Smelling the roses!

Smelling the roses!

“Where has the day gone?” seems to be a popular mantra lately.  Just replace the word “day” with “week” or “month” or “year” and one sees a snapshot of how most of us interact with our daily lives.  We perceive of ourselves as working too hard with too much to do and have a language that reflects our sense of how so much of our days are spent in unwanted toil.

The classic example is the expression “hump day.”  For the nine-to-five office workers that means Wednesday, an otherwise stalwart of elevator conversation as in “well at least it’s hump day.”  This presumes a sort of misery in the world of work that carries over into the too tired, too grumpy, not enough time mindset of after-five, when one’s world seems to revolve around commuting, grocery shopping, making dinner, engaging with children at varying levels — and oh yeah, interacting with one’s significant other who is often in the same place.

I guess I’m on this theme because I find myself fighting the trend. I’m literally trying to smell roses when I find them — and if they’re not there, the memory of when they are in bloom.  My favorite spot is about two blocks from my house.  In the summer and well into the autumn they form a lovely banister of color as I make my way to Gleason’s on Saturday mornings.  I’ll walk along past the Farmer’s Market and there they’ll be, dozens and dozens of pink roses with deep pink tinges in varying states of bloom, some tiny and forming, others full, and still more languidly open drawing in the last drops of sunshine till they fade and fall.

I bring all of this up because I feel that many of us forget that there is beauty in the little things.  Perhaps even in the things one sees everyday:  the way the light hits the array of plants in someone’s office window, a co-worker’s twinkle at regaling a story of her infant son’s smile, the triumph in someone’s eyes after completing 300 sit-ups.

All of these things are reminders that life is made up of moments: some are lovely and some are admittedly hard to grapple with or even sad, but still, they make up the textured interlacing of experiences that form our days.  Sometimes we just need to remind ourselves that they are there even when we can’t see them. I for one am trying to live that way again.

Getting back in the swing!

Getting back in the swing!

Whether it’s perfecting your left hook or flexing your mind (as in keeping a “daily” blog) – getting back to a regular regimen is tough going when you’ve been away from it for a while!

Having stepped into the gym on Saturday for the first time in three weeks was a case in point.  I’m nursing sore abs, a creaky shoulder and a mindset that is less focused on perfecting the minute shifts of tuned-up training, than just getting to the gym at all.

So my job is to push my momentum, meaning, getting myself back on a weekly gym schedule that *builds* rather than maintains!  I’m also trying to talk myself out of the neat excuses for not going such as, “I’ll be out of town on Saturday” or “I’m tired” or “it’s raining out” … you know the drill!

I can say the same for writing!  When I don’t write every day I get out of the habit — so, starting today, I am bound and determined to get back on the writing stick!  And yes, I’ll even give myself some slack for having finished up my degree, et alia, but a daily blog is just that, a daily blog.  That means putting fingers to the keyboard with a mindset that can get past the range of reasons *not* to do something.

Meanwhile, it’s 2012 and I’m already over three weeks behind in getting my resolutions in order for the year!  So here goes!

1.  Write a daily entry for Girlboxing!

2.  Gain more strength, endurance and flexibility. Being in my late 50s means I need resistance training and a lot of it to keep my bones strong.  I also need to do more aerobic training, and yoga.  That means getting back to a training schedule that has me doing at least one thing a day and on some days all three!

3.  Eating better!  Yikes.  This one is tough.  Having been diagnosed with LPR (Laryngeal Pharyngeal Reflux) and GERD (Gastric Esophageal Reflux Disease) PLUS having Barrett’s Esophagus (the cells in the esophagus near the gastric junction actually CHANGE due to acid erosion), I’ve been living a low-acid/low-fat life!  What I have to get to, however, is better balance in selecting meals and foods and how they are combined.  This one is a tough to sort out – and I’ll actually do a column on it sometime soon, suffice to say that I’m getting there.  I’ve lost nearly 25 pounds since the change in my eating regimen in July 2011, now the trick is to go the rest of the way (another 10 pounds), while continuing to build muscle (which has suffered as late) so that when I eventually meet my goal, I’ll be a healthy and toned – rather than depleted and weak.

