Bikram Revisited

I fondly remember when I hated yoga.

I hated with a passion my first day of Bikram Yoga. Bikram Yoga is ideally practiced in a room heated to 105°F (40.5°C) with a humidity of 40%. Classes last approximately 90-minutes.
When I was first introduced to the idea of Bikram yoga, I had visions of Aiust afternoons spent in Washington DC, it was like living under water as one could not escape it, the heat was always present and sat on your shoulder, relentlessly.

I was coaxed into my first Bikram class by my ex-wife as she in her infinite wisdom saw it as a path to spiritual enlightenment. Our marriage was on the rocks and I remember how deeply I wanted to make the marriage work and the over whelming feeling of self defeat that I would actually go to such a class just to make her happy. I loathed the fact that I was powerless in this rapidly declining relationship.

We silently walked into the studio and it immediately smelled of stale sweat. The acrid smell burned my nose hair like a smoky wood fire fueled by green wet wood. It permeated every inch of that 104 degree room. What probably really bothered me, was that my ex took a spot across the studio as far away as possible from me. She appeared as the yoga expert and I felt like the novice left to my own devices half a room away. I felt very alone, naked and exposed.

The calmness of the room was very soothing and the instructor sounded like the morning lead on NPR. That calm smart voice that would impart wisdom and trust to the listener, the voice that would keep us doing yoga.

What I simply hated was the Yoga routine itself. I could hold my own fitness wise and only a few weeks earlier I had completed an arduous 46 mile run around Mt. Hood. The first few poses had my hamstings screaming and I felt totally out of control as subtle dizzyness over took me. I felt hung over and gloomy.

After about twelve steamy minutes of class I was a clammy smelly pool of sweat struggling to perform the poses that that rest the class performed with ease. My fellow class mates seemed happy and at peace, I really resented that. They seemed happy and part of the group that I was not a part of. I felt like a clumsy out sider with sweat dripping into my eyes. I did not resent their calm, rather I hated the fact that my mind was racing out of control. The sweat burned like a purification head ache. The last beer I had last night echoed like an over played bad hit song, but I only had 78 minutes to endure. How could I be sweating from the end of my nose? The sweat trickled off the end of of my nose like a leaking water faucet. Drip, Drip, Drip - I could not stop the sweating from my nose onto my yoga mat. It dripped like an insistant clock on a sleepless night.

What surprised me the most, was that I was gasping for air. It perplexed and frustrated every inch of my body. I had barely moved but every bend of my body in 104 degree heat robbed me of my dignity,as well as my sense of who I was as an athletic person. The calm on the girl's face next to me irritated me like an alarm clock that goes off every five minutes as I just wanted to find peaceful slumber.

The instructor in her NPR voice, instructed me to keep my eyes open and be in the room. I did not want to see my distorted face in the mirror. We went into a pose about forty minutes in that promoted the wellness of the reproductive organs of the body. My mind wandered everywhere contemplating mere survival. My watch showed only 39 minutes of this madness to endure. I hated being here.

My mind had left my body as my arms hung off me like over cooked pasta. The spine tingled and I was breathing like I was racing at a six mile per minute pace and I had not moved from my ugly blue sweaty yoga mat. I remember thinking where in my chaotic life had I purchased a yoga mat. And more importantly, why did i purchase this instrument of pain and humiliation.

I was no longer in control as I had no idea when class would end. I was completely at the will of the instructor and this drove me crazy as she could instruct this pain forever. I remember thinking how much I loathed this minute in my life and hating the fact that the last 90 or so minutes hurt more than I wanted anything to hurt both physically and spiritually. I was elated when class finally concluded, I felt like a pine tree swaying in the wind on a perfect fall day. I felt great, connected to the world.

I remembered this at the same yoga class today as I talked to first time students students going through the same enigma I went through years ago...

Rain Sprinkled Light

My twelve year old daughter Marina, and I left the house to a typical Oregon late fall evening. A constant steady rain punished the last of leaves that remained on the trees. We arrived at election headquarters just as early election returns were being shown on many very large screens. The room was filled with excitement and the night felt almost electric.

Marina knew that I liked politics, and she had become energized by the Kerry campaign for President, so she persuaded me to get her involved in a political campaign. Our job on election night was to deliver ballots for people who could not make make it to the polls. We awaited instruction from those who were in charge, and I got completely lost watching the election returns roll in, and I realized it was going to be a long evening. How can one not remember the buzz in that room, the electricity and how much the election really mattered. The vision that sticks with me that evening was just walking with my daughter as the cool rain lit by streetlights echoed a sound so steady and almost beautiful. I walked with my rain sprinkled daughter, just listening to her talk and being in complete awe of her interest in politics. She was beautiful in that rain sprinkled light.

