Work out on tuesday too.
Got a workout in on Monday
Buffin is very disappointed that, despite his best efforts, there is no lactic acid party in my pectoral muscles. He's declared war against my chest. Good luck, Buffin - my chest has never been defeated. Men always take my chest so personally, even though I warn them that it has a mind of its own. Anyway, Buffin fought the good fight against my stubborn pecs while all around me, big boyz were lifting and dropping 90lb weights and grunting loudly. Dropping a weight is the equivalent of revving the accelerator on a motorcycle. Loud, jarring and unattractive. Put that weight down nice like your momma showed you!
I walked around the block twice, which is not a workout (I wore flip flops) but you know, I didn't NOT do it.
Late Iyengar at Yogaworks SoHo. I generally try to avoid Iyengar. So slow, so little sweat and breathing, AND so painful and likely to reveal how crappy all my poses actually are.... Yesterday it was the only class happening at the right time, and I kind of loved it. It *was* slow, and the guy teaching was dressed in old school black tank and black shorts, and was very pale and like something out of a Victorian yoga set piece, but his demos were excellent, and he did have us do some vinyasas, and it was just right. I think his name was Michael, and he was a sub. Here's to the brave, competent subs!
Am back and am recovering. Even almost made it to an AntiGravity Yoga last night save for a work event.
Scuba: I'm not a water person and feel my claustrophobia flare up even thinking about squeezing into slimy, deadweight gear; being dependent on compressed air in a thermos; and submerging self + deadweight gear into tons of water. So it was no small thing to give it a shot. All the ashtanga yoga classes in my past came in handy, especially the part about how breathing basically is the only thing that gets you through excruciating poses. Paralleling the duress of yoga, Scuba was described as "crisis management," and breathing into the regulator sounded an awful lot like ujjayi breathing in yoga (Darth Vader or ocean breath). And, not least, swimming headfirst downward reminded me of all the fun inversions in AntiGravity Yoga. So thank you again, SW and Crunch.
Beef: I have eaten more beef in the last two weeks than in the last two years. Need greens! Never again am I going to take flack for being from the meat-n-potatoes Midwest. Beef consumption is alive and well west of the Sierra highlands. A couple of weeks back, Bill Niman would not stop saying "grass-finished" instead of "grass-fed" since, he distinguished, ALL cattle eats grass earlier in life and are relegated to grains/grass toward the end of their days. He also got all History Channel describing how prior to WWII beef was slaughtered at the end of the grass season, aka autumn, which made it a seasonal commodity, which fueled the pastrami, corned beef, jerky and other curing businesses Only with post-war US corn subsidies did beef become a year-round good, and Mr. Niman was somewhat emphatic about returning to thinking about grass-finished beef as seasonal. Here in CA he defined the season as now into August and that to get a handle on seasonal beef you should have a healthy relationship with "your butcher."
Running: finally am back! I have to figure out how I'm going to keep it up. I need shoes; have been running around the grassy perimeter of Dolores Par in my Vibram 5s (whose anti-bacterial integrity has been permanently compromised by the salty waters of the Place of Refuge National Historical Park in HI, I fear). Suggestions?
Breakfast was nescafe with skim milk, baked bun with lotus seeds paste fillings, wholemeal bread and an apple. Lunch and dinner was not very good, I had mostly carbs and protein. Added some strengthening moves to this week's challenge and finished it off with cardio intervals.
cannot wait for Eddie's funk class, it's been a long workday....& cannot wait to eat, soo hungry!
OMGlutes! Buffin has started a revolution in my lower glutes and upper thighs. It is Day 2 of Ouch and Viva La Resistance! I whined and hobbled my way into Wednesday's silks class with Heather, groaning up a storm. Mission Butt Over Head continues. I remember when I was a little kid, taking swim lessons from Miss Lani, and I'd flail all 3 feet from the pool steps to the teacher to arrive in her ams, sputtering water in her face, squinting with one eye open, gasping for air and ask, "Did I make it?"
"Yes," she'd say. "You did a good job."
It's just like that with Heather, minus the chlorine. I valiantly flex my biceps, flail my legs near the silk and hope my pelvis hits the fabric. Then I fall on the mat, breathing hard, sweat dripping into one eye and ask, "Did I get my butt high?"
