Out on today’s walk, squirrels seemed to be flying from tree to tree.
Lucky for me, the lens is quicker than the squirrel. Ha ha!
Capo-BEWARE-a
When Capoeira first landed on the yoga studio schedule, I read the class description with interest and trepidation. Dance and martial arts would require some sort of hand-eye coordination of which I have a lifetime of deficiency.
Weeks later, after the 1st session, my yogi friends rolled out of the class filled with enthusiastic bliss. “You have GOT to try this class, Juls. We did CARTWHEELS!”
Cartwheels? Did they say “CARTWHEELS?” To say that I was intrigued is an understatement.
A week later, after tutoring and getting my son settled in back at home with plenty of nourishment to get him through the remainder of his homework, I set off to see for myself what this Capoeira was all about. I showed up with yoga mat in hand (just in case), my I-heard-we-do-cartwheels enthusiasm, and complete naivety for what I was about to experience.
Class started with a series of warm up dance-like “exercises (?)” to this beautiful Afro-Brazilian music. It felt tribal. And I could almost see a fire in the center of the room which we were encircling. I fought back my long-believed notion that I am uncoordinated and played in follow-the-leader like fashion.
Before long, we were head-over-heels with cartwheel, kicks, and tucks. I found a smidgen of rhythm and clung tight to it. I started up an quiet mantra in my head: I can do this. I CAN do this. I *CAN* do this….
And indeed I was doing it—albeit far from perfectly. Even when we were paired up to “do the dance,” I did okay. But, when the participants all entered into a circle for final part of Capoeira class, the words “martial arts” rushed back into my awareness. EEK!
I watched the un-choreographed free-play in the game of Capoeira and felt my fight or flight mechanism kick in. It was saying FLIGHT.
I thought, “Good lord, why didn’t I read the class description?” This was not a cartwheel class. It was not a dance class. It was Capoeira, an “Afro-Brazilian combination of dance and martial art.” *sigh*
My turn was up. And I could not very well take flight. I needed to face my opponent and play the game. We held hands, bowed, cart-wheeling into the center of the room and…
[Read more…]
the fruits of our labor
It was a glorious day for a bike ride: sunny with a high probability of FUN since I would be traveling with my dear friend, Cindy. She is training for the Solvang Century in early May so her quest for distance and hills is for a different purpose than mine. I simply want to see improvement that will translate into more fun on two wheels.
Cycling with Cindy is always good fun though. Together, we are like two kids out exploring the roads around home. She doesn’t mind stopping along the way, chasing down other cyclists to confirm our sense of direction is accurate, or taking a last minute detour up and over a big hill..just for fun.
And if, perhaps, there is an especially inviting sign that says the winery is open for tasting at 10 am (and it’s noon), she might even suggest that we stop to take a look around and perhaps get a taste of something besides water, GU, or cliff bars. After all, we deserve a little time to enjoy the fruits of our (or someone else’s) labor.
the perfect balancing act
Finding balance in all that you do, can be a really tricky thing. Often, it seems there is too much on our plates to handle at once. We try to juggle things around, prioritize, but it never quite seems possible to get it all done.
Placed on either end of the teeter totter are activities designed to counter-balance each other such as responsibility and play. However, on a given day, the distribution isn’t always equal. And thankfully, life allows for this.
running through puddles
I had an hour long torture session on Thursday afternoon. With this, came a stern reminder on my need to use the foam roller — not just when I’m hurting but routinely. I noted the difficulty finding the time to run, let alone add on a minimum of 30 minutes of self-torture. To that, my friend noted that I would pay for it either way: in the time invested in self preservation OR in the money invested in the repair. Her point was then driven home as she worked.
A day later, I could feel the bruised tissue in my left thigh whenever my hand brushed past the area. My right calf had a similar tenderness. I’d felt it during my not-so-restful night. But it was all good. I knew this from all the other times I’d been forced to pay for my disregard for the necessity of foam rollering.
As I climbed the stairs with my morning cup of coffee, something was missing. The clicking of my left knee was no longer audible. Nor could I feel it. Hurray! Today, I would run.
At lunch, I slipped on my Treks to take a much-needed break from work stress. Deviating from my somewhat routine routes, I stayed on the paved road and sidewalk for quite some time. Taking in new scenery, my decision to stay on the mostly smooth pavement allowed me a bit more freedom to let my mind process things other than foot placement and puddle jumping.
It was good for a while but as my course came in parallel with the RR tracks, I couldn’t resist the pull any longer.
Stopping briefly to remove my long sleeved shirt, I headed back on my more routine path — thankful to live in a place where I could wear shorts and a jogbra in December. Oh how I love this glorious place I call home.
Beneath my feet I could hear the familiar crunch, crunching sound that is so therapeutic for me. A short while later, that crunch, crunching turned to squish, squishing. Mud squished between my ten toes. Or should I say my fivefingers? I must admit, it was a good feeling. A rush of youthful playfulness filled my being.
I enjoyed this feeling as I ran around large puddles left from recent rainfall. As my run continued I became more secure in my ability to read signs of slippery-when-wet vs. not-so-slippery-when wet. That was when the idea of running through the puddles entered my mind.
Could I run through these puddles without slipping and falling? I considered the dirty looks I would get if I returned to the office head-to-toe in mud. And then I thought why not?
