Been practicing, just not blogging nor reading blogs. Finished up work in the past week and now in Mexico for 3 weeks. Practice has been good, consistent and whole. I’ve not been working on anything in particular, but rather just putting my all into the entire practice and being happy with where I am. I’ve found a Mysore class here in Bucerias (north of Puerto Vallarta) and hope to check it out.
Over next couple of weeks, I’m going to work on handstand on the beach. I’ve got a handstand but I need to do I against the wall to get the slightest of toe touches and then I can hold it unassisted. So the goal is to kick up away from any support and then fall on the cushion of the sand. Worked on it today on the beach after practice and held one for 2 breathes….A start.
I’m reading Opening Skinner’s Box and I love looking back at what the medical profession used to do.
Here is UD the next day but shot at a different angle. Five slow breaths and 5 different attempts. You can see the chest opening, legs becoming straighter and arms moving more into position more clearly.
I’ve been working on long breaths in UD for a few weeks now and do 5. At first, I found 5 hard but as I did more and more, I’m sure I got stronger, but more importantly, my shoulders moved closer and closer over my wrists. This made the pose much less muscular and certainly more aligned and therefore, the skeletal system took over from the muscular system. I know the changes are subtle in the pictures, but at the end of 5 long sets of UD, you can see my chest open, legs straighten and shoulders move closer to the wrists. It’s a pose that requires time to open not just daily, but over the weekly practices as well. In one practice, it can really change a great deal from the first attempt to the last.
I got into the bathroom and I looked right at my chest. My shirt was off by now and for some reason I thought that if I looked at it and rubbed it, that I could cure it. The pain had subsided, but the buzz lingered like after a shock and my chest was turning red from my frantic rubbing of the area around where my heart was hopefully still working properly. I don’t remember much else, but looking at myself in the mirror, what I had become did not match up to the image I had of myself in my head. I was soft, weak and dough-like. In my head, I had an image of myself much different than that of what others were seeing; a strong, fit and healthy person. The ironic thing about it was that I felt like this when I was drunk.
Over the next few weeks, I put the incident out of my immediate thoughts. I also gave up doing yoga and concentrated on running and biking since my Achilles tendon was pretty much healed. I figured that I could walk it off or at least beat the problem out of my body. For the most part, it worked. I dropped a bit of weight, didn’t feel any chest pain and told myself that I felt better about myself. So good in fact that I was rather jovial and going out to a lot of dinner parties and social gatherings. Several weeks after the chest incident, my wife and I hosted a Valentine’s day party. Long story short, I ended up throwing up in our guest bathroom after large amounts of Johnny Walker and some Cuban cigars (no idea where they came from but I found them the next day and could smell them on my fingers). I threw up so hard that the only way I could make it stop was to start coughing. After exhausting all the fluids in my body and losing consciousness, my shivering woke me up near dawn almost frozen.
That day I cleaned up and slept in the afternoon feeling really down both physically and mentally. After getting up, I went for a run to atone for my sins. My body started up like an old car and I was really stiff and heavy. Plodding along, something inside of me started to talk to me for the first time. It’s only message was “How long do you think you can keep this up?”. I knew I had become dependant on drinking and my few smokes a day. The idea of being able stop seemed an absolute impossibility. The interesting thing about all this was that I was running in an Islamic country where drinking is very marginal. I remember thinking as I ran by several covered women in their traditional dress, “How on earth can you never drink?” I had always looked in blank awe at people at parties that could go all night with just water. I didn’t get it. I mean, who didn’t want to feel this good.
As my body fought me every step of the run, I at least started to feel my blood moving and felt better. “See, a bit of drink and good times and the body springs back”. Sadly, this is the way my mind kept punishing my body and then tried to justify its abuse. I’ll bet everybody who drinks heavily and smokes always holds on to that one story that they heard on the news of the 101 year old grandmother who smoked and drank all her life or of the fitness nut that died at 35 of a massive heart attack. I did. And despite my body now asking questions to my mind of “How do you propose I keep living like this?, I muted the voice with the overwhelming evidence that I must be OK since I was massively hung over and still out for a run. I ran and ran a few more kilometers and each step got easier and my mood lightened and the hangover cloud started to dissipate.
The road I ran down was by the American Cemetery in Tunis which is where all the fallen soldiers of the allied forces of WWII are laid to rest. It’s a lovely tree covered road and the route of my run took me to the end of it and then I doubled back. Getting to the end I turned to the left and looked over my shoulder to cross the road and that is when a strong “snap” went in my chest. No sound, but the feeling was so strong that I felt I could hear it. And it sounded just like somebody taking a branch and snapping it half right in my heart. It was worse than last time and knocked me down to my knees. My chest felt all twitchy and my eyes where frantically looking all around like people do when they hear bad news and their brains are trying to figure out what the hell just happened. It hurt when I inhaled or thought about moving. I let myself crumple into a seated position and again started to rub the area like a surgeon massaging a heart that’s stopped. Like before, the pain subsided and I just felt like I was jacked up on caffeine. I wasn’t just scared, but now I was pissed off, “Why the fuck does this keep happening?” And I knew now that I had to see a doctor and tell my wife. I slowly stood up and now unable to run, walked slowly back home down the cemetery road.
