in chocolate, I busted out the dark stuff and some honey peanut butter. Thoroughly sick on that, naturally I moved on to ice cream. Why? I don't know. I'm asking myself that very question. I would spend more energy on it, but it's all I can do to keep from throwing up right now and thinking would send me over the edge.
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My little brother is in a vipassana course right now. I'm SO impressed. I have neither the balls nor the patience for it, and I'm always amazed at others who can get through it. I'm pretty sure I uttered my first words in utero, so the likelihood that I could stop talking for 10 days is, umm, zero.
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I cried wolf earlier when I said Spring was here; little did I know that it would last six more weeks. On Monday it was in the 40s and I was beyond pissed that it was May and I was still wearing my winter jacket. Today however, it's official -- it's Spring! It was 80. Now I know what the buzz is about. Driving around Boston tonight there were "stoop parties" -- how cute!, tons of people out walking, and a general vitality that was previously dormant. It's still not convincing enough to make me weather another winter, though I am enjoying it.
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I had some other really deep stuff to write about, but sleepiness has usurped digestion for highest priority, so I'm out.
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P.S. The squirrels, wisely, have cooled their jets. I knew they could read.
Anonymous, you were right -- there is a hole under the roof's ledge which they nimbly use for entrance. My concern now is that if they close up the hole, they'll do so when there are still squirrels in there, and I can't imagine having to listen to a squirrel dying to death from starvation or whatever. Is that totally improbable and I just revealed my IQ?