Day 30 I’d Like to Thank the Academy…
I did it, folks! I DID IT!!
30 classes in 30 days, which is more consistent exercise than I’ve had in, well, ever. And 30 blog posts in 30 days, which is more consistent writing than I usually do, at least without a contract.
I don’t know which one is more significant for me. Some of you know the struggles and disappointments I’ve faced in the last few years. Publishing is a fickle business and there’s only so much you can control. They say the ones who make it are the ones who just hang in there long enough for the competition to give up, or die. So I’m hanging in there, by my fingernails some days, hoping to outwit, outplay, outlast. And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for joining me on this journey because above everything else we writers want – fame, fortune, multi-book deals and covers that don’t embarrass us – we need readers. The 1000 true fans who keep on believing in us even when we suck. Thank you for reading my words. (And an especially big shout-out to those of you who’ve commented, linked, forwarded and hit the “like” button. Love you, Tracy-girl!)
Sniff. Okay, enough of that.
And now an announcement: I’m doing it AGAIN. Yes, I’ve extended my 30-Day Challenge to a 60-Day Challenge. (Which means I’m already half-done, bwah-ha-ha!) I figure, with this weather, I can’t work in the yard, so for now, I might as well stick with the hot room.
Ach der lieber. Some days I scare myself.
For anyone who’s still interested, I’ll do a tally of results and goals tomorrow.
Day 29 On Make-Up and Butt-Sag
There are those who practice yoga, and there are those who want to look like they practice yoga.
Those in the first group wear anything from baggy shorts and tee-shirts to sports bras and bike shorts, usually in black. Image takes a back seat to comfort, because in the hot room, it’s all about survival.
Those in the second group wear snazzy-cool outfits with brand names like Om Shanti, Divine Blessings or TranquiliT. They show as much smooth, tanned, pierced flesh as possible. They definitely care about how they look. And why not? If I looked like that, I’d flaunt it, too.
But there’s one thing that separates the Barbies from the rest of us: make-up.
105+ degrees and 40% humidity is merciless. After 90 minutes, every speck of spackle will be smeared into your towel, but not before raccoon-eyes and foundation-drip have marked you. Reality bites, baby, but there’s no room for anything else here.
I will admit that it’s possible, however, to go too far on the “don’t care” scale. After 29 days, my work-out clothes are suffering badly from Spandex-fatigue. By the end of class today I looked like a Hefty bag full of cheese that was left out in the rain. What good is a firmer ass if it’s wrapped in saggy-butt shorts?
Oh well. At least I know better than to wear make-up.
Day 28 A Good Mennonite Girl Breaks the Silence
Posture number 14, of the 26 in the Bikram series, is called Wind-Removing Pose (or Pavanamuktasana. I can’t say it, but I can spell it. Even if I couldn’t, who’d know??) It looks like this:
And if there’s any little effervescence hanging around your colon, let me tell you it’d take a bionic sphincter to keep it in. Hence the name.
But, fortunately this is not the silence I broke.
I shushed Ken and Barbie. Yes, I did.
It was the beginning of class, the initial savasana, and they were lying side by side, whispering and canoodling and giggling, all of which is strictly verboten.
Well, alright, there’s a bit of lee-way with the whole silence rule; sometimes newcomers aren’t sure where to put the mat (you might recall me mentioning this issue earlier) or they start to ask questions in a somewhat panicked sotto voce: “Is the fan broken? It’s not supposed to be this hot, is it? I think I’m going to throw up.” Etc.
So you quietly comfort and reassure them that yes, the heat is deliberate and no, they won’t puke if they shut up, lie still and breathe. But mostly, shut up.
But this was not the sort of twittering Ken and Barbie were doing. I tolerated it, breathing deeply, until suddenly, something inside me broke.
“SSSSSHHHHHH!!!!!”
I shocked myself. You see, I was not brought up to make waves. My biggest goal in childhod was to be invisible, to avoid the spotlight, to always run with my back against the wall, like a mouse in daylight. I did not run out in the open, with the popular crowd, and I certainly did not shush them.
It’s kind of a cultural thing; Mennonites may not have invented martyrdom, but we’ve certainly perfected it (we’ll claim mediocrity if you ask, however.) We may frown in silent judgement, but we don’t talk about people. Or even to people, unless they’re fellow Mennos. We endure. We suck it up. We huddle together and eat pie. And even though I haven’t been a good Mennonite girl for decades now, the lessons of early childhood are hard-wired in me.
So, while Ken and Barbie will never know who shushed them, I still felt like I’d broken through some psychological barrier in my little brain. Hey, it might be small but it’s my victory.
Erin Brockovich, kickin’ ass and takin’ names, that’s me.