Monthly Archives: March 2012

Floor barre.

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Yep, tonight I made my Ballet Yoga Bend & Stretch class do a floor barre. I started them at the barre for some foot warm-ups and pliés (because pliés look stupid on the floor and feel worse). This is when I remembered that I spent the whole weekend snowboarding. My quads were none too impressed with me, might I add. Neither was I with them, however, so it all worked out in the end.

My favourite moment was when, just as we were beginning tendues on the floor, a student asked, “Are my heels supposed to pop off the ground like yours?” This innocent question allowed me to explain that I have rather, erm, robust calf muscles and that I’m knock-kneed, so no, she didn’t have to force her legs into mimicking mine.

The next comment: “This is way harder than at the barre,” followed by a chorus of agreement, told me that this was just what they needed. It’s much trickier to stick out your derrière to compensate for your forward-tipping torso (also known as “cheating”) when your rear is seated on the floor. Ha! Best way to demonstrate how much they were pushing alignment, without pointing fingers, evAR. And I would know, because after 20+ years of dancing, this kid knows every trick in the book!

Tell you what: They’re gonna feel that tomorrow! Unfortunately, so am I, since I did the whole class with them, but still, you guys. STILL. I feel better knowing that they’re going to hurt a little tomorrow. I wonder if that makes me a bad person or a good teacher. All I know is dancing and yoga is hard work, but it’s the kind of burn that lets you know you did something awesome for your body (even if your body disagrees the next morning). It takes years of hard work and dedication to look this good:

Grandmaman made these leg warmers. I wore them tonight!

Also, in completely unrelated news, my work blog, Health-bent, was about allergies this week. Because I know they’re coming. Know how I know? The crows. They’re building their nests, getting ready to swoop down on me, spraying me with pollen. Because crows think I want their babies. Just for the record, I don’t. Anyway, I had to include this image here, because I was pretty pleased with myself for getting it into my work blog. Oh how I laughed. Gillian, this one’s for you! Who knew cleansing your sinuses was this much awesome? This guy!

 

 

At last!

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Adam and I got groceries tonight. This may not sound like a big deal, but seriously, you guys, it’d been at least a month since our last dedicated grocery trip.

I’d been eating dinners that were really just mixed items from the fridge. Not even enough ingredients for an omelette. Last night, dinner was as follows:

  1. Fried eggs.
  2. A piece of toast.
  3. A handful of grape tomatoes.
  4. A handful of baby carrots, dipped in (see next item):
  5. Hummus.
  6. A pickle.

This is not a satisfying meal. And I’m not all that picky, either, but even my undiscerning palate was unimpressed.

Anyways, since we got groceries, I had just enough time to make a salad (I’d have taken a photo, but I was getting hangry and forgot) and write an article that was due today for the next issue of UVic’s Business Class magazine. It’s my several-th article for the publication. I’m not sure how many I’ve written exactly and I’m too lazy to look it up.

So, good night. Adios. Farewell. Oh, this is starting to look like a song from The Sound of Music…

Well, that was fun.

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Got down the mountain late this evening, just in time to have a nice hot bath with coconut bubbles (they’re so cocoNUTTY!) and epsom salts. Yeah, I’m sore. But not as sore as I thought I’d be, which is good. Thank you, yoga! When I was pouring in the epsom salts, a HUGE chunk fell in. I decided that this was probably not a bad thing. It also made me quite buoyant. Also, I needed a shower, due to my rather intense case of toque/helmet-head.

Me, in a helmet, on a slope.

I stayed in this morning, because I had some work to do. This did not seem like the best use of my time at a cabin on a mountain, what with my new-found love of sliding down said mountainside, strapped to a board.

I got as much done as I could, given that I needed some approvals before I could really move forward very much (that and the internet was spotty). Then, all alone, I decided I should do some yoga, which I began after texting Adam to ask how much fun he was having. He replied that he was having very much fun and I should join him. So join him I did.

I got my rental gear like a pro, swapping a wrist guard because having a left and a right seemed more useful than the two rights I’d been given.

