Driste

sleep fighting

Terrible Horrible No Good Really Bad dreams last night. Perhaps due to the abnormally large burrito I nibbled on last night at the Taco Temple. And I say nibble because, although I did my best to eat like the true champ that I am, my best was not good enough for this monster. Upon receiving the plate from my lovely tattoed waitress, I mumbled "holy shit, it's bigger than my head," while I pushed the basket of chips far far away (too late, I'm afraid). She said, "we aim to please."

About 30 minutes later, I put down my fork, unable to fathom taking another bite.
Tay: You barely made a dent!
Me: But I ate so much! It was just so big!
Tay: It was bigger than your head!
Me: That's what I said!
Tay: You did? When?

Yes, that's right. We both compare food items to body parts. This was one of those moments when I realize we're truly MFOE.*

Then our waitress had the gall to offer the dessert menu. To which we loudly replied in unison, "NO."

After dinner we enjoyed a lovely sunset on the beach, a truly rare sight to see in Morro Bay in September as our coast is normally blanketed by fog in summer.

And then. Much later. The dreams.

Running for my life from war, from guns, from bombs. Fighting back with grenades, with guns, with every fiber in my being. Trying to protect my loved ones, trying to keep everyone together, but losing people one by one. Waking up trembling, I tried to shake it off, tried to think about meadows or Kula or flowers or jogging in the redwoods..... all the visions that usually bring me peace and joy. Fell back to sleep and back into the dreams right where I left off. When I woke up a second time, I got up and took a little walk around the house, massaged some lavendar essential oil into my temples and below my nose, hoping the scent would change my subconscious paths. No such luck. By the time my alarm went off at 5, I felt physically heavy and exhausted from fighting all night.

The fear from the dream crept into my practice, causing self doubt and self deprication throughout each pose. Mentally, it truly was my worst self practice to date.

And then, after showering.....

Tay: I thought you were getting up for yoga this morning.
Me: I did.
Tay: No way! You just let kula out and got right back into bed!
Me: Nooooo.... I came back to bed after an hour and a half of yoga.
Tay: I don't believe you.

So did I dream it all? No, of course not. Tay's just delusional at 5 a.m. Can't say that I blame him. And he made me smile. For the first time that morning.

*For those of you who haven't seen Sleepless in Seattle thousands of times (yes, I have. And yes, I know I'm a loser), this means Meant For Each Other.

I HATE HARVEST.....

Okay, so hate is a strong word, and I don't like using it. But as I mentioned in my last post, I volunteered to help with punch downs yesterday. As a result, I was at work until 7:30 last night punching down by myself. Our lab tech was doing pump-overs (some fruit goes into our big tanks. For these, we take a hose and a pump and pump the juice from the bottom of the tank on to the top), and the rest of the cellar workers were bringing new barrels into the barrel room and prepping them for the press. Usually when I help out with punch downs I'm one of three or four people, so end up punching down maybe 6 or 7 bins. And even then I break out a sweat. After punching down 30 bins last night, I'm in pain today. I've got massive blistering on my hands, my abs are spasming, my back is spasming, and my triceps are.... well.... they hurt. And that means I'm a wimp because the cellar workers do this three times a day, every day, for several weeks.

I tip my hat.... no..... I bow to the feet of those cellar workers and winemakers all over the state working 12 to 15 hour days 7 days a week during harvest (which can span mid August until late October or even early November), making these wines. Also, to the vineyard crews and managers who are in the vineyards harvesting from 5 a.m. until well into the afternoon. They are at the will of the weather, kicking it in to 5th gear at any sign of rain (rain during harvest equals bad fruit. Think osmosis) or heatwaves (heat spikes the sugar levels). I have friends who bitch about the price of good wine. But once you see the backbreaking work, sweat, and tears that go into every bottle of wine (well, not every bottle.... Charles Shaw and other bulk-wine makers are in a different arena, as far as I'm concerned), you understand why.