4.  The next project:  now this is the tough one!  I’m thinking book and just have to move into the space by DOING rather than angsting about it.  And therein lies the sticky problem: getting to the DOING part.  Again, it’s a matter of starting and once in the habit continuing the process until it is concluded.  Easier said than done?  No, probably not ‘cause we all have goals that we set and follow.  It’s that pesky issue of getting started!

What it all comes down to for the year:  Doing!

So, day one in my reforecast New Year means putting the fingers to the keyboard to say thanks so much to my Girlboxing friends for listening and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

And how nice that it happens to coincide with the Chinese celebration of the Year of the Dragon!

GONG XI FA CAI

Good morning from Brooklyn!

Good morning from Brooklyn!

It is way too early, and yet with books from my latest grad school paper strewn about me on the couch, the noise of buses beginning their early runs and the thought of a Starbuck’s morning bun to get me going, I’m feeling rather privileged to be able to write a blog piece.

Plus I’m feeling quite joyous at the realization that today marks my 200th post!

I’ll admit it, I’m wowed!

And having put one foot in front of the other since starting this blog on October 7th — (is that really just a little over six months ago) I’m doubly wowed at how much writing Girlboxing has meant to me not the least of which because it’s brought me into two intersecting communities of things I love: writing and boxing. 

Thank you all for being the audience for my musings!

And for the chance to wake up at ridiculous hours in the morning to do my daily something which has grown to include writing, morning yoga and the occasional shadow boxing foray around the living room.

It’s also gotten me back in the gym on a regular basis and most importantly, a renewed appreciation for the sweet science and overwhelming respect for the men and women who practice the art.

On the more personal side, writing Girlboxing has been my own private Kaddish.  A way to honor memory and loss as a daily act of positive intent by exalting the best in life.  Some days are better than others, but I always, always write with a sense of wanting to have each day be that much better than the last.

Thank you all again for your generosity in listening!

 

One breath at a time

One breath at a time.

If there is one thing I’ve been trying to gain out of a daily yoga practice aside from the physical benefits, it’s been the reminder to take things as they come.

With yoga, one performs poses to the rhythm of the breath (or at least tries) and in doing so can be “present,” with the experience.  Or put another way, the mind helps push the body to extend itself to its best place — and through regular practice the possibility of great flexibility and strength, not to mention a more focused mental attitude and the *chance* for some clear moments free of mind-movies!

The practice, however, doesn’t always guarantee the focus or the release of all that mental junk that clogs the thinking which can hamper one’s ability to perform at one’s best.  Focus being another whole facet of every discipline and whether it’s yoga or boxing it requires a lot of inner strength to maintain.

That’s where in my estimation the emphasis on the breath in yogic practice can help in priming the mind towards focus:  a great way of tricking your mind into paying attention.  Kind of like Lennox Blackmore’s pop to my head as he yell’s “wake-up, wake-up,” when I make a truly fundamental blunder during our workout. It’s also a reminder to slow down racing thoughts that are extraneous to the task at hand.

This morning was a case in point for me.  Doing yoga, my mind wandering, I lost an entire pose, meaning, I *did* the pose, but lost to a mind-movie I “woke-up” somewhere at the end of it, not really remembering how I got there and in a teeter-totter not to fall down.  So yes, I did yoga, but I really didn’t because I lost the stream of what I was doing and without that, can I truly say that I practiced?

Try that in boxing, and one ends up in a face-plant on the mat, and frankly in yoga too, because so many of the poses not only require balance, but mental “presence” to truly gain mastery of the practice.  And it is that presence, that “be here now” concept that see’s one through so much of the daily struggles of life.

So, full-circle to the breath … take a few moments out of your busy day and remember to breathe and in so doing, slow down enough to be where you are one step at a time.

Yoga mama shadow boxing around my living room

Yoga mama shadow boxing around my living room

Having fallen “off the wagon” so to speak, I’m on day two of my renewed daily yoga routine what with being a bit hit and miss over the last two weeks — with an every 3rd morning routine.