My wife and I were in a Korean Tea house yesterday to seek some refuge from the cold winds while shopping. These style of little houses are much like entering somebodies home and these lovely older women serve you a selection of very complex, healthy and delicious teas. It was busy yesterday and the floor was filled with people sitting on the floor with their tea on these low tree trunk tables. There were 2 women sitting next to us on the floor and one was sitting up perfectly straight, legs crossed and her knees on the floor. To see people sitting with perfect posture and very loose hips is not an uncommon sight in Asia. Last year in India, we stayed in Mumbai and the hotel was on Marine Drive. In the mornings, people walk along the sea getting to work and exercising. On our first morning there, I woke up, opened the drapes and saw a man sitting on the wall in full lotus. I wanted to snap his picture but the time I got the camera, he had switched to Virasana.
Just a few months a go in Seoul, I got on a bus and sat down next to an older man (at least 60+). To make more room for me as I sat down, he effortlessly took off his shoes, and crossed his legs into half lotus and continued to read his paper.
So sitting in the tea house yesterday, although not uncommon, I was still admiring this woman’s perfect seated posture. As their conversation continued, she switched back and forth from simply crossed legs to different versions of half lotus. At some point in their conversation, it must have got interesting and she became more animated. She was in the process of crossing her right leg into half lotus, when something here tea-mate said made her sit up and bend her left leg. Without even knowing it, she had just sat into Marichyasana B. All she was missing was the arm wrap around her left knee. And she didn’t even know it or skip a beat in her conversation.
Day 7 Moustache update (still in goatee, but will shave it into a moustache at the end of the month)
I’m working on the lowering down and back up from Bhujapidasana. I can get onto my arms high enough so I can cross my feet and lower partially down, but in the last few centimeters, “gently” fall to the ground on the my forehead. Coming up as well is more of a muscling out of it rather than a lift up. Once I start lowering down, I enter the “stall” zone like in jumping back, where I find myself powerless and not even sure of where to put my effort. More bandha work as always. Sorry for the poor video quality, but it had just gotten dark, my yoga room is small and Mac cameras have a pretty low light sensitivity.
Day 3 of Moustache for Cancer
If you would like to donate (and please do) the site is Movember and our team is called Furry Phoenix (Phoenix is the mascot of our school). The explanation of why I’m doing this is here
…ahhh, sweet vinyassa. How I’ve missed you. After my pulled muscle/tumor/fatal constipation/hernia ordeal, practice has resumed. And to add a bit of further sweetness, I did all of the jumpbacks/through on my hands.
Today was day 5 of 6, and the first 4 were done with step forward and back vinyassas with any stomach heavy asanas skipped. It was therapeutic in a way since it is the first break my body has had in 11 months of 6 days a week practice. I noticed a few kinks here and there going away but overall, I didn’t like how I was feeling. After practice, I felt only half inflated (or perhaps deflated) and was worried about losing strength. But thanks to yogic wisdom and no thanks to my paranoid brain, practice was solid today. I did ease up in Navasana and Urdva Dhanurasana, but still did them. Other than that, I was excited all day to practice, smiled all the way through it and loved the closing sequence.
Day 2 of my moustache for cancer (and yes I have hit puberty, despite the pictures that seem to contradict that)
Moustache Update–Day 2
If you would like to donate (and please do) the site is Movember and our team is called Furry Phoenix (Phoenix is the mascot of our school). The explanation of why I’m doing this is here
I work at an International American School in Korea and there are a few on staff that would like to raise money for caner; specifically prostate cancer and Livestrong. My father just died from pancreatic cancer and last year, we lost a friend in his late 30’s to cancer as well. Cancer research money is needed to help not only find cures, but to improve the quality of life of those suffering.
This fund raiser is a bit of new one. It’s call Movember and instead of doing some heroic feet of endurance, you simply look for moustache sponsors. I’m all for fund raising but I’m a little limited in my hair growing abilities, but I still wanted to participate and give my best shot. Sadly, we’re 10 days into November, and that already puts my beard-challenged face at an even greater disadvantage.
If you would like to donate (and please do) the site is Movember and our team is called Furry Phoenix (Phoenix is the mascot of our school). I’ll post pictures of my progress throughout the month. Wish me luck.
Day 1 (24 hours no shave)–not that many can have much stubble at this point, but there are a few guys that seemed to have a full moustache by lunch yesterday.
