All posts by stacy

A Hot Mess of Hot Yoga

carnage

In my enduring effort to liberate my rock-hard abs from their buttery prison of fried chicken and waffles, I decided to take up yoga.

Having experienced Zen Yoga and the art of Pavana Muktasana (the Wind-Removing Pose – which in my case can be called upward-facing flatulence), I decided to kick it up a notch and try my hand at Hot Yoga, especially since my two special introductory offers with Urban Yoga and At One Yoga had expired, and I’d just scored one month of unlimited hot yoga at Sumit’s Yoga through Deal Chicken.

Serious yogis practice yoga in ways that speak to their heart – I, on the other hand, try to practice as cheaply as possible. What that says about my heart is uncertain, but knowing my competitive nature, I thought the words “dynamic, challenging workout” spoke to my soul more than “contemplative, calming meditation.” So the unsuspecting (and imminently game) Laura and I trotted over to Sumit’s after work one day for an invigorating round of Hot Yoga: 90 minutes of dynamic, strengthening yoga poses in a room heated to 115 degrees.

Or, basically hiking in Arizona in July at 3 PM, I thought. How hard can it be?

Continue reading A Hot Mess of Hot Yoga →

Zen (Yoga) and the Art of Telling Left from Right

carnage

In my enduring effort to free my pure physical specimen from its accumulated coat of beer and bacon grease, I decided to take up yoga.

I see women like Jennifer Anniston and Madonna and Wendie Malick and Gwyneth Paltrow – strong, lithe, supple – and I think to myself: What do they have that I’m lacking? Basic coordination, genetic superiority and good posture, for sure… along with an innate ability to avoid that second donut. Must be the yoga: It builds balance and flexibility (important in a 39-year-old body) and I’m told it helps settle the mind so you can focus on more important things than beer and donuts and olives and cheese.

I signed up for a gentle / zen / yen yoga class with my friend Laura (who had no idea what she was getting herself into). It’s an hour-and-a-half of stretching – for an admittedly inflexible person, the benefits seemed self-evident, and really, how hard could it be?

Continue reading Zen (Yoga) and the Art of Telling Left from Right →

Epic Barbecue Awesomeness

food
You can lick the screen - I won't tell.

The best part about the New Orleans Saints losing in the first round of the playoffs is that we can turn away from our Sunday television sets and turn our attention to more meaningful pursuits, namely, making the most epically awesome ribs in the universe.

And this is not an intergalactic understatement. Pat, Ross and I have achieved saucy pork-bone nirvana – and we did it by employing the scientific method, some chemistry and a little bit of patience.

And beer.

And spicy potato salad (with bacon).

And ice cream.

And it was good. It was REAL good.

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Postmortem: Football in the Desert

rage

My football season is over.

In a soul-crushing span of 24 hours, both of my teams flopped around on national television and stomped my ardor back into the turf.

I admit it: After years of following Texas A&M and the New Orleans Saints, one would think I’d be satisfied with a Super Bowl victory and defeats of ranked Oklahoma and Nebraska teams in the same year… but like Icarus, we always want more – and when the bright light of expectation (and national television) shines upon us, we can bask briefly in its glory (maybe for a quarter) before we come crashing back to reality.

And this is the reality of a football fan in Arizona: Thank God that’s over, now I can go outside and do something worthwhile with my time.

As the rest of our nation suffers under the gray cloud of winter, the sun shines on our desert playground. With lows in the mid-40s, highs in the upper-60s, every Sunday is battle between the Red Zone Channel and the better angels of our natural environment: Our hiking boots, our mountain bikes, our endless skies. Now I don’t have to fret that dilemma – now my Sundays will be free from disappointment (the Arizona Cardinals, the Cleveland Browns, the Seattle 7-9 Seahawks? REALLY?) as I bask in the life-affirming goodness of tending my vegetable garden, reading books on my patio, or passing an afternoon accruing much-needed Vitamin D beside a swimming pool.

And if I keep telling myself that, I might actually believe it – because every summer, when the mercury scoots past 110, I long for the air-conditioned goodness of a TiVO’d early-season game (TiVO for 30 minutes, then watch football commercial-free). I also pine for the rare overcast day in the mid-50s (WINTER!) when we can make gumbo during the early game, taste it during the afternoon game, and eat it during the night game.

Damn you, football gods! I raise my fist in rage… and I resort to that sad balm of sportswriters everywhere – the 2010 Season Postmortem aka Closure for the Defeated. Bear with me, I’m a little rusty on this one. Continue reading Postmortem: Football in the Desert →