yoga with a shot of wild turkey

So I am half way through, 61 days down, and to be honest I’m looking for a buzz.  I’m eating all kinds of weird shit at night before bed to see if I can at least get some trippy dreams.  Thursday’s cucumbers, peanut butter and sea salt didn’t have any effect on my dreams, but Katherine said that same night she had a dream that she caught me with Scarlet Johannson and three other girls in my Mustang.  What the Tofurkey?  What kind of hippie shit do I have to eat to get me those dreams?

Mike, I left Van Wilder for you and your Mustang. Do you mind if I bring 3 naked friends?

The scene of the crime














So let’s get down to business.  The half way mark, holy crap! I can’t believe I’m doing it.  Look Mom, I’m not an alcoholic. It is really hard to believe, but I think I’ve matured.  Now let’s not get crazy — I still like turning up the XM opera channel really loud when dropping my car off for repair or hiding in the closet to scare the shit out of Katherine when she gets home.  I just mean that my outlook on my booze intake has changed.  I’m actually setting goals and accomplishing them, my resolve unimpeded by hangovers.  I am excited to have a drink or three when this all is done, but I think from now on I will drink like an adult. (*Disclaimer* This excludes camping trips, bachelor parties, foreign countries or any rare one-on-one time I get with my little brother or me mates from home.)

My regiment is changing.  With the halfway point at hand, some classes come to an end and some others are about to begin.  For starters, I have signed on with Trent at Mitchell Fitness for another two months.  I know, I know, it hurts me even to write this because all I do is pay this guy to kick my ass, but, to be quite honest, Trent is a vital piece to this whole process.  He keeps me pushing forward and has shown me results both physically and mentally in eight weeks.  Here is the video from this past Saturday before Katherine and I went on our little trip. More on the trip to follow.

1-26-11 Sat 7am BODYonTRAC workout from Trent Mitchell on Vimeo.

Swimming is coming to an end and in all honesty I have missed my last few classes.  Like co-eds from my freshmen year, I have used this class to gain my confidence and coldly discarded it when its usefulness ceased.  I have begun going to the gym on Monday, Wednesday and Friday to compose my own mini practice triathlon.  I’ll get on the treadmill for a couple of miles (when I say a couple I mean one), get on the bike and then get into the pool.  I am building up my distance on the run, the bike is pretty easy and I somehow have harnessed the spirit of my dead fish Foxface and can swim like a freak now. Literally, I’ll get into the pool and bust out 30 laps, 750 yards, in less than 20 minutes.  If there was a superhero in the  tri-athlete  world, it would probably be me and I would call myself Captain Bad-ass-thlon.  Of course my superhero vehicle would be a Rickshaw with bike connector capabilities.

Picture of me as Captain Badass-a-thon saving some old guy.

So swimming has come to an end and I have three weeks left with the true Renaissance man named Reiko.  Again, I’m back with Trent three times a week and I am adding softball on Tuesday nights. I am also looking into some other classes like The Bar Method or Yoga but nothing is set yet, as I just might focus on training for the Tri.

Speaking of yoga, I tried out my first class this past weekend while we were on a little love birds trip to the central coast, north of LA.  Katherine surprised me with a weekend away to Sycamore Springs Resort and Spa which is a cozy resort nestled into the hills of San Luis Obispo.  They have about 20 private hot springs sprinkled across the mountain side that you can rent, hike to, get naked for and soak in.  We drove up Saturday morning because I didn’t want miss Trent’s class.  The place is gorgeous.  One of my favorite things about California is the diverse topography.  Three hours north of LA and you are in a different world with lakes, rivers, forests and, as I was about to find out, wild turkeys. We arrived after lunch and decided to go for a little hike before we rented a hot spring.  The hike was tough, especially after the morning workout, but the snowcapped peaks and the panoramic view were worth it.  By this time, I had probably burned about 5000 calories and I was literally eating everything in sight.  Apples, energy bars, all of Katherine’s little packed goodies were not safe.  I was tearing through that shit.  Like most hikes Katherine takes me on, I soon found myself climbing a fucking mountain.  The day was sunny and cool though, and we were laughing and in love.

The long and winding road

Tonight I'll be on that hill 'cause I can't stop, I'll be on that hill with everything I got, Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost, I'll be there on time and I'll pay the cost, For wanting things that can only be found In the darkness on the edge of town.

Winded (Katherine from wearing 100 lbs of clothing and I from running around shirtless), we headed back to check in.  The next two hours were spent lazily: reading, writing, soaking in the hot springs.  At one point, I almost had a heart attack when my favorite silver ring, given to me in ninth grade by a friend Jen Hubert and which I never take off unless demanded by the police or x-ray people, turned gold due to the sulfur water.  This was easily fixed with toothpaste and life was good again.

Around 4:30PM I could see my lovely wife was up to something.  I was relaxing, reading Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller in front of the fireplace, skin baby soft from the hot springs. They have a free yoga class at five, she said.  That’s nice of them, I thought.  Would you want to go? her little eyes whispered.  Shit, really?  I’ve worked out like five times today. Yeah babe, sounds fun, let me get dressed.

We left the warm comforts of our suite and headed across the property to the “fitness dome” or some cheesy nature shit like that.  We went in at about five till and thought it was weird that no one else was there yet.  The place was pretty big and comfortable for a dome in the middle of the woods.  It had all the hippie shit you would expect, dim dorm room lighting, Asian symbols in different colors, Buddha, rocks. I jumped around a little, thinking of my Black Swan days, and splashed my hands in the electric fountain.

A figure approached from outside; we could see her but she could not see us.  Who is that? Katherine asked.  Obviously a witch, I said as the pagan walked in.  Her hair was jet black, thin and straight.  Her clothes were a conglomerate of fabrics awkwardly competing with each other for space and function.  Are you two here for yoga? she asked.  No, I thought it was the world-famous Phillies spring training camp up in here. I am Moyra, your instructor, she said as she floated across the floor, hand outstretched.

Now this lady was a freak, no other way to say it.  Katherine assured me that what we did for the next hour was not yoga.  Moyra began by telling us to pull off our socks and directing us to stand on the mat; she then talked for the next five minutes about Athlete’s Foot and how we would probably get it.  This lady was a trip: she would ask us a question and before I could answer she would start talking about herself.  Upon hearing we lived in LA, she asked us if we knew Ricky.  Whatever the fuck did that mean?  Moyra was 71 and in her defense she was pretty fit.  But this lady was a mad hatter.  She put on a tiara and we were off.  At one point during the class six wild turkeys came to the window and stared in.  Was this fucking witch calling them with some rhythmic yoga vibe?  Who knows.  She taught me what an iPod was and proceeded to tell me how the shuffle feature worked, all while I was holding The Sun Warrior pose or some shit.  Katherine was definitely annoyed, but I was getting into it.  She wanted some crazy, I had worked out for like 15 hours straight.  She would ask us, Do you know who sings this tribal chant? Ricky? Enya’s sister? I would say and her crazy laughs would fill the dome.  She took a liking to me because Katherine wouldn’t talk.  Moyra would ask the names of positions and I would come up with the most off the wall bullshit.  Again, her and my crazy laughs filled the dome.

We spent an hour with her, stretching, dancing, twirling.  By the end I hadn’t learned shit about Yoga other than wild turkeys enjoyed it and it wasn’t good for your feet, but I knew everything about Moyra who was from Wales, moved to Australia as a nurse, married a German etc…  Katherine and I politely said our goodbyes and walked quickly through the winter twilight back to our room, glancing timidly over our shoulders to make sure the witch from Wales and her turkeys were not on our trail.


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