Category: Yoga

“Hot” Yoga in the Dark

For two hours, the electrical grid malfunctioned in the county. Just in time to attend my Sunday morning hot yoga class. Before leaving for class, I asked my father’s caregiver to help me carry our generator out of the garage.

Even though Dad had a fully charged portable oxygen machine, I erred on the side of caution. I didn’t want the caregiver to leave before getting the generator, knowing that my 84-year-old mother couldn’t help me move it. Of course, my sister could have helped later on.

As a matter of fact, my sister was the only one who knew how to work the damn thing. I’d meant to learn how to operate it sooner, but similar to the situation where you’re not motivated to fix the leaky roof when the sun’s shining, I’d forgotten all about doing so until then.

I called my sister and had the caregiver leave her phone number on voicemail. I also texted my sister since I knew she was at Bible study and would attend church immediately following. I figured that in between, she’d explain to the caregiver about how to work the generator.

Then, I gathered my things and drove to yoga. Normally, that’s an uneventful straight shot down the street from my neighborhood. Without electricity, even for the traffic lights, that short trip was scary.

At the most dangerous intersection, a woman in the left turn lane eased her humongous SUV into the intersection. I gambled that no one on that fine Sunday morning felt fatalistic. The cross traffic respected our presence. She completed her left turn as I continued straight.

Once I safely arrived at the studio, the instructors all proudly announced that classes would continue. They assured us that since the previous class was hot, our class would at least be warm.

Given the power of cell phones, they all had flashlights and our yoga instructor still connected her phone to the portable speaker. The harsh glare of the emergency light made visibility possible and we still had a strong, crowded practice of motivated yogis.

On the drive back home, there were still no police directing traffic at the busiest intersection, but as soon as I’d safely transversed, I became far more hopeful since the next traffic light worked. As I neared home, I couldn’t tell whether the lights had returned in my neighborhood until I arrived home. I’d purposely left the breezeway light on. It was off.

Dejected, I checked in with Dad and the caregiver before attempting to take a phone-lit shower. When the caregiver informed me that my sister had not called her to explain how to work the generator, I silently fumed.

I took a deep breath, trying not to allow the good vibes from yoga dissipate so soon. My mind mulled over how my sister didn’t apply any of her Christian-ness and “charity begins at home” to the emergency situation at home.

Although Dad’s portable oxygen machine had enough juice until she’d arrived, what if the caregiver had needed to move him from upstairs? The chair lift would have needed the generator to work.

The electricity returned as I calmed myself down. Since no emergency arose during the outage, I knew there was no reason to address why she hadn’t contacted the caregiver. She would have just brushed it off, causing me to get angry all over again.

One of the best things about being an older adult with a temper is that I both accept my limitations and minimize interactions that would flare my temper. Also, I accept that my sister wouldn’t have reconsidered her actions based on hypothetical harm that Dad may have suffered.

After all the internal drama, I watched several videos to learn how to work that antiquated generator. Mindfulness is not merely being meditative in a yoga class. It is also being aware that when the electricity is on, that’s the perfect time to learn a new lifesaving skill.

More Movement Medicine

I’d wanted the same friend who’d attended the modified Barre class with me last month to attend the free introductory class with me as well. She told me that she was already paying membership at three places and didn’t want to add a fourth. I threw my head back and laughed.

I enrolled in a 4-class monthly membership, making Barre my fourth. To recap, I have a 12-class monthly membership for pole fitness; a renewable 20-class pass, mostly for hot yoga, although I’ll do an occasional warm or cool class for a different discipline; and a gym membership for access to an indoor pool and usually one hot yoga class and an occasional Zumba or water aerobics class.

Would I love to combine all of those things conveniently under one roof? Of course! And yet, there are seven days in the week and most of those days find me in one exercise setting or another.

The yoga studio I used to be a member of in Austin had a tagline: Yoga Is Medicine. Well, it’s not just yoga. The key is to keep moving and for some of that movement to be in a group setting.

I’d always heard people complain that working from home felt isolating. I avoid that feeling through exercise. I don’t worry too much about non-exercise socializing because that usually isn’t active and costs money.

Adding to the challenge, I’ve recently started the 6-month adventure of studying for my pharmacy technician’s license. As much as I enjoy nerding-out and learning something new, the truth of the matter is that I want to advance either up the food chain or at least make more money in a different position. The cherry on top is that the company is paying for both the course and the exam.

Regardless of my professional ambition, I have to dedicate nearly an hour a day to keep pace with the online program. So far, it’s inviting coursework, which I can do all on my iPad. I manage to get it all done without having to sacrifice any of my workout time.

One of the reasons the “Freshman 15” was a thing was that more time was spent sitting around studying and not eating well. Unlike when I was freshman in undergrad, I schedule exercise classes and even stand on my vibration plate for 15 minutes after lunch, Monday-Friday, just so I can make sure there’s movement once I put my standing desk down for the second half of the work day.

