Monday. Ha. No shame.
Last Monday, I got down to the gym and did a new circuit training regime: 3-2-1 for short. Circuit A is 10 minutes of cardio, Circuit B is 10 minutes of functional training, Circuit C is core training. The routine plays out like this: A-B-C-A-B-A (3As, 2Bs, 1C). After 50 minutes of a sweat fest, I decided dips are overrated, and the plank is my personal nemesis.
Tuesday: Got in the pool after work and did some laps. A macho-type guy calling himself 'Phelps' challenged me to a 25m race after seeing how strong my butterfly stroke was. I lost, but we were doing freestyle, and he was at least a foot taller than me. Next time though, he won't be so lucky.
Wednesday: I got some great running tips from a friend of mine who trains firemen. In addition to working on my form (pose technique, anyone?), I went for 30 minutes just working on 'feeling uncomfortable' with my heart rate. Basically working consistently at a high THR will help build capillaries on the muscles that eat up fat before carbs. Yes, please.
Thursday: Ouch. Everything is sore, but I went to an hour and a half of Vinyasa yoga, which is strength and balanced based. Later that evening, I attended a workshop at school for a new emsemble piece we're garnering. We ended up doing A LOT of movement-based work, including Suzuki walking, core training, and group flocking - which is like it sounds - flocking in the sense you clump together and move as one. Unfortunately, we were being led through the flocking by a former ballet dancer from Puerto Rico who seemed to ignore the flexibility challenges some of us faced that day.
Friday: Double Ouch. I blame the Puerto Rican. Four hours of Grotowski - cat work and plastiques. For those unfamliar with the Polish theatre guru, Grotowski developed a process of movement work that confuses the central nervous system so as to access emotional levels unavailable to us in our conscious body state. Basically, circling your head counter to your hips in an upside-down triangular position will either make you laugh maniacally or weep uncontrollably while kicking out sideways at imaginary terrors. Four hours of this sort of work will indeed deplete your body of sweat, anger, and any compassion you may have had for the human race.
Saturday: REST. Glorious rest. Helped out at the Spring Ball at the House, checking coats and listening to the live band play standards from the 1940s. Alumni guests danced the foxtrot, tango, cha-cha, waltz, and two-step...all the while I was wondering why the tallest girls always seem to get paired with the shortest guys in this kind of setting.
Sunday: Slept in. (Those ballroom dancers stay up until all hours. You literally have to send the band packing and turn off the lights before they will take their coats home.) More rest for the body, and light eating to compensate for lack of cardiovascular exercise.
I also talked to a few friends this week, and everyone has been so supportive! I have a fear that I will fail at this, but the challenge lies in concentrating on small successes. In the past, I got discouraged because I felt like I wasn't seeing/feeling any results after such hard work. So, I've had to redefine how I'm measuring success.
This week, I'll try to find a word besides 'Ouch' to describe my workouts.
Hopefully it will be something like, 'I want a fifth helping of lunges, with a side of box jumps!'
Ever the overachiever, me.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Any Given Monday
Mondays always burden me. A wise Italian grandmother once said, "Get everything done on a Monday." Achieving productivity on even the smallest scale will make Mondays seem terrific. What a way to start the week: getting stuff done. Mailing that letter, paying that bill, taking out the trash, getting the shopping done - small human feats that grow heavier if they remain on the To-Do List past Thursday.
I started thinking about this Monday on yesterday's Sunday. I have grown tired of feeling hopeful about the productivity I imagine will occur at the beginning of every week, especially when I make a plan to get something done and miraculously allow myself to put it off until Thursday. Or, sometimes indefinitely.
I realized that the problem with my To-Do Lists inevitably have to do with the accountability factor involved in making the list. As author, I am usually the only one privvy to its contents, and the sole authority monitoring completion of any given task. Furthermore, the list serves my own purposes, and so when something gets done, I'm the only one who can truly revel in the satisfaction of making a swift slash across the page.