I did something to my right abdominal muscle that sort of scared me. The muscle was tight just over my hip bone and you could feel the muscle like a ball. Actually you could see it when I laid down. It had been bothering me a bit that day, but I had been dong a lot of back-bending so I thought that I was just tight. Despite seeing the lump, it didn’t hurt nor did it limit my movements. When I walked, it just felt like my iliopsoas muscle was tight, but now seeing it, made me worry. My dad had just died of pancreatic cancer and a friend last year had a lump go from a pain in his side to his death in several short months. With that said, I’m also a hypochondriac (or a health baby as my wife lovingly calls me). Anyways, it was enough to make me jolt up when I saw that “lump”.
I love Korea. I think it is a very cool place to live and despite being a big city, you never really feel like you are in a big city. It seems every street corner has the same thing so you never need to go very far to get anything. So, lying on my yoga mat and feeling around my abdomen, I knew that I should get this looked at the “Good Morning” doctors office (everything in Korea has to do with morning–it is the land of the morning calm albeit self-proclaimed). Within about 50 steps and 2 minutes, I’m in the doctor’s office and being a bit sweaty and stressed, the nurse in Korean was making sure that I didn’t have H1N1 with several very direct questions, a temperature check and a blood pressure reading (all normal but high blood pressure-stress I’m sure). Despite the 8 people in the waiting room, she let me in to see the doctor right away. His English was not that great but he understood what I said and did a lot of poking into my side and systematically spoke to me after he seemed to rule out possibilities–”Hmmmm, appendendix, no—Hmmmm, hernia, no (I was pretty happy at that one)—-hmmmm, pulled muscle I think (or muscre).” He really dug around and I told him about yoga and quickly showed him Navasana and said “no pain”. I don’t think he was impressed with just how quickly I could spring into it.
After some getting some anti-inflamatories at the pharmacy next door, I was back in my apartment in all less than 30 minutes. I was still doubtful what the doctor was right (I always am) and decided that it was best to not practice. I had my day off the day before and was eager to get back on the mat, but figured that I should sit on this for a day. Fast forward to today and the side is better and I did practice with only a step back/forward vinyasa and no abdominal work and 6 hours after practice, it feels much better.
——Actual Point
Here is the real part that worries me. Not being able to practice is something that happens and I get that. Travel, life, laziness (never happened to me, I’m just too OCD), aches/pains, babies, home renovations, etc. all get the better of our schedules and in the end, something has to give. But I got into a real funk for the next hour after I decided not to practice and let my mind get into some dark places–what if this never heals, I have cancer, If I had a teacher this never would have happened, I wonder if David Swenson went through this, I’ll lose all my “progress”…..really fun stuff. And on that precise cue, my wife gets home to find me on the couch, watching TV and in a bit of a panic.
Since starting yoga, I seem to think that my wife loves to hear about everything that is going on in my body. How could she not be interested, right? So with her getting home, I immediately launch into my recap of the past 90 minutes and of course, make her examine me. She agreed with the doctor and said just be patient and see. She also reiterated “you know what I think about this 6 day a week schedule”. But I was only concerned with her medical diagnosis and not her yogic one. “So you don’t think that this points to a bigger problem?” I asked in a Kastanza-ish way. “Maybe mental, but not physical,” she retorted as she left me on my yoga mat in my underwear with my shirt pulled up.
I got up and over the next few hours just watched TV and sunk deeper into my mood. We ate dinner while watching TV and then I had to go out for a walk to clear my head and feel my body moving in some sort of way. We live next to a river and I went down and walked along the path watching the families and bikers move along in the early darkness of the evening. It’s fall here so the air is crisp and it’s really nice to be outside and despite feeling defeated, I was starting to cheer up. But all too soon, I had an overwhelming urge to have a cigarette and a drink. Not just any drink, but some whiskey. So much to the point that my tongue would move around in my mouth just thinking about it (it does right now as I write about it). There is something about cold air and smoking and the warm burn of whiskey that I always loved so much so that there was a guy walking in front of me smoking a cigarette and I trailed him for a bit just to smell the smoke (probably not very H1N1 friendly).
I had left the house without any money and I was glad that I did. December 19th will be one year without a drop of alcohol and almost two years of not smoking, but my mind started to unravel everything in its quest to get some sort of hit. I starting think that I’d made it close enough to the date, that why not have a drink. Nobody I know can go that long without drinking. I even started to think that I could buy something to drink and just drink it down here at the river. My wife was asleep and she’d never know. This sounds terrible to write, but these were all the fantasies in my head and just the thought was making me feel better and of course, equally disgusted with myself at the same time.
