24
Aug 10

Hating/Loving “Eat Pray Love”

People who love “Eat Pray Love” may also threatened by it. In the Oprah generation, we’re allowed candles and Me Time as long as we don’t appear selfish, but I think the self is all we’ve really got!

I first read Elizabeth Gilbert’s best-selling memoir in 2007, at the age of 33, and on the edge of emotional upheaval.

My first thought was, “Excuse me, Elizabeth. I didn’t buy this book to give you free therapy.” I recently heard a woman on her cell say something similar. “Oh, my God,” she said, passing me on the street. “Julia Roberts is so self-indulgent.” Roberts, the movie’s star, is the object of female envy and annoyance because she is beautiful, financially stable, and unhappy.

I do understand the jealousy, but when I had a crying jag, similar to the author’s bathroom prayer to God, I was in no position for charitable giving.

A former musical theater dancer, I shared a tiny walk-up with two other dancers in New York. One was roommate was lovely, but the other drank and wailed like a crime victim; she wasn’t on Broadway. Now a fitness instructor, I knew I was in the right field but was frustrated with checkerboard hours and poor pay.  I taught at any gym that would take me. “Can you do 6 a.m. and a 9 p.m.?” a manager would ask. “Sure!” I’d exclaim. By nightfall, no energy bar could revive me.

Exhaustion and sorrow knocked me flat on a Central Park bench in September of 2007. I sobbed for hours while people passed.

This was a call to arms.

Under Liz’s influence (I now called her Liz), I signed up for a yoga retreat to India scheduled for January 2008, a new year. As a yoga teacher, I wanted to see the origin of my practice as well as the source for my funk. Had I slowed down and read the checklist thoroughly, I would have made it there.

Yes, I had all my shots and anti-malaria pills. Yes, I had my mosquito tent that propped onto a single bed. Yes, I had my passport, but I didn’t have a visa.

You need a visa to visit India. I learned this when the plane went off without me that January night.

At Gatwick, I weighed my options. I could go back to New York, or I could regroup in my friends’ London flat. I chose the latter and searched on-line for a new plan.

Like Liz, I chose “I” countries; I wanted to know myself, but while Liz had Italy, India, and Indonesia, I had Ireland and Italy in less time. Instead of a whole year, I had less than two weeks to find enlightenment and a life partner, just like Liz.

From London, I booked a ticket to Dublin. It was good to be alone in a foreign country with no major goals. I ducked into museums and cute churches, snuck away into old pubs and tea shops.

Next on my list was Italy, more specifically Rome. January and February are rainy months, a good time for travel deals. I got a great hotel near the Colosseum: three nights for the price of two!

After dropping off my bags, I ordered pizza, wine, and tiramisu in a neighboring trattoria. The table was a work of art, with a holly tree near my plate. I sketched that little plant in my notebook, marveling how Romans linger over their holidays. Americans hide theirs January 2, sequestering wreaths like crazy relatives.

On my first Roman morning, I walked to the Colosseum and was rewarded with whistles, all delivered by sexy Italians who could smoke and ride Vespas at the same time. In New York, a woman could walk around naked unnoticed for hours – unless she made a fig leaf out of her iPhone.

For the next few days, I ate and shopped. If a store looked pleasing, I went in. I lusted over leather bags and bought one.

Now that I’ve paid off the trip, I look back on those weeks with curiosity and less embarrassment.

I didn’t find enlightenment or a lifelong partner, but I did find a truth.  “If you have your self,” a yoga teacher recently said, “you have everything.” My “I” experience drives this belief.


05
Aug 10

Ankles and Angry Leaves

Leaves of three, let them be

Leaves of five, let them thrive.

I learned this poem as a camper at Franke Park Day Camp, as a way to differentiate Virginia creeper from poison ivy. Apparently, I didn’t learn my lesson. Two weeks ago, I wore shorts on a night hike that veered into brush. A day later, I had angry dots on my legs and shoulders, like little planets.

To my knowledge, there is no poem about twisted ankles, an injury that began during an Ellenville hike, when I jumped off a rock at lunch time. I further loosened the ligaments going down Algonquin Peak on July 31.

The following is self-diagnosis:

Poison Ivy:

Urushiol is the chemical that causes rash. Some people are immune, but other people may have several exposures before noticeable signs. My rash lasted a week, leaving gray marks for another.

Here’s what I should have done. When I got home, I should have rubbed my legs and hands with rubbing alcohol and water to remove the urushiol. Next, I should have taken a warm soapy shower, wiped my clothing and shoes, and scrubbed my finger nails.

I simply took a shower and saw the rash one day later.

Take a poison ivy quiz, if you are confused.

Ankle:

Within the first 24-48 hours, I should have used the RICE method: Rest, ice for 20-minute intervals, compression, and elevation. One thing I did well was to keep the ankle mobilized through gentle walking and Achilles stretching. A common form of rehab is to lie on the back and draw the alphabet with the toes.