Now, I'm not saying I need glorious banners of praise unfurling whenever I take out the trash, but there is something else to be gained with this insight: when something doesn't get done on my private To-Do List, I'm the only one who has to deal with the shame/guilt/disappointment/burden/(insert weighty feeling here) of knowing that, at the end of the day, I didn't follow through on my goal.
What I've discovered this Monday is the existence of my Life To-Do List. Unbeknownst to me (or perhaps I simply refuse to acknowledge that it looms indefinitely), there are a few items on my Life To-Do List I've been anxious to cross off permanently. I've managed to cross off a few items on previous productive Mondays: the Monday I mailed my grad school application, the Monday after I ran a marathon and managed to oversee a cross-country videoconference for a bunch of surgeons, the Monday I arrived in a foreign country and found a job, hotel, and pub with four hours, the Monday I cleaned the house without being asked.... Small feats that take on enourmous significance once completed.
That being said, there has been a consistent, persistent item on my Life To-Do List that I have figured out how to conquer...or at least take a stab at getting it crossed off for good. I'm making it PUBLIC. This way, the shame of unproductivity or, worse, persistent off-putting, will be a burden I can no longer tuck away as I crawl into bed in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning.
Here's the bare bones:
The item I'll have crossed off by my 28th birthday is "Get In Shape".
That means an acceptable BMI by September 14, 2010.
Henceforth, the Public To-Do List starts today.
...Tuesday.
The irony is not lost on me, but at least the shame will force me to improve by next week. Feel free to check back next Monday. My sense of pride is at stake now.
I started thinking about this Monday on yesterday's Sunday. I have grown tired of feeling hopeful about the productivity I imagine will occur at the beginning of every week, especially when I make a plan to get something done and miraculously allow myself to put it off until Thursday. Or, sometimes indefinitely.
I realized that the problem with my To-Do Lists inevitably have to do with the accountability factor involved in making the list. As author, I am usually the only one privvy to its contents, and the sole authority monitoring completion of any given task. Furthermore, the list serves my own purposes, and so when something gets done, I'm the only one who can truly revel in the satisfaction of making a swift slash across the page.
Now, I'm not saying I need glorious banners of praise unfurling whenever I take out the trash, but there is something else to be gained with this insight: when something doesn't get done on my private To-Do List, I'm the only one who has to deal with the shame/guilt/disappointment/burden/(insert weighty feeling here) of knowing that, at the end of the day, I didn't follow through on my goal.
What I've discovered this Monday is the existence of my Life To-Do List. Unbeknownst to me (or perhaps I simply refuse to acknowledge that it looms indefinitely), there are a few items on my Life To-Do List I've been anxious to cross off permanently. I've managed to cross off a few items on previous productive Mondays: the Monday I mailed my grad school application, the Monday after I ran a marathon and managed to oversee a cross-country videoconference for a bunch of surgeons, the Monday I arrived in a foreign country and found a job, hotel, and pub with four hours, the Monday I cleaned the house without being asked.... Small feats that take on enourmous significance once completed.
That being said, there has been a consistent, persistent item on my Life To-Do List that I have figured out how to conquer...or at least take a stab at getting it crossed off for good. I'm making it PUBLIC. This way, the shame of unproductivity or, worse, persistent off-putting, will be a burden I can no longer tuck away as I crawl into bed in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning.
Here's the bare bones:
The item I'll have crossed off by my 28th birthday is "Get In Shape".
That means an acceptable BMI by September 14, 2010.
Henceforth, the Public To-Do List starts today.
...Tuesday.
The irony is not lost on me, but at least the shame will force me to improve by next week. Feel free to check back next Monday. My sense of pride is at stake now.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
The Jetta and the Journey
I did not make a New Year's Resolution this year. A certain friend will claim that I have resolved to do whatever I want to do without regard for consequence in 2010, but how much trust can you place in a resolve that is made at 1am in the throes of fresh-start hysteria? The only resolution I've committed to consistently over the past two years is the resolution to not make resolutions.