What can I say — my arms are straining from plank pose, my hamstrings from downward facing dog, and my whole body from the Warrior 1, 2 & 3 sequences, but hey, I’m sitting taller while breathing nice and deep and full.  Even the kitty is excited, finding in my unfurled yoga mat a fun toy she’d apparently, really missed.

Next up, three rounds of shadow boxing around the living room to James Brown’s “Funky Good Time” before prancing my way around the kitchen to make some breakfast for the family.

It’s good to be back.

 

 

 

Slipping and sliding

Slipping and sliding

My little black cloud has returned.  The one my mother used to say followed me everywhere as a constant reminder of all the doom and gloom in the world.  I felt it coming on as a bad fever dream over the past couple of weeks when I started eschewing morning yoga in favor of reading Google “Top News” headlines.  Next came my compulsive news-watching — and now I’m in full-blown “chicken-little” mode what with four disabled nuclear reactors in Japan spewing radiation and reactors five and six on the way.

I guess it was the earthquake-tsunami combo that really put me over the edge and saw me blow-off a perfectly good weekend of work in favor of the intricacies of nuclear power plants.  Did you know, for instance that after the diesel engines failed, the workers jerry-rigged fire hoses to pour water into the reactors?

Having been to Japan both as a traveler and for work, there has been an immediacy to the events that hit home — not to mention that I not only grew up in the era of “duck and cover,” but having had parents who were active in the Ban-the-Bomb pacifist movement of the late 50′s & 60′s knew rather more than I needed to know about nuclear bombs.

So meanwhile, I have work piling up for grad school, a body that is no longer a supple as a pretzel, and am struggling to find my way into the sunshine again when really — well, you get the point, I’m under my little black cloud!

Talk about a slip and slide.

Well, its time to take my own medicine and get out of my own way so to speak.

Yep.  It’s first-you-cry, wash-my-face time.   I could quote from Casablanca to myself … you know the one, “I’m not good at being noble, but it’s clear to me that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”

And yeah, I’d be right.  Part of the all the stuff that happens in “this crazy world” is our own obligation to make it a better place.  So while I can’t do much to help in Japan other than sending on a few bucks, (nope, I didn’t major in nuclear engineering), what I can do is get out of my funk to live a better day and save the black cloud for where it belongs, in the sky to provide rain for all of those pretty May flowers.

So in the spirit of sunshine, born-again Pollyanna says, “have a great day!”

Tied up in knots…

Tied up in knots…

It’s one of those rainy days when the chores have felt as a never-ending stew of this and that — and every time I looked up for a bit of sunshine, the weather conspired with the list to keep me bound to it, no matter how miserable it felt.  Least ways, around here with laundry done, paper garbage bound and disposed of, second round of dish washing underway and most of the homework completed — the tasks still seem unrelenting.  There’s my daughter’s book report with a page to go — and hence her misery and for me, flash cards for her Social Studies test, the bathroom, third round on the kitchen and the reading I never got to.

Oh well.  In my estimation that means milk and cookies time — and the chance to break frame before returning to the “have-to-get-this-stuff-done” pile.  Oh … and the yoga I never got to this morning, but enough of the poor-me … suffice to say, if that kind of mood hits the only thing to do is to listen to a little Patsy Cline and succumb before washing my face and beginning again!

It’s raining dogs and cats

It’s raining dogs and cats

Sometimes when you are working really hard at something, say writing a conference paper, training for your next fight or hitting your 47th non-stop morning at twisting your body in a pose, the goal still seems a million miles away from getting you anywhere.  More to the point, and not exactly a marathoner’s wall, your world will feel upside down and a bit backwards, because no matter the effort that sense of achievement feels illusive.

I think of it having run into a friend at Gleason’s on Saturday who is in the midst of training for a fight.  She looked strong, fit, and truly ready — and yet she also had that look that said, “wow, this is hard.” And is if her verbal constructions had hit into reverse, her far away gaze revealed the doubts that all of us feel when we are on the cusp of something.  I’d have given her a hug if I could, but it wasn’t one of those moments. Rather what she needed was a pause to acknowledge her efforts and struggle; something akin to a moment of breath, where she could intake slowly allowing for the catch in the throat before forcing it all out to begin anew.