However, as I walked a long with the leaves on the ground and the crisp in air, I started to really think about why I wanted a drink and the answer was pretty simple; I didn’t get a hit that day–my hit of yoga. Insert yoga, alcohol, cigarette, running, or biking and I get the same reaction in my brain from all of them. My brain when it is expecting something and doesn’t get it, has a very hard time in letting it go. I like to think about my desires as like velcro. They latch on to the target be it alcohol or yoga, and if they are not fulfilled, then it takes a hard pry to get it off. Once they are off, I’m good temporarily, but it inevitably finds another object of desire to quickly entwine. Before, if I wanted a drink, I drank and I was good. However, if I didn’t get that drink, I’d become agitated, grumpy and really focused on getting that drink. If a plane was delayed in landing and my pre-decided arrival time at my house was screwed up, I was impossible. This had just happened with yoga. I wanted to practice, my body said no, and my brain went to pieces. All of the yogic work I’d done in the past years was really not as much as I had hoped and in one of the first big challenges, I let everything go. I didn’t once think of my breathe, I only thought of yoga as asana and let my mind take control of me.
I know addictions are a long journey that need to be fought with diligence everyday but I do see silver linings in all of this. I did have the maturity not practice. A year ago, or when I was running or playing soccer, I would have just powered through and ended up with a bigger problem. As well, 24 hours later, I’m able to sit and calmly reflect. I might have been knocked down, but I got up quickly and didn’t give in.
I used to like the show The West Wing and the chief of staff was a character called Leo McGarry (played by the late John Spencer) who was an alcoholic. In this scene, he just took a drink after years of sobriety and he explains what it’s like to drink. This one of the few things I’ve read or seen that really explains what goes on in my head.
When I got off the mat for the first time, I was changed. I didn’t know how, but I did know that something was different. Even though I felt defeated and really crappy, I was intrigued. There was something that got lit inside me by being reduced to emotional rubble. I continued for the next several weeks to play around with the Yoga Bootcamp and got smoother at following the instructions, but nonetheless, it was torture and I started to really started to see my body for what it was.
I’d always been amazed at my wife’s ability to be so aware of any change to her body. For example, she always knows exactly how many mosquito bites she has regardless of where they are on her body (and most times they are in very difficult if not impossible areas for her to spot). She’d often say that “look, I have 6 bites” and then proceed to take me on a tour. I remember one time sitting at home and she had told me of her bites and then looked at my leg and noticed a big cut with some blood on it. She asked me what happened and I had no idea I even had injured myself.
The point being that I had really grown apart from listening to my voice within and now sitting in these funny asanas with odd names, all I could do was listen. It was like an intervention. But, this new found dialogue was something I didn’t want to have all the time. I needed it to exist only on the mat. When it was over, I was back to myself and I’d often drink right after yoga. Up until that point in my life, I’d found fewer better feelings than exercising followed by smoking and drinking beer. The buzz after that was incredible. So, now that I felt all “bendy” and “new age”, why not enhance that with some nicotine and a cold, tall beer.
And so it continued for about a month. My week would be a bit of running, a bit of biking and a bit of yoga. All three were trying to get my Achilles tendon back in shape and I was starting to consider myself a yogi (that had a liquid Savasana on the couch). Overall, I was healing, learning new funny Indian names, and drinking more and more.
Trying not to get to corny, but I like to consider those early days on the yoga mat as like yoga knocking. It started out as just a small tap on the door of my conscious as I did unconscionable things on the other side of it. But after each practice, “it” knocked again.
After one Bootcamp session, I was on the couch, looking at this new cool program called Facebook and one of my earliest friends had himself in Sirsasana A in Egypt with the pyramids behind him. I was blown way and thought that it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. So I put my laptop on the floor and studied his position and got down on all fours to try and recreate what he was making look so simple. I can’t fully remember what I did but I do remember my head on the floor, my arms in some sort of triangle, and my knees behind me not wanting to leave the safety of the earth. I lifted them up a few centimeters, felt my spine bend, my neck curl and all the weight sink painfully into my neck. So I came down.
I was a bit stunned at how easily it looked yet how hard it was (which I’m not sure why I was surprized considering I just spent 45 minutes in poses that looked easy when the models on the easy-to-use flash cards did them). However, that thought was quickly pushed out of my mind and replaced with an incredible sharp pain in my chest that came and went like an electric shock. It was enough to move my head quickly to the left and back to the center in a jolt and bring my hand unwillingly to my heart. I looked down and didn’t see a loose electric cable flying around the room and although the pain had left , I felt like I’d just drank 20 cups of coffee. I can only describe it like a reboot or in an airplane when they start the engines and all the cabin lights go off and on in that abrupt manner.
I took a minute and wanted to pretend like it didn’t happen. I was ok, right? The pain was quick and now gone, so what do I have to worry about. I got up and felt an urgent need to look at myself in the mirror. As I started down the hall, I met my wife half way. I guess I had a look of worry and she asked “You Ok?” I lied, smiled and kept going for the bathroom. My after practice knocking just got louder.
If you would like to donate (and please do) the site is 