Regardless, 2010 has been a year of surprisingly good luck...luck of the sort that may result in a whole decade of stellar moments. From cross-country escapades to gasp-inducing spectacles, my daily adventures have taken me from sunny, beloved California back to the wintry Northeast, and I have been collecting trunksfuls of memories which will, in retrospect, award this year as being the beginning of a great decade.
All I can say is, it's about time.
Some of you may recall that I drove cross-country at the beginning of January this year. The beloved Jetta (faithful manual friend to the family), myself, a long-time friend, and a finnicky GPS navigator lovingly named Greta journeyed from the golden hills of California across the wintry landscape of Route 70 to Northern New Jersey, where Jetta will now permanently reside. The trip was a success, given that it was a) the dead of winter, b) Jetta was in no way equipped with snow-proof anything, and c) two slightly madcap artists were clocking 50 hours of driving in under 6 days.
My brother-in-soul Chad accompanied me from gorgeous San Jose down to gaudy Las Vegas, through overly-arid, overly-nice Utah, into winding, quaint Colorado, past fog-laden Kansas, beyond frighteningly zealous Missouri, around peaceful Ohio, into delicious and restful Virginia, all the way up the Eastern thoroughfare I-95 to bustling JFK...whilst engaging me for 4 days in that exquisite rhetorical debate of "Would you rather...?"
For those who have not yet been blessed with the opportunity to engage in this game of choosing between two life-altering disasters, know that it ultimately results in sacrificing either your dignity or your vanity. In any case, debates can (thankfully) rage for days, and when faced with a barren landscape of trees in West Virginia that reminds one of adolescent facial hair, choosing between no arms or no legs becomes an inherently fascinating topic.
(And for the record: General opinion agrees that to have screaming faces on your fingernails is far better than sporting an assortment of noses on your scalp, and although I'd rather be a unicorn than a phoenix, choosing between smelling faintly of clam chowder or tasting like sour milk simply renders one speechless with despair.)
The journey being long, I was prepared for foot cramps and long streches of pavement, but I was unprepared for the simply extaordinary experiences of Americana. The first hint at the stellar-ness of this new year was the Farewell Ceremony at the California-Nevada border at sunset on Sunday. After rolling into the Last Gas Station in California on a tank full of Red-Light Empty, I stretched my legs and perused the store for a memento to mark the occasion of Jetta's Last Night in Cali. I searched fervently for christening agents: an avocado and some sunscreen (California mascots), only to settle on a surfboard keychain (the only item in the store that paid homage to California). Chad joined me in the checkout line, eyes urgent, meaning he either just witnessed human inanity in all its splendor, or finally discovered the Sacred Waterfall Urinal Mecca, that glorious Las Vegas-style spectacle in what would elsewise be a forgettable pit stop event. It was the latter. And a little bit of the former. (Nothing says Darwin Award like a urinal that splashes back.)
While he explained the sheer absurdity of relieving oneself into a tropical paradise pool, I tried to explain the lack of California memorabilia to be found at this Last Pit Stop Til Nevada. Both of us exited the storefront with mouths agape at the unlikely findings...the tiny keychain and the plethora of "Welcome to Nevada" kitch (fanny packs for your gambling coins, anyone?), but more memorably the scenic urinal experience. Debating whether or not to continue into Nevada before sunset, we realized that this would indeed be Jetta's last few moments of California Life. What better way to commemorate the years of service Jetta had provided along Highways 280 and 101 than a changing of the keys?
Phoning Dan for his last thoughts, I recorded a few words of gratitude, and then proceeded to thank Jetta for its service to us over the years, and officiated the new journey by slipping on the surfboard keychain, all the while symbolically facing West, with the sun slowly withdrawing behind the silhouette of two Mack trucks and their onlooking corn-fed, buckle-heavy drivers (who were staring with eyes urgent in our direction). After a few breaths, we slipped back into the car and crossed the border out of California and into the Jetta's New Life, precisely as the radio crooned that we were "little children out on a lucky streak".