As one retired woman told me at the gym, for the first six months after retirement, she thought she could become a couch potato and relax into her golden years. At the end of six months, she could barely walk without a walker.

I’ll definitely heed her lived example. Although I’ve aged out of certain strenuous activities such as capoeira, mainly because I’ve slowed down and not in the mood to dodge a kick, there are other strenuous activities that will keep me moving for the rest of my life.

Breakfast for Dinner

In my latest attempt to align my lifestyle with my health goals, I researched what meals are better to eat a few hours prior to working out. Turns out, the egg and avocado pairing that I usually eat every morning is perfect for a light meal. The challenge is that I’m not going to eat that twice in one day.

I had to find something uncomplicated to make in the morning for myself since I also make breakfast for Dad. As a matter of fact, that “eggs every morning” breakfast I prepared was Dad’s expectation. For the sake of simplicity, I cooked enough for the both of us.

Years ago, I’d kicked the vast majority of breakfast foods to the curb, given the sheer amount of diabetes-inducing sugar they all contained. As I’ve gotten older and menopausal, weight gain occurs as seemingly easy as merely looking at food and alcohol.

My canary in the coal mine is my left eye. Ever since I was in middle school, when I started wearing glasses, it has been the weaker of the two eyes. Now my weaker eye has the added phenomenon of experiencing a dull ache whenever I’m too stressed or have consumed too much sugar. My left eye has even gone temporarily blind with an overload of stress.

Most of my stress relief has been exercise, which, up until I hit menopause, also helped with weight management. Now, I’ve entered brand-new territory as I navigate how to maintain an enjoyable and healthy life. Those two pursuits don’t have much common ground.

The goal is to ward off diabetes and other ills through diet and exercise. I already exercise on a regular basis. Plus, I’ve stopped having a daily glass of wine. It’s no longer feasible to buy the large boxes of wine since it goes bad before I finish drinking it.

So, I have oatmeal for breakfast, followed by my biggest meal of the day, lunch, with a light snack for dinner, then a small serving of mixed nuts with dried fruit after working out. I’m still trying to gauge if that post-workout snack has too many calories to sleep on or if weight gain is inevitable regardless. I don’t want to negate the workout, but I cannot go to sleep without a little something to keep stomach growls at bay.

Who Runs the World

At the reversal of Roe vs. Wade, I feared that my country was rapidly returning to primitive times. Then, last month, the most energizing thing happened, the Democratic presidential candidate made the ultimate, patriotic, political sacrifice and withdrew his name from the race and endorsed his Vice President, who was already the first woman of color to hold that position, now poised to become the first woman of color to have a realistic opportunity of becoming POTUS.

Political endorsements, donations, and sheer excited energy poured in. The optimistic momentum continued when the Democratic VP was picked. Some sheepishly stated in a hushed tone that the candidate had to be a white man. Why be shy at being realistic? When lies from political opponents are confidently shouted, pragmatic statements should be asserted with the same boldness.

The burden/worry that I had not realized I’d been carrying had been lifted. With waves of renewed optimism and positive developments, I attended my usual Sunday morning hot yoga class. As a fluke of fate, we were a crowded room of women. When our yoga instructor realized the all-women’s attendance, she knew exactly which playlist to use: all-female artists.

When Beyonce’s “Run the World (Girls)” came on, I knew that was the theme song of the class. I couldn’t help but believe that the song should feature in the upcoming Democratic National Convention as well.

I normally don’t watch the DNC because at this point in the election season, I already know who I’m voting for. I didn’t bother to watch the first day, but of course, I saw clips. The second day, however, I tuned in to watch the Obamas. Those political rockstars never fail to inspire and entertain. Michelle Obama brought the house down in such a way that even President Obama admitted that he was the only fool who’d dare follow her.

In reality, they had helped one another with their speeches, so he knew full well that he was setting up Michelle with a speech full of zingers. My favorite one dealt with who was going to tell the Republican presidential candidate that the job he’s working so hard to get, is a Black job. My sister and I screamed and threw our hands in the air.

I’m so proud of the fact that high-profile, successful Black people are turning that racist suggestion that undocumented immigrants are taking Black jobs on its ear. Black people define what jobs are for us. Not someone who had never been Black a day in his life and who consistently demonstrates the “soft bigotry of low expectations.”

As much as the opposition have derided the newly chosen Democratic presidential candidate being a mere diversity hire, as I looked at the enormous crowd that gathered to cheer her on, I saw a reflection of the richness of America. EVERYONE was there. Even lifelong Republicans who believed that their party had been hijacked by a(n) (insert your own label) .

Both the Democratic presidential and vice presidential candidates came from hard-working families and had not inherited political and economic power from their family. In other words, they are both relatable to the masses and living proof that the American dream can be attained.

