Day 87 & 88 Still Here, Still Me
Yes, yes already, those of you who’ve been virtually nudging me. I’m not dead or on the lam. I forgot, okay? I forgot to blog.
So here I am. Happy?
This might be an appropriate time to check in on the whole 90-Day Challenge thing. My goals, as you might recall, upon embarking on this endeavor, were lofty. Lose a bunch of weight, gain Gumby-like flexibility and a Buddhist-monk sort of serenity. Oh, and I wanted my hot flashes to disappear, too. And my depression/anxiety/chronic identity crises/general mental deterioration to magically lift. Maybe, if I worked really hard, I’d get a complete physical, mental and emotional makeover.
If you’re gonna dream, after all…
But here I am, 90 days later, pretty much the same person I was when I started. Not quite as dramatic as I was hoping. Here are a few more details:
Weight loss: negligible. (However, I’m eating like a horse, so it’s not really a fair assessment) I’m much more toned now, though, so I’m fitting into a smaller size of jeans. Still have the poochie-mommy-tummy but hey, I never expected miracles there. You know. Pie.
Flexibility: definite improvement here. I’ve got more mobility in my shoulders, that persistent knot in my neck is gone, my hamstrings are much looser and my hips don’t hurt anymore. Right now my lower back is sore, but I’ve been at my Iron Gardening again and I suspect that it would be a lot more sore, if it weren’t for the yoga.
Buddhist-monk serenity: um, yeah, about that. If I can still freak out at a sniffer, I’d say serenity is still in the “goal” column, as opposed to the “achieved” column.
Hot flashes: they’ve actually been better lately. Don’t know if it’s the yoga, cutting back on caffeine and alcohol, or the herbal supplements and progesterone cream. But I’m NOT CHANGING ANYTHING, just in case.
General mental disorder: meh, I’m still me, what can I say? The sun is shining now, which makes the whole world a better place. I do think the intense physical activity has had a good effect on my brain, you know, endorphins, serotonin, dopamine, etc. The discipline of sticking with A Hard Thing like this is good, makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. I am happier now. Is it the yoga? Who can say. But sort of like the hot flashes, I don’t want to stop the yoga, just in case.
And having fallen into this daily chronicling of my yoga challenge has been excellent for my writing-muscles. Again, the discipline of jotting down something more-or-less coherent every day (I know, I KNOW, I missed a day. Can you just let it go??) forces my brain into channels that open up creativity, letting loose little nuggets that might have otherwise have been lost.
Believe it or not, this is fun for me. (Yup. I’m a riot at parties.)
So, I’ll be continuing on with the yoga, and the blogging. Don’t know if it’ll be quite as every-day-ish as it has been, or if it’ll be mostly musing about yoga.
I guess we’ll see. Stay tuned, readers. (And thanks for hanging in there with me – it means more than you know.)
Day 86 Say NO to Sniffing!
We had a sniffer in class today. You know the kind. We’re all lying in Savasana, waiting for the class to start. The silence in the room is broken only by the soft trickle of the humidifiers and the occasional rustle of people adjusting their mats.
Then… sniff, sniff. Snork, snert, sniff.
Pause.
Sniff-sniff-sniff. Rapid-fire. Like a Beagle on scent. Not a productive sort of sniff, which although grosser, at least one can understand. This was the unnecessary nervous-tic sort of sniff. Or maybe it was the type of sniff you do when there’s a dry booger way up high that’s driving you nuts, but it won’t dislodge by blowing, so you try to suck it back up into your brain instead.
Personally, I think it was an attention-getting sniff. A cry for help, if you will.
A damp towel applied firmly over mouth and nose for a few minutes, I thought. That would help.
I had to grip onto my inner peace with both fists, I tell you, because that’s the sort of thing to drive me right postal. I lifted my head to see if I could identify the culprit. (Why? What difference would it make? Would I really attack her with my towel? I have no answers…)
Snerkle-sniff.
Breathe-in. Breathe-out. Do not sit up and yell, “For God’s sake, get a tissue!”
What is it with people who do things like this? (The sniffer I mean, not me, the psycho-reactor.) Are they completely unaware of the fact that they are making the only – and certainly the most unpleasant – sound in the room? Are they deaf?
Perhaps I have nasal-mucous issues, I’m willing to admit the possibility. After all, I grew up blocking out the sound of my dad gargling on his own post-nasal drip, and still gag at the thought.
Sniff-sniff.
So, okay, maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the only one getting irritated. Big picture, let it go, don’t sweat the small sniffs…
Then the woman next to me let out an overly deep breath. And another one cleared her throat, rather deliberately.
Coincidence? Maybe. The class started then, effectively shutting down the sniffer, so we’ll never know.
But I choose to believe that I’m not alone with my sniff-issues.
Day 85 I’m an Apiarist!
I mentioned awhile back to my husband that I was intrigued with the idea of setting up a mason bee colony. Megan and I had seen them at a nursery, where we’d learned that there’s been an overall decline in the population of pollinators. We large, clumsy, land-greedy humans have messed up a lot of habitat, and ultimately, no pollinators means death for us all. Kind of like losing the sun, I guess.
As he’s allergic to bees, he did not meet this idea with enthusiasm. (Plus, I have a history of great ideas that end up forgotten in a closet somewhere, which is no big deal if it’s something like scrap-booking, but not cool for ideas that are alive and breathing. I’m of the opinion that in order for a few ideas to stick, one must try many, but I’ll c0ncede the point on this.)
It turns out that mason bees are a non-aggressive species. They’re more efficient than honey bees, with less stinging. They just want to go about their buzzy little business and couldn’t care less about humans.
But I didn’t bother making the argument.
Then, last night, the girls gave me my Mother’s Day gift: a colony of mason bees, and a nifty little condo for them! (FYI: the cocoons come in a pill-vial and look like rabbit turds. “Um, thanks …?”)
“Dad really does love you,” said Andrea, giving credit where credit’s due. He and Megan did the legwork, and turns out it was quite a search expedition to find the nursery that sold them, since he couldn’t exactly ask me about it, and Megan’s spatial abilities are a lot like mine. As in “it’s on a highway somewhere.”
So now I’ve got mason bees! I put them out next to the climbing roses. Can’t wait to see what they do.
But here’s the best part: my husband did something he didn’t really want to do, just for me, because he thought it would make me happy.
You know what? It worked!