"Yes," she said. "You got your butt much higher."
Success! I probably earned myself a lollipop.
Wednesday I substituted lunchtime haircut for lunchtime workout, not to mention lunch. The day was not a bust, however, as there was major progress on "The Roof, The Roof, The Roof"l challenge. This challenge involves achieving a single "rooftop social" per week for the entire summer. It's a stretch to call it "fitness-related," but you might say it's a type of urban hiking. Bagging peaks.
As it happened, we headed for The Jimmy, a swank lounge atop the recently opened James hotel in southern, western SoHo. Reconnaissance missions had suggested that the staff was friendly, and the roof surprisingly open to the public. In fact, we were met at the door by a cadre of elite French North African bouncers. It seemed there was a private party and a guest list, and we were not welcome. We swallowed our disappointment and bitterness, drank a glass of wine in the garden terrace, and were prepared to go home empty handed, (or perhaps to claim that the first story garden terrace was, in fact a roof.)
But we were saved at the last moment by Donald Trump....
Wandering aimlessly down city streets post sub-Jimmy, looking upward, we spotted a glowing blue rectangle at the top of the infamous Trump SoHo. This is the 40-plus story building the building of which has enraged the low-lying, bohemian neighborhood. We made it through the garish lobby undetected (think stringy crystal chandeliers and leather easy chairs with unnatural gold sheen), and pushed the button labeled "SH," just above the "45" button. What's it stand for, we wondered, "so hot?"
The doors open, we exit passing a few well intentioned types saying that the party was over. Oh, right, we'll just go and see, thank you... M,oments later we find ourselves in the Blue! An empty banquet room filled with circular tables festooned with white flowers, and the entire space lit with blue spotlights. We're in a strange bluelight fishtank, with panoramic window views to the south, west, and east. Brilliant! But not quite a roof. Ah, but what's this in the corner of the room? A utility door leading backstage into a twisty fluorescent hallway towards some metal stairs heading up....
Take the blue pill and stay in the blue room. Take the red pill and follow the red emergency exit signs? In we go, up the stairs, and out another security door (Absolutely No Re-Entry!) and now we are standing on a gravel strewn, open air, Mad Max-esque rooftop, dominated by a bellowing air conditioning unit.
Further scrambling and spelunking takes us from southern industrial half of roof to uptown-facing, semi-finished side of the building. There, I was able to snap attached picture of bizarre viewing windows the enclose the tiny human-friendly area of the roof. Epic view, disastrous architecture. Tremendous missed opportunity of open space. But still exciting, with wind and sky and 6th avenue a single red artery below. Which is when we see the enormous, bald security guard making his way towards us....
Sprinting lynx-like, some in high heels, to closest security door, out through the warren of tunnels, back, safely into the Blue Room, phew, we think. Not so fast. Emerging from the other side of Blue comes the guard. "OK, come on out now," he says. We begin contemplating worst case scenarios of court cases and trespassing fines, when he begins with
"See, your mistake was you left the door open. I knew y'all were up there when I saw the door was open." Is he smiling? Yes!
"You've got to go down now," he says unthreateningly.
"Thank you, sir. It's very beautiful out there isn't it?," one of us says.
"Un-fucking believably beautiful," he says. "Amazing."
And we: "But they haven't done much with it," have they?
"They've done nothing," he agrees.
Suddenly we're bonded. Both appreciators of the wilds of the roof above floor 46, hunter and hunted in a mutual love fest. Heading down in the elevator, we ask what, in fact, the "SH" on the elevator button stands for?
"So High" he says. Someone is calling on the walkie talkie, and he's answering: "All clear on So High."
We couldn't love that any more than we do. Count it.
William and Kate dragonboat too!
Stopped by at the local hypermart to buy some things after work and then stopped over at the local market. I'm feeling like eating fish cooked on a burnt charcoal and having it with some fresh crushed chillies. We have this type of cooked fish sold in the local market and I bought some of these for dinner later with my sisters. Did a short workout, I concentrate mainly on lunges , squats and abs because I find these helped a lot in shaping and toning my overall appearance, apart from, of course, it's for this week's challenge.