I slid down to the bottom, feeling pretty pleased that I hadn’t forgotten everything from the day before. I also tested my theory that, despite my experiences with surfing and life in general, I was strangely a goofy-foot on a snowboard. The evidence I compiled through my empirical studies (read: flailing and bailing after hurtling goofy-foot forward, losing control and catching my toe-edge, resulting in the instantaneous explosion of me rolling down the slope), demonstrates that, in fact, I am not a goofy-foot. Solved that mystery pretty durned quick.

I also practiced boarding on my toe-edge, because anything with a toe-edge is not where I really excel. This is not my favourite. I’m not sure why, but I do have a sneaking suspicion that it’s because sliding down a mountain backwards is not altogether a moment in which I feel as though I’m the boss of me.

I practiced my linked turns, which aren’t really linked, because of my aforementioned toe-edge issues. Heel turns? No prob. All over it. If that were a competition, I’d probably win, against some 6 year olds. Toe-edge turns? Not so much. I have sorted out why I have yet to successfully negotiate a toe-edge turn (thus linking my turns, you see). Here is my hypothesis:

  1. As soon as I turn my board to prepare for my toe-edge turn, my speed picks up, pretty much immediately reaching mach 4.
  2. At this speed, I am not entirely certain that, were I to put my weight on my toe-edge, I would not fall backwards, endangering everyone around me, and most importantly, endangering myself, in the process.

So, clearly I need a little practice. Next time up, I’m taking another lesson to practice. I’d be level 2, said Liz, my amazing instructor. Level 2, you guys. Not too shabby.

Also, Mount Washington is really beautiful. See here:

My feet, on my sweet rental gear. See how pretty Mount Washington is?

 

 

Sochi 2014, here I come!

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Okay, so I realize that I missed yesterday’s post. My bad. Thing is, we were driving up to Mount Washington and you know, stuff happened. Like, for example, we only reached the cabin after 10:30 pm and then we had to dig our way in. Well, actually, Ben dug, Adam helped, and Ashley and I offered helpful commentary on the process. I think the guys really appreciated our helpful tips and encouragement. Seriously, my friends, there was no entry to the cabin. Here’s what it looked like after at least 30 minutes (might’ve been longer: my toes were freezing in my Hunters, and yes, I realize that they are not snow boots):

The Ice Cave.

Anyway, I totally went snowboarding today. The last time I strapped something to my feet and slid down a mountain, I was about 12. You may recall that I was a little apprehensive about this new foray into winter sports. I’m not known for being particularly bold when it comes to activities that contain a smidgen of danger to my personal health and physical safety. Adam and I were both eagerly anticipating my certain meltdowns on the slopes, wherein I would lie on my back, crossing my arms, pouting while announcing that “this is TOO hard. It’s stupid and I hate it.”

You’ll be pleased to know this little scenario didn’t manifest itself. I know Adam was, at least. I was unimpressed initially, when we had one foot strapped to the board and then we had to “skate” sideways. My left knee (not my favourite knee) felt like it was being twisted to face the direction from whence I’d come and, you guys, it DID. NOT. FEEL. GOOD. I was concerned about my impending injury when I was finally attached with both feet to the board.

Turns out, it really is better when they’re together. My feet, that is. No problem getting up, and zoo0-0-00-(Oomph—that’s me falling on my rear)-00m! I was off! Actually, it was more of a slow slide, but you guys, still. I was snowboarding! I made some turns (which is apparently not the easiest thing for a newbie to do!) and merrily boarded down the runs at a pretty good clip. I’m not even making that up. Ashley said so! I think I may be Canada’s next best hope for the gold in Sochi. I’ll keep you apprised. One thing I am at this point pretty sure I am not is an ambi-turner.

So I feel pretty good about it and now I need all kinds of expensive and cute snowboarding gear. I still need a surfboard, too, come to think of it, but that’s another post.

I’m not sure if I’ll be hitting the slopes again tomorrow. Not because it wasn’t super fun, but more because I’m waiting to see how my quads/hamstrings feel in the morning (I’m not as young as I once was, you know). Snowboarding is hard work! Luckily, we took a break at Fat Teddy’s for a mid-ski and obligatory green beer. After all, it’s my first year not Irish dancing in the pubs (I miss it!)… And I’m about to get all up in the après ski, so I shall bid you adieu!

Drinking and wearing green for March 17th, mountain style.

Just call me Columbo.

