Day 21 Is it the sunshine?
- At March 06, 2011
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 0
Were the stars all aligned just right? Did I have the perfect balance of carbs, protein and caffeine in my system, with the correct amount of digestion time prior to class?
I don’t know, but my practice was a breeze today. Balance was good, I almost got my frickin’ right knee straight in Standing Head to Knee, Camel was no problem and there was less snap-crackle-pop in my joints than usual.
I’m two-thirds through the 30 day challenge, and I can see the end of the tunnel. I haven’t lost an ounce probably because, well, you know… pie. But I’m so ripped I should be on the cover of some muscle magazine. You know, the one for middle-aged mothers with delusions of grandeur.
So I went home afterwards and got out the pick-ax, spade, rake, secateurs and gloves, and went to work on my 5-years-and-counting, take-no-prisoners landscaping project. The dogs and I enjoyed a couple of hours of sweaty outdoors time.
I’m such an idiot. I wasn’t sore from yoga. But now I’m sore from gardening.
Day 15 A Blog-Post a Day…
I’ve decided I want to blog more. Since I’ve already been posting daily for my 30-Day Bikram Yoga Challenge, I figured I might as well add a blog challenge to it. All writing is good exercise. After all, writers write. Right? (Sorry, that was lame.)
So, I hereby commit to posting on this blog once a day for all of 2011. (Or until I don’t.)
I know it won’t be easy, but it might be fun, inspiring, awesome and wonderful. I’m going to make use of The DailyPost, and the community of other bloggers with similiar goals, to help me along the way, including asking for help when I need it and encouraging others when I can.
If you already read my blog, I hope you’ll encourage me with comments and likes, and good will along the way.
Day 14 Sweaty Naked Boys
So a few weeks ago, three young guys tried out a yoga class. You could tell they thought it was a joke; they swaggered into the studio like hockey players, all ripped and cocky, naked but for their under-armours, all “look at me” and “yeah, baby, enjoy the show.” Those of us with a few classes under our belts just smiled in anticipation.
For the record, black under-armours aren’t a completely bad idea. Black just gets blacker when it’s wet. Someone should have warned the guy in white, however.
I adjusted my position so I had a clear view in the mirror. There was gonna be a show, alright.
Within minutes, the pretty naked-boys weren’t smiling quite so hard. They realized that all these middle-aged people were actually fit, and knew how to do stuff that, gosh, was harder than it looked. And geez, it was HOT.
Before long, they weren’t smiling at all. In fact, they looked nauseated and wobbly. White under-armour guy suddenly realized that he was, for all intents and purposes, naked, and didn’t appear too thrilled about it.
By the end of the class, they were all collapsed on their towels, limp and gasping. When it went from interesting to slightly worrisome, to embarrassing, I stopped watching. I didn’t want to bear witness to any stains appearing on those tighty-whities.
The naked-boys haven’t been back. They’re welcome, though. As soon as they’re ready for a real work-out with real hotties.