03
Aug 10

Ankles and Ivy: Hiking Complications

As a new hiker, I’m feeling the benefits: fresh air, a sense of accomplishment, and team spirit that continues from trail head to suds in the local bar. I’ve also experienced side effects.

During last week’s moonlight hike on Breakneck Ridge, my partner and I accidentally wandered off the trail and into the dark brush. It was a hot night, and I wore shorts against my better judgment. By Monday, I was covered in the tell-tale dots of poison ivy, something I haven’t had since my days as a camp counselor.

The rash was almost gone when I sprained my left ankle going down Algonquin Peak. By Sunday evening, I had a dark bruise and a swollen outer ankle, tell-tale signs of a Grade I inversion sprain (the most common form that overstretches the ligaments of the outer ankle). According to About.com, ankle sprains are the most common foot and ankle injuries.


02
Aug 10

“Hi there. I’m your Summit Steward, Kate”

    Doing Shiva on top of the world

    This was the Wal-Mart greeting at the top of Algonquin Peak, the second highest mountain in New York. Moments before, my fellow hikers and I scaled the space age rocks above the tree line, the edge of a sustainable habitat. At 5,102 feet above sea level, anything seemed plausible, even the spry Kate, who in her early thirties, was half woman/ half billy goat.

    “Just letting you know that the plants up here are delicate and easily damaged,” Kate said. She emphasized professional qualifications with her Adirondack Mountain Club bag. “Can you remind your friends not to walk on the grass?”

    “Sure, Kate,” I said. “I’ll tell them.” I couldn’t move. My legs were shaking, and my voice sounded flat, as if I were talking into a tin can phone. The wind turned puddles into mini cyclones.

    Kate thanked us, looked at her watch, and said, “My day is done. I’m going down the mountain now. Anything I can help you with?”

    “We’re doing fine, Kate. Thank you.”

    Kate disappeared, and I worried about not making it down before sunset. It was about 4 p.m., and those rocks would be three times as hard to go down as up.  We left the top at 4:45 p.m. and reached the parking lot at 8:15 p.m. With shoes untied and beer in hand, I wondered if I had imagined perky Kate, my Summit Steward.


    09
    May 10

    Walking New York

    Thursday, I stumbled upon an article with an interesting fact: 80% of people who are successful at maintaining weight loss use walking as their main exercise. The article didn’t specify which study and which journal, but I believe the statistic. I also stumbled across a writing tips book in which the author said he takes long daily walks or hikes; the one-step-at-a-time approach is a metaphor for novel writing, which is done word-by-word.

    Last year, I joined the Appalachian Mountain Club and rediscovered this primitive form of exercise. Older than man’s first fire-cooked meal, walking provides excellent cardio exercise, a chance to socialize, and the opportunity to connect with neighborhoods, nature, and new ideas in old places.

    As an example, I mention an AMC city hike that followed the Old Croton Aquaduct from Lehman College through the front yards of Edgar Allen Poe, Aaron Burr, and Alexander Hamilton!

    According to the hike write-up, the Old Croton Aqueduct was New York City’s main source of clean drinking water from 1839 and 1842 until 1959, a major engineering and public health achievement.

    We walked over this trail, which sometimes resembled a half-submerged pipe, all the way through Manhattan along Amsterdam Avenue. We saw a hawk fly over the abandoned High Bridge and admired the above-ground gate houses near Columbia University.

    Here is an abandoned gate house on 119th and Amsterdam.

    We started the hike close to this location in the Bronx.


    18
    Mar 10

    Mom and Pop Versus Foodtown

    I got snippy at the Foodtown checkout girl last week. She didn’t ask for my discount card, which meant that I didn’t get the $1.60 discount on instant Quaker oatmeal. Here is the dialogue:

    Me: I’m so sorry. I wasn’t quick enough. Here’s my card.

    Girl: It’s too late.

    Me: You can’t do a void and do it again, since this is all I’m getting?

    Girl: Shakes head

    Me: Most people ask if they have a club card.

    Girl: Shrugs

    Me: Can I speak to your manager?

    Girl: Points

    The manager counted out $1.60 without speaking to me or looking at me because that would be weird.

    A few days later, I was in Little Italy. I stopped in Di Palo’s Italian Specialty Foods, wanting fresh pasta, cheese, and attention. The line was long, and a regular told me where to get a ticket. To my amazement, I watched the grocers interact with customers: telling jokes, asking about menus, and slicing testers of cheese from gigantic cheese wheels. (I thought cheese grew in sandwich-sized squares.) Their conversations were different from the Foodtown dialogue highlighted above. It was as if real humans—sans text messages—were talking to each other about what they were having for dinner.