And that is how it is sometimes. We work with tremendous effort on our goals, but feel caught in a backwards swirl of mind movies that have us see our world upside down before we can shake the tree enough to right ourselves again.

Call it a raining dogs and cats moment and then move on — because when you are working that hard, you really, really know it, and should trust that you’re doing what you need to do to achieve your that goal.

Your moment, your time.

Your moment, your time.

This is as good an early morning as any to admit that getting up before dawn to breathe deeply as I contort myself into poses my body has no way of holding is just plain silly.  Okay, well maybe not silly, but given that my eyes are at half mast and I’m drifting as I write there is the question as to whether I am hitting diminishing returns here.  Yes, I got the junk out of my bones as I stretched and released — with the added benefit of giving the cat a place to scratch as I attempted the right hand on my outstretched left foot pose (that’s the donuty looking one — great on the tape, ridiculous on me!).

The gripes aside — it being Wednesday after all when these sorts of doubts hit my consciousness — I got to thinking that it is still my little bit of quiet including all this baby-bitching. Yep, let’s face it, sometimes we need some time to complain. We need that arrrghhh growl. That “damn-it nobody changed the toilet paper” grumble. Or my favorite, the loud as I can be empty out the kitchen sink plate slamming session where the object is to make as much noise as possible with nary a scratch to any of the pots, pans, dishes or cutlery. Where I draw the line is with the mucked up sponge which in my world just gets tossed out with a few under the breath curses to the moron who left it there to soak in the overnight potpourri of bacteria languishing in their special stew.

The point is the moments that are yours don’t always have to be pretty. Let’s face it, why else would you want to hit things?  Punching a heavy bag does have its attractions after all. As does beating down a huge mound of clay, digging in the dirt to plant bulbs or running till your heart feels as if it is going to burst. And that’s okay. Release is not always a slowly modulated intake and outtake of breath kind of thing. Sometimes its messy and full of rage, and sometimes its plain old complaint city when for the 116th time in a week you plead, cajole and beg one of your loved ones to pahleasssseee open the hamper lid before stacking their dirty laundry.

Sometimes you win …

Sometimes you win …

Brooklyn Bridge at Night, 1948 Gelatin Silver, by Andreas Feininger

 

 

I managed to crawl out of bed at my usual ridiculous weekday hour in the morning today.  My head is still spinning a bit from being tired and I’ve been fighting off waves of didn’t-get-enough-sleep headaches — not to complain, which I’m not, but to state that the inconveniences of those feelings are out-weighed by the suppleness my limbs feel after my third downward dog pose and all the other stretches these creaky bones held this morning.

While I may or may not get to four rounds of shadow boxing when I finish this piece, the hiss of the steam, wanderings of the kitty and the sounds of the house as it reverberates with the slow morning echoes from the street below gives me something else.  A kind of serenity as I greet the day before the stresses and hustle and bustle of all the have-to’s begin to settle on it.

When one has a busy life with a tons of constituent parts that demand time, attention and thought, it’s so very nice to have the gift of a few minutes that aren’t in competition.  Rather, they’re just for oneself.  A little piece of the world one can own — if not quite the room Virginia Wolfe envisioned where one could state, “I am,” this place has more to do with a gift of quiet.  And sure, predawn self-ministrations get “old” by Thursday morning when the accumulated hours of missed sleep are wearying, however, the idea of finding a part of the day for quiet doesn’t.  I’ve been keeping to this schedule for six weeks now and have to say that occasional grumpiness aside these moments of quiet have truly given me something I didn’t expect:  a place of peace that’s a little of my own.

 

The only thing you really have is your effort!

The only thing you really have is your effort!

I wish that were original, but it’s not.  My brother-in-law wrote it on his Facebook page last night.  Given that he is a working musician, I give him his due as it is never easy.

Similar to professional musicians, professional athletes, talented amateurs and even the rest of us mere mortals on the ground –  can usually only be sure of something based on the effort we’ve put in to achieve it.  For this 50-something body that means I am truly *earning* the increasing tautness of my upper body from all those pre-dawn downward facing dog poses.

