Hot yoga

Nobody told me hot yoga was code for torture. Every muscle in my body aches and I’ve only been four times. Granted 4 times in the last 6 days, plus my runs…..because if you can’t completely and insanely overdo something, where’s the fun?

Last Wednesday night my sister-in-law L sent me a text’ “Hey, let’s do hot yoga tomorrow. Class is at 10:00 AM.” Naturally I said yes. How hard could it be? I run.

I was instructed to drink lots of water beforehand, bring more water (this didn’t bode well for my bladder), a mat, and a towel. A hand towel, not a beach towel. Details people! I need details.

Ever tried discreetly wiping away the torrents of sweat which cascade (totally NOT exaggerating) down your face and gradually soak the mat with a persistent drip drip drip off the end of your nose – yes, that’s as gross as it sounds – with a towel as big as the yoga mat? Oh yea…I’m the picture of hot perfection.

Also FYI, there are two types of yogis (Is that the word for people trying to do yoga?), the drippers – see above – and the non-drippers. These are probably aliens, so be wary. Who doesn’t drip while twisting and bending her body into knots while in a sauna?

Anyway L, a friend, and I willingly walked into the studio Thursday morning and proceeded to get our runner/swimmer butts kicked for 75 minutes. Holy Hell! But a good kind of holy hell, because afterwards we were floating on an adrenalin high, all glowy and feeling like, “Yah man, we can do anything!” (Spoken as if you were Ted from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventures). So we went back the next day, and Sunday, and again Tuesday. *Ouch*

I have it on good authority that hot yoga is fabulous for runners. This authority owes me a drink for the aches, but she’s probably right. All that stretching of the glutes is bound to be of some benefit. And I’ll be very thankful once I get past my sore ass hip flexors.

Since grown women should know better and are always so reasonable, we’re going again tonight. This time we’ve convinced my brother to join us. Payback for all the times we fought as kids. 

See how she’s smiling and not sweating? Alien. That’s all.

Making friends when you’re older(ish)

Most children make friends within 15 minutes of arriving someplace. They are uninhibited, and even if shy; sure in the knowledge that other kids will want to play with them. The notions of ‘not wanting to impose’ and ‘maybe they won’t like me’ are adult ones. Or perhaps ones they’ve overheard and been subject to, but these are unlikely to have emerged intact without some outside influence.

As we age, our circle of friends becomes smaller. In part due to changing tastes – not everyone wants to play man tracker or pony club while their parents watch hockey games in cold arenas – but also because of self-doubt. We begin to project our insecurities onto what we perceive others’ opinions of us to be. By the time we graduate high school and university our group of friends is in place, with some wiggle room for work colleagues.

And then we have our own kids. This is the point when the friend group can shrink as couples juggle work, new mouths to feed, and first days of school. If we’re smart, and we stay connected to the world outside, this is a prime time to add to our now dwindling circle. But this doesn’t always happen thanks to the nose-to-the-grindstone life many stumble or leap into.

Note: kids should not sound the doomsday bell for friendship – so heads up.

Now you’re in your 30s or early 40s and you think, “Man, a pub night with friends would be really great right now,” except your two best friends live a plane ride and a passport away and you’ve been a total slacker about making regular phone calls to your other friends. Not to fear…it’s never too late to rekindle old friendships or cultivate new ones.

How to rekindle an old friendship:

1. Pick. Up. The. Phone.
2. That’s it.
3. If you’re too chicken to talk, send an email or find them on Facebook. Just don’t weird them out with in depth knowledge of what they ate for breakfast last week because you checked every status update since the Y2K panic.

How to make new friends:

1. Talk to people. Smile and say “hi.”
2. Be genuine. Be interested.

Where to meet new friends:

1. Um…you’ve got kids. They play sports and go to school, right? Lift your eyes up from the iGadget and look around. See all those other parents? Good. Now refer to points #1 and 2 above.
2. Not at a cougar singles bar.

I am fortunate in my friendships even if I haven’t always been the most steadfast with my communication. Some are too far to visit with regularly, but we’ll call or email and pick up mid-sentence from the last chat. Others are nearby and always willing for a pub night.

Although many of us have our groups of girlfriends, we’re happy to make new ones, and I’ve met people in the last several years that I now call friend. I think we reach a stage and realize that not all relationships must fit into a set pattern. We accept situations and people more readily and with an open heart.