A stellar Last Moment if ever car had one.
Venturing across the country the rest of the week merited even more awesome, stellar moments (the bulk of which would be too numerous to recount in detail for this post). However, highlights included the Muddy River Cafe (aka GOOD FOOD, a desert establishment complete with decent food, an over-sized soft-focus portrait of John Wayne, and a set of six-year old triplets aptly named after famous Hollywood cowboys), snowy Utah's Fishlake National Park (escaping a near-lock-out situation with the car keys when one went missing off a snow-laden sandstone cliff), fog-covered Kansas (the only part of Kansas we actually saw was a large billboard proclaiming that "Jesus is Real"), unforgettable home-cooked meals (special thanks to Colorado, Ohio, and Virginia households for the sumptuous meals and warm and cozy beds!), Missouri in all its glory (some Bible Belt stereotypes are indeed alive and resplendent), and staying ahead of the raging storms (we missed every single storm that was predicted for the route, a miracle which cemented the journey as lucky).
Upon arriving in the Tri-State area on the first Friday of 2010, I felt a twinge of sadness after dropping my co-pilot off at JFK, as if the journey had been halted without warning. So much had happened, everyday, that I felt fearful of the events ahead - would the luck continue? Would I have more adventures like this, and (most importantly) would I be able to continue feeling lucky? However, as I was sitting at a red light on the corner of Brooklyn and the End of the First Week of 2010, I couldn't help feeling triumphant - as if I had started off the New Year right, and though Jetta had ended one life, another was beginning...and the good fortune of the journey would lay the groundwork for a decade of lucky streaks in my own life. I couldn't predict how or when these streaks would come, or what they would deliver, but I was confident in having no resolve for 2010.
After all, the beauty of having no expectations nor resolutions is that everyday miracles take on life-altering significance, and the elation of a lucky streak can fuel you through uncertainties the same way that memories of California sunsets will warm you through the remainder of a New England winter.
All I can say is, it's going to be a good year.
Regardless, 2010 has been a year of surprisingly good luck...luck of the sort that may result in a whole decade of stellar moments. From cross-country escapades to gasp-inducing spectacles, my daily adventures have taken me from sunny, beloved California back to the wintry Northeast, and I have been collecting trunksfuls of memories which will, in retrospect, award this year as being the beginning of a great decade.
All I can say is, it's about time.
Some of you may recall that I drove cross-country at the beginning of January this year. The beloved Jetta (faithful manual friend to the family), myself, a long-time friend, and a finnicky GPS navigator lovingly named Greta journeyed from the golden hills of California across the wintry landscape of Route 70 to Northern New Jersey, where Jetta will now permanently reside. The trip was a success, given that it was a) the dead of winter, b) Jetta was in no way equipped with snow-proof anything, and c) two slightly madcap artists were clocking 50 hours of driving in under 6 days.
My brother-in-soul Chad accompanied me from gorgeous San Jose down to gaudy Las Vegas, through overly-arid, overly-nice Utah, into winding, quaint Colorado, past fog-laden Kansas, beyond frighteningly zealous Missouri, around peaceful Ohio, into delicious and restful Virginia, all the way up the Eastern thoroughfare I-95 to bustling JFK...whilst engaging me for 4 days in that exquisite rhetorical debate of "Would you rather...?"
For those who have not yet been blessed with the opportunity to engage in this game of choosing between two life-altering disasters, know that it ultimately results in sacrificing either your dignity or your vanity. In any case, debates can (thankfully) rage for days, and when faced with a barren landscape of trees in West Virginia that reminds one of adolescent facial hair, choosing between no arms or no legs becomes an inherently fascinating topic.
(And for the record: General opinion agrees that to have screaming faces on your fingernails is far better than sporting an assortment of noses on your scalp, and although I'd rather be a unicorn than a phoenix, choosing between smelling faintly of clam chowder or tasting like sour milk simply renders one speechless with despair.)