Many were pressing the new Democratic presidential candidate for policy details. For now, I’m inspired that her campaign is bringing the joy. I’m not just ready for a generational change, but also a change from hatred and fear mongering. Bring on the joy!

Stretch n Sip

Normally, I don’t drink before a workout, but the whole point of this Friday stretch class was to combine happy hour with fitness. I’d had a “detox/retox” experience before, but never simultaneously!

As what often happens in this town, either nothing special is going on, or EVERYTHING happens during the same weekend. So, I took a half day off, running errands after lunch, swimming and THEN attending this exercise class with alcohol.

While waiting in a slow-moving line, I picked up a local community paper and on the monthly calendar, saw the event:

As usual, I scouted out my spot in the room once I entered. I like being as close to the front as possible. Not just to hear and see what posture the instructor will lead us into next, but also, I’ve developed an aversion to other people’s feet in all my years of doing Bikram yoga.

Next, I perused the selection of wines, which ranged from moscato (yuck) to a more palatable cabernet sauvignon. Tweety and I weren’t having any of the sweet (neither red nor white) or whites, which only left cab.

I nursed that one drink throughout the entire class, which definitely put me in the “lightweight” category. Other women truly embraced the happy hour aspect of the evening. The alcohol didn’t loosen me up, but the mood of the class was comparatively rowdier than usual.

As a matter of fact, humans consuming alcohol made for a livelier class than the stretch class I’d attended with four baby goats. Those kids occasionally bleated throughout the class. On the other hand, with each new posture, a choir of participants were very verbal about their experience.

Especially a woman behind me. She was hilarious. I’m not sure that was merely the effect of alcohol. At one point, she requested that we do the plow position again because she wanted to hook one of her legs around a pole to assist her.

After class, I met my sister and a friend at a restaurant that we’d never tried before. That was another reason I hadn’t refilled my wine glass. I’d wanted to order the hot honey mango margarita, but the restaurant was out. Instead I got a coconut margarita, which wasn’t as good as the one I make at home, but did have the added deliciousness of toasted sliced almonds on top.

I happily used the two cocktail straws as chopsticks to eat the almonds. At the end of dinner, when the server was at the table to help us settle the bill, I misfired with the cocktail straws, causing one to flip up over my head, flinging drink and almonds. No one at the table even saw that. They were all looking at their devices. I couldn’t believe it as I asked them if I had anything in my hair.

As I turned to see if anyone in the booth behind us was reacting to a straw projectile, I spied the straw in the seat between my friend and me. I’d like to credit/dedicate the foolishness of that moment to the spirit of the stretch and sip.

Unicorn Sighting

When I signed up for my Sunday hot yoga class, I noted that the class would be taught by a sub. Although I really liked the regular instructor, whose thematic playlists included “spelling bee” (songs that spelled at least one word), and cars/”riding” (songs that mentioned cars or sex), I knew that I’d still get a good workout.

Since I’d attended class at that studio several times, I confidently set up in the front row beside the only other person in that row, a Black man. A few minutes later, one of my dance friends set up in the front row on the other side of me. My attention totally went to talking with her as we did our pre-class warm ups.

After finishing my hip-opening exercises, I laid on my back with my eyes closed for a few minutes.

When I heard the substitute yoga instructor welcoming the class, I didn’t immediately open my eyes, but, I’d hoped that he wasn’t looking at me since I trust that I pulled a face.

The Black guy beside me was the sub. I knew that the sub would be a guy, yet I wasn’t expecting a Black guy. I’d practiced yoga for over 30 years and had white/Asian/Latino/gay/recovering addict male yoga teachers, but NEVER a Black male.

I admonished myself for initially picturing a white sub. I wouldn’t have mentally put myself in the time-out corner if the sub had been in any other demographic.

Throughout class, I processed my assumptions, but not to the point that I didn’t keep up with class. I still got my experience’s worth, especially with one of my exercise friends right beside me, who motivated me to do my best. After all, in the other stretch class that we attended, that instructor would literally call us out if we didn’t take the advanced modifications for certain stretches.

After class, I thanked the sub, just like I did after every other class I’d attended. I also took myself out of the corner, comforting myself that other than my initial reaction to discovering that the yoga teacher was a Black man and possibly his seeing a brief change of my facial expression if he’d happened to be looking at me in that moment when he started class, I hadn’t outwardly acted differently.

Since I believe in being the change I want to see in the world, I openly acknowledge my bias. I also realize that no matter how open-minded I am, assumptions still sneak up on me. My only saving grace was that I still practiced as I would have normally. I even avoided any awkward or microaggression of over-thanking him for being the first Black male yoga teacher I’d ever had after three decades.

I’m going to save that revelation for after I know him for a while.