That being said, I still hate buying wine without my industry discount.

I'm so cheap.

bees' knees again.

I'm beginning to wonder if my knees will ever be the same. Will they ever heal? Will they continue to be a grievance and a nuisance and a hindrance throughout my lifetime of yoga practice? Will i ever sit in padmasana again without the fear and/or certainty of reinjury????

Patience, grasshopper.

But you have to admit.... it's been a while.

I'm confident that my left knee will get there soon. I feel no aches on that side throughout my practice or any time after. But I told myself in June that I would give both knees until at least December before I attempt padmasana or half padmasana for any pose. I've learned my lesson. Just when you think you've healed, that's when you reinjure. And that's the most frustrating feeling in the world.

That's life. We take a few steps to test the water, we gain confidence, we gain our footing, we skip joyously, we revel in our abilities, and then..... with a POP.... they're stripped from us. Just like that.

I opted for a change of scenery this morning and practiced at the gym instead of in my living room. Sometimes that's all I need to jumpstart my motivation. Looking back now, hours later, I realize I skipped Utkatasana. Oof. I built some nice heat this morning, had to roll out the mysore rug even before the Prasaritas. C was a bit painful, my shoulders protested and I could just barely touch the floor with my palms facing outward on the 5th breath. I'd been making contact on the 2nd or 3rd breath with palms facing eachoter before my vacations, so I can definitely feel the regression that week away brought to my practice. Also, my strength in vinyasas and arm balances faltered quite a bit this morning. The vinyasa out of Bhujapidasana was lack-luster, with a fairly strong tittibasana followed by a terrible attempt at Bakasana, and a step back to chaturanga instead of the usual jump/float. My legs weren't quite up on my shoulders in Kurmasana, but still managed to touch sternum to the floor and lift my feet off the ground for a few breaths. Supta Kurmasana did not feel very deep at all. I'm sure I looked more like a squashed turtle than a reclined turtle. Backbends were more of a chore than a release this morning, and dropbacks left me extremely winded.

None of this mattered to me. Starting a fresh week felt like returning home after a long journey away. Of course, now that I can devote myself to my daily practice, ladies' holiday is scheduled to start today or tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, I'll skip it like I did last month.

While a small part of me is thrilled that I skipped last month's cycle and hopes this will be a regular occurence (regular irregularity?), a much larger part is alarmed, concerned, and unhappy. Bulimic and anorexic gymnasts have amenorrhea. Marathon runners and Triathletes who have 5% body fat have amenorrhea. I should not, since I eat plenty, take lots of supplements to make up for the meat I'm not eating, don't over-exercise, and do not have extremely low body fat. So, if I skip again this month, you can bet I'll be making yet another doctor's appointment. 

I've been an insurance company's worst nightmare these past few months. What would I do if I was like millions of other americans and was going through all of this without health insurance? American healthcare. Totally F-ed up. Even with insurance, I've met my co-payment deductible ($250) in just 2 short months, and have paid just over $300 in lab and diagnostic fees. And that's just the 20% I'm obligated to pay. My health insurance pays for the remaining 80%.

I've given up on gold shoes. I've decided to wear my wedding shoes, which are ivory like the other bridesmaids' shoes.

They are lovely shoes, just a tiny bit scuffed up from my big day. And this way I can save a few bucks and maybe buy a pair of jeans or a new outfit for the rehearsal dinner or something.

And I wish more than anything else in the world that I could hop on a plane and fly to Portland to give Yellow a big big hug and help her destress and help her get ready for her drive down to California to get MARRIED!

Here are Yellow and her sweetie right after he proposed at the Grand Canyon.

Hilarious side-story here. Yellow's sweetie was down on one knee proposing, Yellow said yes, kiss kiss, so excited..... then a man popped out of the bushes with a camera, said he'd been taking pictures of the views, and upon realizing what her sweetie was up to, he took some shots of them but didn't want to disturb them. Took down their address, sent them copies of the photos he took!