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Why, you ask, should you call me Columbo? Well, my reasons are twofold:

  1. First, Columbo is an amazing show and Peter Falk was an awesome detective.
  2. I’ve figured out why I can’t get up on time.

As for #2, get yourself ready for a real groundbreaker: The reason I’ve been lazy in my mornings as of late is because I’ve been staying up too late. I know. Shocking. So, it’s 12:18 am and I’m facing the same issue.

This evening’s excuse is that I had to fold Laundry Mountain (since I seem to not have servants). In order to do it, and stretch the chore as long as humanly possible, I watched Thor whilst folding away.

Here’s the thing about Thor (actually, they are multiple things): I actually rewatched half, because I didn’t understand what was going on the first time I saw it. It didn’t really help. I was still confused. I read the plot on Wikipedia and IMDB, which helped somewhat, but, my friends, honestly?  Still pretty confusing. Kenneth Branagh directed it and it had Natalie Portman and Anthony Hopkins, so I figured it had to be worth it.

I decided I liked it, despite my confusion. Because the world of make believe is always so much better than the real world. Also, I think I have a crush on Thor. Not the actor who played him, Chris Hemsworth (although he’s very handsome), but on Thor. You guys. He can fly and he wears a cape. Those of you who know me will recall that these are both things I aspire to achieve when I grow up (which I anticipate being any day now), with the addition of a tiara. I look very good in a tiara.

This is on my fridge, courtesy of Ben & Ashley.

 

I may watch it again. But I don’t think I’ll understand it much better.

Anyway, that’s the mystery solved at least. I need to go to bed earlier. So many of my problems could be solved with an earlier bedtime.

We are being so spontaneous, you don’t even know.

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Mmm hmm (make sure you make your “hmm” sound go up at the end to sound mildly patronizing/condescending to capture our mood).

We are throwing caution to the wind all over the place (actually, we’re being pretty rational and responsible, but we are having fun, and it is awfully windy). This weekend, we’re hitting the mountain with Ben and Ashley. Second time this season, and this time—get ready for it, folks—we’re going to partake in snowy activities. I have not been strapped to any kind of fast-moving snow-thletic gear since I was about 12, so this will be an adventure. I am fairly sure I will throw at least 3 tantrums and there will be tears involved. Because I am a big chicken. Adam can’t wait (he said he’d take the beginner’s lesson with me).

I’m both excited and scared to be strapped into just one piece of equipment and no, I don’t believe you when you tell me that snowboarding is just like surfing. I’m not strapped to my surfboard (it’s a leash and there’s significant lee-way). Maybe I just need a shot of liquid courage to loosen me up first. Oh wait, that’s a terrible idea. Sigh.

This will be fun, regardless. SNOW! Ben said there’s so much fresh snow that we’ll need our snorkels. I don’t think he understands how to snowboard (NB: Ben is one of the best snowboarders we know, just on the off-chance he reads this and sues me for libel).

Also, in other exciting news, A.K.A. Paris in the Fall, Jen and I Skyped tonight. There was much conferring over calendars (ooh la la!), followed by each of us asking the other, “So, how’s your French?” I think we’ll get by. <<excitement mounts>>

Lastly, tonight, I didn’t need to teach/work/volunteer/be anywhere. So, post-Skype, Adam and I went for a jog (it’s so light out, Daylight Savings!) and then came home. My laundry pile (all clean, all three weeks of it) was going to be folded this evening, but it did not come to pass. Um, you guys? I’m going to bed now: Feel free to drop by and fold it for me. Maui sucks at it, on account of her not having thumbs, she says. So she just sleeps in it. Only the clean laundry, mind you; never the dirty… And as for Hermes folding it, well, you can forget it. That guy does NOT help out around the house.

Laundry Mountain

I do not <3 Hot.

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Okay, so I don’t have a lot of time here. I got places to be (read: my bed). I was helping a friend out, though, so whatever.

I figure I may as well just tell you that my initial foray into hot yoga did not warm my heart nearly as much as it warmed my skin.

In addition to my profuse sweating, which I actually found quite amusing (honestly, a summertime Primary Series with a full class and I’m pretty much just as sweaty. Almost.). Those towels went IMMEDIATELY into the wash. Though they didn’t stink (Adam’s sports gear reeks to high heaven, but I have now proven that my sweat don’t stink).