Yep, the effort does pay dividends — although I will admit to mornings where the seemingly endless long haul feels a bit discouraging.

And sometimes — the plateau is just that.  The top of where you are going to go — say my ability to do a hand stand!  To use the vernacular – that ain’t never gonna happen – but, it doesn’t mean I don’t stop the effort to get there.

Okay, I know I’m being Pollyanna-ish again, but this notion that what we have is our effort resonated with me.  Perhaps it’s because when the effort is honest and truly your best the outcome is not the issue.  In other words, it’s the doing that matters, and while it is great to have a goal — and in fact often the most motivating part of getting yourself to the piano, the potter’s wheel or the gym in the first place, after a while the goal tends to slip away in favor of the doing.  We often find that the mere fact of following the path we’ve put in place whether its reps on a machine, rounds on the double-ended bag, or practicing the first four measures of a song for the 15th time, means finding the chance to discover beauty and serenity in that effort.  Well, okay, the beauty part might seem a little bit funny in a funky boxing gym — but the point is to not forget the journey, ’cause it might just be what you are seeking to achieve in the first place.

Twenty six days and counting

Twenty six days and counting

When one embarks on any sort of daily regimen of exercise, diet, writing or otherwise — or what I call the daily something, some days feel great and others are to put it charitably, “tougher” than others.

At best, one feels something a kin to a “glow” of self-satisfaction for having put in the work and effort while basking in what feels like tangible results.  At worst, however, is that feeling of being in the mud having worked and worked without getting anywhere — and maybe even losing some ground.

Like any annoying Pollyanna, my response is to say focus on the bright-side, but when one has schlepped oneself day after day to some activity, or to the discipline of say, no chocolate except on Saturdays and the scale looks back with numbers on the wrong side of the goal, that is small solace.

To put it more plainly, when one is my age, a later rather than sooner 50-something, a scale that tips the wrong way feels like a miserable defeat!   Inevitably (with a pardon to the youngsters out there) it becomes one of those “shut-up” moments when the whole hot flashing, weight fluctuating, mood altering, welcome to crone-hood stuff comes crashing down in a giant, “G-d damn-it”  because in my world it means I can’t find my glasses again to even keep the awful number on the scale in focus.

That’s when my other, less grumpy, too cheerful for her own good self makes an appearance and screams out “suck-it up!”

Let’s face it, 26 days of a daily something is an amazing achievement — and what’s meaningful is the “and counting” part of it.  So whether it’s shadow boxing before dawn, writing a poem a day or blogging about it, or any of the myriad of great things we all work hard to achieve, congratulations to you for even trying.

 

 

 

 

Waiting for morning to come

Waiting for morning to come

I’ll admit it, Yoga at 5:15 AM this morning felt cold and lonely.  Sure it was 9 degrees outside which had a lot to do with it, and yes, the cat had fun torturing my feet as I was in the downward facing dog position, but it was something else too.  I felt the sense of being in the middle without seeing the shoreline on either side.  Not exactly being adrift, but feeling dislocated.

A million odd years ago I took at windjammer type cruise in the Caribbean.  The trip was on an old Maine Schooner  (built in the early 1900′s), with about 30 passengers and crew.  The attraction to the voyage was that the trip was an actual crossing:  starting out in St. Martin’s making our way to such islands as St. Barts, St. Kitts and Saba Island towards the final destination of St. Thomas.  At one point on the trip, we were a sea with no land in sight.  I would cast my eyes about all 360 degrees and watch the shimmering waters as they met the horizon, catching the phenomenon of differing weather systems interacting:  here a sudden squall, there beams of sunlight pushing their way insistently through the gaps in the clouds.

It put me in mind of the months and years that sailors would ply the waters of the Atlantic, the Pacific and the Indian oceans in search of whale or spices or for sheer exploration.  Not that a vacation tour or a stint in the dark can in any way equate, but yet we do find ourselves in the momentary panic of being adrift when in fact is we are on course.   It’s just that we can’t quite see it yet.  Yes the light *will* eventually peak up and over the horizon this morning, as surely as the vessel I traveled on made its way forward till we saw land, still, I needed to feel reassured and finding it have gone on to embrace the day — whenever it wakes up enough to show itself.