The journey being long, I was prepared for foot cramps and long streches of pavement, but I was unprepared for the simply extaordinary experiences of Americana. The first hint at the stellar-ness of this new year was the Farewell Ceremony at the California-Nevada border at sunset on Sunday. After rolling into the Last Gas Station in California on a tank full of Red-Light Empty, I stretched my legs and perused the store for a memento to mark the occasion of Jetta's Last Night in Cali. I searched fervently for christening agents: an avocado and some sunscreen (California mascots), only to settle on a surfboard keychain (the only item in the store that paid homage to California). Chad joined me in the checkout line, eyes urgent, meaning he either just witnessed human inanity in all its splendor, or finally discovered the Sacred Waterfall Urinal Mecca, that glorious Las Vegas-style spectacle in what would elsewise be a forgettable pit stop event. It was the latter. And a little bit of the former. (Nothing says Darwin Award like a urinal that splashes back.)
While he explained the sheer absurdity of relieving oneself into a tropical paradise pool, I tried to explain the lack of California memorabilia to be found at this Last Pit Stop Til Nevada. Both of us exited the storefront with mouths agape at the unlikely findings...the tiny keychain and the plethora of "Welcome to Nevada" kitch (fanny packs for your gambling coins, anyone?), but more memorably the scenic urinal experience. Debating whether or not to continue into Nevada before sunset, we realized that this would indeed be Jetta's last few moments of California Life. What better way to commemorate the years of service Jetta had provided along Highways 280 and 101 than a changing of the keys?
Phoning Dan for his last thoughts, I recorded a few words of gratitude, and then proceeded to thank Jetta for its service to us over the years, and officiated the new journey by slipping on the surfboard keychain, all the while symbolically facing West, with the sun slowly withdrawing behind the silhouette of two Mack trucks and their onlooking corn-fed, buckle-heavy drivers (who were staring with eyes urgent in our direction). After a few breaths, we slipped back into the car and crossed the border out of California and into the Jetta's New Life, precisely as the radio crooned that we were "little children out on a lucky streak".
A stellar Last Moment if ever car had one.
Venturing across the country the rest of the week merited even more awesome, stellar moments (the bulk of which would be too numerous to recount in detail for this post). However, highlights included the Muddy River Cafe (aka GOOD FOOD, a desert establishment complete with decent food, an over-sized soft-focus portrait of John Wayne, and a set of six-year old triplets aptly named after famous Hollywood cowboys), snowy Utah's Fishlake National Park (escaping a near-lock-out situation with the car keys when one went missing off a snow-laden sandstone cliff), fog-covered Kansas (the only part of Kansas we actually saw was a large billboard proclaiming that "Jesus is Real"), unforgettable home-cooked meals (special thanks to Colorado, Ohio, and Virginia households for the sumptuous meals and warm and cozy beds!), Missouri in all its glory (some Bible Belt stereotypes are indeed alive and resplendent), and staying ahead of the raging storms (we missed every single storm that was predicted for the route, a miracle which cemented the journey as lucky).
Upon arriving in the Tri-State area on the first Friday of 2010, I felt a twinge of sadness after dropping my co-pilot off at JFK, as if the journey had been halted without warning. So much had happened, everyday, that I felt fearful of the events ahead - would the luck continue? Would I have more adventures like this, and (most importantly) would I be able to continue feeling lucky? However, as I was sitting at a red light on the corner of Brooklyn and the End of the First Week of 2010, I couldn't help feeling triumphant - as if I had started off the New Year right, and though Jetta had ended one life, another was beginning...and the good fortune of the journey would lay the groundwork for a decade of lucky streaks in my own life. I couldn't predict how or when these streaks would come, or what they would deliver, but I was confident in having no resolve for 2010.
After all, the beauty of having no expectations nor resolutions is that everyday miracles take on life-altering significance, and the elation of a lucky streak can fuel you through uncertainties the same way that memories of California sunsets will warm you through the remainder of a New England winter.
All I can say is, it's going to be a good year.
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