I mean, I was DRENCHED. My attitude was not unlike the cat in that link, btw. Yeah, that’s right: I was angry. For no particular reason. I was just really angry on the inside (as opposed to going on a sweat-induced rampage, knocking over everyone nearby, which is about 60 quadrillion people). They’d be easy to take down with their LOCKED KNEES. That’ll teach ’em to LOCK THEIR KNEES!

The only times I wasn’t really angry was when I was mildly concerned that my heart rate was becoming unnaturally fast and heavy, as well as when I was counting the rows and being generally amazed that this many people take hot yoga. On a Sunday. At 3:45 pm. I think my classes are way more fun (and more demanding), plus they’re at a reasonable time. Oh, and it’s not like the bloody Sahara desert. Oh, and they’re way cheap, compared to the HOT CLASS of SWEAT.

Also, someone sweated on me. I nearly barfed/cried/punched them in the throat.

I may have anger management issues. We’ll see. 9 more classes to take on this card…

What’s so great about Paris?

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Well, I don’t really know what’s so great about Paris, because I’ve never been. However, I’m fairly certain that what’s so great about Paris is ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING. I’ve always, always wanted to visit and be all French and windblown and extremely stylish and chic (because that is what happens when one is in GAIE PAREE). Some of these things may occur. Some may not.

Adam and I are working on a Very Exciting Plan, which involves some Very Awesome People Who Are Favourite. Suffice it to say, I’m going to be scratching another biggie off my Life List. I see berets, baguettes, brie and cobblestones (and apparently lots of dog poop that no one picks up, the barbarians!) in my relatively nearish future.

This is how you look French. It helps if your last name is LeBlanc and you are, in fact, French.

On that note, I call it a Life List and not a bucket list, because thinking about why it’s called a “bucket” list makes me sad and morbid and melancholic.

I still haven’t written about my hot yoga experience yet. It’s still too soon (and I’m still too dehydrated). Tomorrow. I promise.

4-Day Weekends

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I wish all weekends were 4 days. That would be awesome. If my weekends were all long ones, I’d look like this every day:

This is what happy looks like.

Unfortunately, this is not the case. Weekends, including the one we just had, are a mere two days, instead of the more awesome four. I talked to this weekend and it told me it wishes it were longer. Maybe the government should take a look at this.

I went to hot yoga today. It was very hot. I would write more about this, but I’m all shrivelled from sweating out 90% of my body weight and 110% of my electrolytes, so I’m going to write about it tomorrow, when I have more time and have returned to a normal internal body temperature. Because it’s 10:45 (not that you can tell, because of the no time stamp) and I’m going to bed.

Also, Maui is very whiny these days. More than usual. We’re not sure what’s going on, but we have some theories. I’ll fill you in on them later, after I’ve collected more empirical evidence. Probably she wants tuna juice. That cat loves a juicy can of tuna.

Catch you on the flip flop.

 

 

So much for blogging earlier…

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Well, it started out so well. I was up and at ’em bright and early, so I could get out to Feel Good Yoga to sub for my friend Laura’s 8:15 am powerflow class. It was a great class, lots of fun and smiles, which is always gratifying. Then, it was back into James Bay for ballet at 10 am. This was the first class I’ve managed to catch since New Years (have I mentioned I’m too busy?). Super fun! I love ballet. It always feels like home (despite the fact that my arabesques suck and weirdly, my turnout and crappy feet haven’t magically gotten better as I’ve aged).

People are always talking about "putting on their dancing shoes," whereas I actually do it.

The plan to blog earlier didn’t pan out, as you’ve probably realized by the time stamp (I don’t even know if there is a time stamp on my posts, and I’m too lazy to save this draft and check, so I’m just going to go with it). It’s 12:03 am. Actually, it’s 1:03 am, because tomorrow we spring forward for daylight savings. If I didn’t already dislike spring as far as seasons go, losing an hour would push me over the edge. Fall, on the other hand, which is already favourite, has the good sense to bestow upon me an extra hour (in which I can, by some unknown magical force, accomplish about 93 extra hours of chores/work/sleep/stuff).

So yeah. That’s what we get. Thanks, Spring, for nothing. This is all your fault.