Boxing day

Boxing day

Now that I’ve gone to a once a week training schedule for boxing, I find myself getting really excited by the time Friday comes along.  The daily fitness routine I’ve found that can work with my schedule these days is based around early morning yoga, but it’s the thought of boxing that gets me pumped up and ready to go.

My Saturday morning boxing routine begins with dropping my daughter off for her Aikido practice, after which I take a nice long walk over to  Gleason’s Gym. By the time I get there I’ve logged 2-1/2 miles at a pretty fast pace so I am nice and loose.  About a 1/2 mile out, I start pumping my arms a bit so that by the time I hit the gym I feel ready for one of my two favorites:  three rounds on the double-ended bag or three rounds of shadow boxing using the slip-rope.

For those who don’t usually practice, the slip-rope is real old-school consisting of something as simple as a clothes line tied between two poles or across the ring around 15 feet apart at about chest height. The object is to move forwards and backwards along the line and “slip” under as practice for slipping a punch. The slip-rope is also great for practicing upper cuts under the line — or for simulating jabs to the body and jabs to the head.  By around the third round, I feel loose enough to dance around the slip-rope going forwards, backwards, and circling.  Having the rope at chest height not only helps to “remind” me to slip, but also gives me an approximation of where to place body versus head punches.

Alternatively, I’ll use the double-ended bag for warm-ups starting with a round of lefts and finishing the second two rounds with combinations and a lot of hooks or upper cuts off the jab.

If I can train with Lennox Blackmore, we’ll do three rounds of pad work — with an aim of getting to four rounds by the end of January, five rounds by the end of February and six rounds by the end of March!  Once we’re done with the pads, it’s back to the double-ended bag for three rounds to work on punches and combinations that Lennox and I focused on during the training session on the pads. This helps to solidify moves, especially slipping punches to counter — a Lennox special. After that, it’s on to the speed bag for three rounds and then a whole lotta’ abs!  I’ll add that if Len isn’t around, I might work-out for three rounds on the heavy bag in lieu of pad work, or add in an extra three on the double-ended bag.

By the end I’m exhausted, but happy — and ready for the quick walk back over to pick-up my daughter.  I hope to keep this going for about three months so that by April I’ll be fit enough to get back into the ring for some light sparring.  We’ll see!

Daily bread

Daily bread

My husband is the baker in our family.  He has perfected two different breads, one a traditional kneeded bread and the other what he calls a “sloppy” bread that he has developed and modified from a wet dough that sits and proofs overnight before he adds in flour and lets rise before baking.  Both are delicious still warm from the oven with mounds of butter and honey or as an accompaniment to a hearty soup.

I bring this up because many of us go about our daily approach to life from different angles, the results of which are a kind of perfection.  The ingredients are the same:  the equivalent of flour, water, yeast and salt, and yet how we get there; our path to our outcome can be long or quick, meandering or purposeful.

We are also always tempered by circumstances.  Is the oven on the fritz?  Is it overly humid?  Has the yeast gone stale?  Is the flour high gluten?  Unbleached?  Mistaken for cake flour?  I have found from my own attempts at a daily something that the path to completion is a constant surprise.  This morning is no different.  With too little sleep last night, I adjusted the alarm clock to ring an hour later.  That variable has set in motion a reordering of morning. I write first.  In doing so my energy is different.  My breath less full than the other mornings of the last three weeks.  Even the cat is puzzled as she flits back and forth challenging me to get up off the couch to pay her some attention.

And perhaps that’s the point.  Our routines, become so — and yet we must constantly adapt; not so different than sorting through how to approach an opponent in the ring.  The parameters are the same, a 16 foot ring shared by two bodies in motion, and yet the one may be constantly in a swirl of action with the other acting and reacting to circumstance; relying on the ingredients,  training and conditioning, to figure out how best to proof the self to the best outcome possible.