Everything we read touts the benefits of establishing and maintaining friendships. It’s good for our hearts and our bodies. Like chocolate, but with fewer calories. Strike that. More calories when you tally the pints and food shared…whatever….laughter burns calories.

Now there are coffee dates with hockey mom friends when we’re not together cheering on our boys. And hot yoga attempts with school moms, followed by serious discussions of why 50 Shades of Anything is so popular. While seriously laughing loud enough to draw sideways looks from coffee shop patrons. “Sorry serious folk.”

Allowing myself to stay open to meeting people has resulted in unexpected friendships. You never know where it will happen: during a business conference (where we got a little silly < Bonus > security didn’t need to be called), on a beach, in a dorm room, maybe even in a barn sweeping out muck while your daughters bond over ponies.

Do you feel you can still make new friends at any age? What’s your experience?

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.

Ralph Waldo Emmerson

I run to be strong, happy, and for a tight tush. Sue me.

Two years ago this week I began running. It started with a hard look at what I was and wasn’t doing and the realization that I needed to change something. I had passed the 40-year milestone and being out of breath by the time I got to the top of the stairs wasn’t on my life goals. Nor was feeling frazzled by a sometimes over-scheduled and hectic life. I needed an outlet.

I enjoy yoga and Pilates and they are both great exercises as well as stress-relievers, but something was missing. I wanted to feel invigorated, challenged, and strong. I admit that what drew me to running initially wasn’t any sort of desire to prove my athletic prowess. A lot of it was pure vanity. My tush needed a lift and every female runner I knew had a great one. Yes, I looked.

It began with $1.99 spent on iTunes to buy an app that claimed to be able to take me from non-runner to 5km running goddess in 9 weeks. I believed. I followed along even when I wanted to tell that smug Australian chick – the in-app coach – to jump off the nearest cliff every time she told me, “You’re almost done the running part. Only 60 seconds to go.” Didn’t she know that by then I would probably have stopped breathing and fainted? What I lack in athleticism I make up for in tenacity and I stuck with the program. By the end of the 9 weeks, Australian chick had become my BFF.

Enter another voice one year later. An old friend who double-dared me to stop being such a pansy and up the ante. Join her in a 15km run. She assured me that with 3 months to train I would be more than ready.  She’s a marathon runner. I’m not. She coached me and we virtually trained together. I cursed her out during my training runs more times than I’ll ever tell her. But I believed.

I blindly followed along and when race day arrived it was, as my tween would say, EPIC! I totally rocked that run. Sure, there was the 70 year old man who passed me, and never mind the Kenyans who finished 15km in the same time I ran 6km, but I wasn’t last – I’m competitive so this matters to me – and I ran the whole way. One of the best feelings…I had my own cheering squad that day. The kids, my nieces, brother, mom, and D were there to watch. And at the finish line there were tears. Mine. I was overwhelmed by the accomplishment.

Then we went on holiday and I did not run a. single. time. In fact I didn’t run much again until autumn, and then it was short 5km maintenance runs with no pushing. I injured my foot and knee during that time and then winter set in. No excuses because winter this year was more of a whisper than a shout, but I admit that I was too lazy to get geared up like this every time:

Winter runs were few and far between and there was more chocolate eating than there should have been. I took a good look in the mirror a few weeks ago and saw that my tush was starting to respond to gravitational forces once again. My solution to overcome the downward slide was to register for another run. This time it’s a ½ marathon at the end of May. My coach/friend sent me a Long Run schedule and I’m following it. I know if I don’t I’ll never make it and that is not an option. Also she scares me a little.

Today was a Long Run Day. 8km. Not a big deal really. I’ve run this distance countless times, but this afternoon was a struggle from 2km on. Every step had to be calculated. Every breath I took analyzed. I finished by sheer force of will because I had to. Because I am a runner.

I may lapse in my training schedule, I don’t run marathons, and I’m not a lean, muscled powerhouse like I see in the adverts for shoes and gear, but I run. I love it. I crave it. When I’m driving and I see people running I get envious. Sometimes I have crap runs. Usually I have good runs, but any time I run it’s a great run because I can. Running makes me physically stronger and mentally calmer. It’s exercise and meditation all at once. I am a happier wife, mother, friend, and daughter when I run.

It took me years to find what worked for me and along the way I tried many things. This is what I know…you must find something that makes you stronger, more balanced, and energized, in whatever capacity you can. This is not a push to make you run, but maybe a push to make you find your *thing* if you’re still looking.

What’s your thing?