But still lost in the election returns and the buzz of the room, I turned to talk to Marina I noticed she was talking to an older man whom I recognized as the Governor of Oregon. I had to let them talk. I remember just looking across a very gray room watching her talking to the Governor , like she would talk to me or a teacher at her school.

I sat and talked to Governor Kulongoski a bit later but can not remember a word that was said.
The assignment we got for that night ended up being a non entity. We picked up 10-15 ballots and the Oregon elections seemed pretty safe. With twelve close friends we viewed the returns from Ohio well into the evening. A gloom overtook the took the once festive room little by little.
The unspoken mood was a feeling of disbelief like being punched in the stomach a second time. This time the fight was not going to last weeks. It was going to be over swiftly. And maybe it was for the better. Not in the long run , but for that night only.

I still have the memory of my daughter walking house to house with me on that election night. The optimism in her eyes hinting at changing the world. She cried when she finally learned Bush had won the election. She cried warm, tired salty tears and I wiped her tears away as she fell asleep that night. I can still see that. The fall out of that election I have we have to live that every day. That may never go away.

Cheating on an Ethic's Exam

Beep Beep Beep
The noise rips his head war like into a semi-lucent cloud like state.
His son sleeps beside him almost angelic no, different from the day he was born.
He kind of glows in his sleep, beautiful at rest, smiling because he can.
Ben wants to stay in this world and just sleep with his son.

While aimlessly calculating how many minutes until the alarm clock rips out a part his mind, a gloom surrounded him like early morning fog where the clouds hinted at rain or just cover for the day. The thought of going to his place of employment had drained him for has long has can remember. It always lurked at the back of his mind, like the alarm clock that once again pounded his already aching head.

Suddenly the kids were up and about and house was a whirl wind of activity. Books were loudly carried down the wooden stairs and his son came pounding down the steps three stairs at a time. The house shook with chaos but on this morning he loved the smell of his house, the faint smell of a fire lit the previous night to smell of mango in his daughters hair as she bounced down the her proclaiming her self ready to go to school. Her hair glistened from the underside as this morning's early light refracted the light brilliantly, touching his eye lids perfectly, butterfly like. The simple pleasures of home, he just wanted to enjoy them. He wanted to enjoy raising his children's without the burden of parent hood and raise them with the same vigor he attached to his first baseball game as a kid.

Be he sat at his desk, mindlessly cruising the Internet, the harrowing thought of the unscheduled 11:00 meeting on his calender just crushed his mind into useless pieces. Ben had been on sudden probation ,with the company he has been with the last ten years, as they have recently deemed his work not suitable. This unexpected blatantly bad review of his job performance set him wheeling emotionally. He could feel his heart racing and weight of the world on his shoulders, like no other time in his life.

His boss walked into the room with steely, efficient resolve. His starched white shirt commanded attention. His boss described a task that must be done. This is what is required of us. We all must take an on line ethics exam. His boss paced the room like he was too busy and detached for this meeting. He described taking the exam him self just minutes before. He said he had two computer session going and he had simply looked up the answers on one session and taken the test on the other session.


"So you are asking me to cheat on an ethics exam?.

He responded curtly "No I am asking you to be more efficient".

Bikram Yoga Class One

I was having a terrible time coming up with something I actually hate because life is way to short for that so while doing something I actually love I remembered something I actually hated.

I hated with a passion my first day of Bikram Yoga. Bikram Yoga is ideally practiced in a room heated to 105°F (40.5°C) with a humidity of 40%. Classes are guided by specific dialogue including 26 postures and two breathing exercises. Classes last approximately 90-minutes.

My first class I was literally dragged into class by my ex-wife as she in her infinite wisdom saw it as a path to spiritual enlightenment. Our marriage was on the rocks and I remember how deeply I wanted to make the marriage work and the over whelming feeling of self defeat that I would actually go to such a class just to make her happy. I loathed the fact that I was powerless in this rapidly declining relationship.

I walked into the studio and it immediately smelled of stale sweat. The acrid smell burned my nose hair like a smoky wood fire fueled by green wet wood. It permeated every inch of that 104 degree room. What really lit my fire on that day, was that my ex took a spot across the studio as far away as possible from me. She was the yoga expert and I was the novice left to my own devices half a room away. She had a look in her eye that has been burned into my memory for a long time. Her black tights were probably sexy to the rest of the room but what I noticed was the snarl on her face that could only be read as saying, I am in charge here.