    When it was my turn, the grocer looked at me directly. I asked for Parmesan, and he cut me a slice. This took a little time. Delicious. I bought a chunk.

    Reviews on Yelp


    03
    Mar 10

    Savasana

    Recently, I taught yoga to a group of competitive male athletes.

    This was a treat because they were all about the same age (early 20s) with similar complaints (tight hamstrings, glutes, shoulders, and calves). Unlike a more mixed level/mixed age class, I could better plan around their universal needs.

    Then they threw me a curve ball.  A few of the braver, more vocal men said, “Nothing too hard,” a comment that contradicted my ideas of big, strong, sweaty guys wanting an equally big, strong, sweaty guy workout. “Their legs are going to be pretty sore,” the coach had explained the night before. Still, my first ideas were to throw in some hard revolved twists, something that would pull the sweat from their pores as proof to my worth as a teacher.

    When they groaned on the first move, urdva hastasana (upward salute), I knew that, unlike my general population classes, these guys really wanted to take it easy, even though they could do anything I gave them.

    After a few slow sun salutes and warriors, we came to the ground for back bending, twists, and forward bending.

    When we got to savasana, I was sad I’d given them only three minutes. These poor overachieving guys were tired, not just from their sport but from the mindset of excellence.

    Some people need the hard workout as permission to lie down. Others could go right to it. Like listening to the breath, we movers listen for the need to slow down, to protect ourselves from feelings of “too much.”

    In my opinion, savasana is the hardest pose of all. The heart of our practice — which differs day-to-day — is how/if we allow that movement  into stillness.


    27
    Jan 10

    Handstands Gave Me a Big Head

    Against my better judgment — allergy flareup — I performed a handstand last Sunday.

    It was an Iyengar-style class, and the wonderful Indian-born teacher told us to just do it, “just like Nike.” After backbending and forward bending at the wall to his commands, I felt aligned but a little congested.

    Nonetheless, I just did it.

    An hour later, I looked like this, tiny eye balls inside swollen lids. My face got all itchy. The same thing happened a month ago. Suggestions?


    27
    Jan 10

    Jamie the Sexy Food Cowboy

    My college human sexuality class put me in the mood to eat.

    Inspired by Jamie Oliver’s inhibited approach to food, I fantasized a delicious combo: sensual meals and my text book.

    Jamie at Home, a gift from my boyfriend, made me feel guilty. Over the clatter of pots and pans, I heard the voice of a masculine Brit, a free-spirited food cowboy not afraid of curvy squash or a “good splash of olive oil.”

    I got high on Jamie’s hyperactive confidence, actually buying and cooking fish from a Chinese fish shop. I also roasted shoulder butt, and it was good.

    Here are the things I’ve made:
    1. Beautiful zucchinei carbonara, p. 134: Excellent but must cut vegetables before boiling pasta. I overcooked the pasta in the time it took for me to cut them up. I used real Parmesan for this. It made a pleasurable lunch when paired with wine (shown in photo) and the poetry of e.e. cummings.
    2. Spicy pork and chilli-pepper goulash, p. 257-Very, very good. It took more than three hours to make, but the meat fell off the bone. This was my first shoulder butt, also known as pork shoulder.
    3. Superb squash soup with the best Parmesan croutons, p. 361-Delicious. Freezes well.
    4. Old-fashioned sweet shortcrust pastry, p. 352-Interesting. Hardly any butter. I made a pumpkin pie with it, which is more of an American thing, but the crust was good, toasty with a lemon zest zip.
    5. Roasted white fish and leeks, p. 334-I wasn’t wild about this, but the cod turned out okay, and the bacon added a buttery taste. I could have added more pepper though. A little bland.

    These meals sustained me through the complex human expression known as sex. I ate while studying, everything from Anal Warts to Zoophiles. Not all sex is sexy.


    03
    Jan 10

    New Year’s Odds and Ends Goulash

    With one exception this week–I’m meeting people at a restaurant–I’m preparing all meals at home. My goal is to cook new things while cleaning out my cupboards. I’m super poor this month but wish to celebrate my current possessions. Tomorrow’s lunch will be a baked potato, some boxed pilaf in the back of the cupboard, and some canned baked beans I bought on sale in 2009. For dinner, I will be making Jamie Oliver’s “Quick sausage and meatballs with a tomato and basil sauce, spaghetti and sweet raw peas” (page 158).

    Tomorrow is my first day of Lehman College’s Winter Intensive graduate course on Human Sexuality. I got the book yesterday and am thrilled at the steamy topic in this blast of cold weather. To ensure that the class will happen, my professor combined undergrads with grads. In other words, I will be taking sex ed in the Bronx with a mixed bag of old bags (like myself) and eighteen-year-olds. I’m sure I’ll learn something.

    Just want to say that 2009 was a good year, despite everything. Here’s a peak at the year past.