But what I hated most was the class itself. I actually liked the calmness of the room and the instructor sounded like the morning lead on NPR. That calm smart voice that would impart wisdom and trust to the listener, the voice that would keep us listening.

What I had issue with was the routine itself. I could hold my own fitness wise and only a few weeks earlier I had completed an arduous 46 mile run around Mt. Hood. Always lurking in the back of my feeble distracted mind was the stark simple fact of what could be more difficult. This would be a walk in the park.

After about twelve minutes of class I was a clammy smelly pool of sweat struggling to perform the poses that that rest the class performed with ease. There were mirrors in the room and from every angle I could see my fellow class mates absorbed in this ritual. They seemed happy and absorbed and part of the group that I was not a part of. I felt like a clumsy out sider with sweat dripping into my eyes. The sweat burned like a purification head ache. The last beer I had last night echoed like an over played bad hit song, but i only had 78 minutes to endure. How could I be sweating from the end of nose. The sweat trickled off the end of of my nose like a leaking water faucet.

What blindsided me the most, was that I was gasping for air. It perplexed and frustrated every inch of my body. I had not moved an inch but every bend of my body in 104 degree heat robbed me of my dignity, my sense of who I was as an athletic person. The calm on the girl's face next to me irritated me like an alarm clock that goes off every five minutes as I just wanted to find peaceful slumber.

The instructor in her NPR voice, instructed me to keep my eyes open and be in the room. I desperately wanted to be anywhere but here. We went into a pose about forty minutes in that promoted the wellness of the reproductive organs of the body. My mind wandered everywhere contemplating mere survival. My watch and mind showed only 39 minutes of this madness to endure. My body disagreed. I hated being here

My mind was not in the room any more and my arms hung off my body like over cooked pasta. My spine tingled and the worst part of it was that I was breathing like I was running at a 6 mile per minute pace and I had not moved from my ugly blue sweaty yoga mat. My mind left my body for awhile aimlessly thinking where in my chaotic life had I purchased a yoga mat. And more importantly, why did i purchase this instrument of pain and humiliation.

This was my first class and i had been thrust into this moment and i had no idea when class would end. I was completely at the will of the instructor and this drove me crazy as she could instruct this pain forever. I remember thinking how much I loathed this minute in my life and hating the fact that the last 90 or so minutes hurt more than I wanted anything to hurt both physically and spiritually.

I remembered this at the same yoga class today as I talked to first time students students going through the same enigma I went through years ago...

Waiting

Waiting and not knowing

I am constantly being reminded that I should be doing something else but for some ingrained reason I put off everything else and just wait. I abhor the fact that I put all my limited time and energy into waiting. I sit at a coffee shop mindlessly reading the paper I picked up in anticipation of he fact that I would be waiting never ever factoring into the equation that I had arrived fifteen minutes before we were supposed to meet. So I sit and wait and hate the fact that I sitting here waiting.

Hippo O Cracity

I hate hypocrisy and that is a bit hypocritical of me as I know somewhere along the line I probably have been guilty of it so somewhere deep in side of me may not be all that happy with myself.

About six months ago I had the mundane chore of taking an on line ethics exam at my place of work and of course in my line of work every single minute is about contributing to the bottom line. You know what they say , "Time is Money" and in that sentence it brings me back to two other things I really do not like cliches and the motive of profit in every single thing we do in everyday life. But that being said I still had to take the ethics exam in order to fulfill my place in the Corporate World which reminded me why I loathe the banal cubicle existence and just going through the motions of what is expected, so I sat down and talked to my boss about priorities, which is something that I hate more than drywalling.

Dot Com Indians

I hate the fact that I don't like dot.com Indians. I also must admit that every single dot.com Indian that I have met and worked with are the kindest people you would ever meet. For those not effected by the mass out sourcing of hi -tech jobs in America I should take second to define dot.com Indians...

They are gentle a, kind hearted group of people from India who fill our suburbs, shop in our stores who have been trained from the minute they have set foot on this good earth to program computers faster and more efficiently than we here in the bloated United States can compete with. I admire every single one of them and loathe them in the same breath. To a man, and in a rare case a woman, they look like the rest of us ignoring the fact that the porn mustache went out of fashion in the late eighties.

They walk our streets critiquing our India restaurants that we have come to love and savior and cling to with passion that American Urban sprawl that we as enlightened Americans have have evolved to detest. I hate the fact that they have become the Americans we used to be.