I aged 10 years in 7 minutes!

My friend, Louise, invited me to play a hateful very cool online game today that aged me ten years. The game, by Harvard group, Lab in the Wild, is designed to help them understand how human motor performance changes with age — so playing helps the group with their research.

How does it work?

In order to play the game you’ll click on 50 red dots, varying in size. The Harvard group says that their game measures click patterns to guess participants’ ages. It claims to do this with a great deal of accuracy, but most people who I know have measured between 15 and 25 years younger than they actually are. I on the other hand, can’t seem to get below 55 years of age (I’m 45)  — yes, I played a few times!

Click on this link and give it a try!

yoga is science, from YogaForNerds blog

yoga is science, from YogaForNerds blog

I’m going to have a nap, drink my prune juice, and hit a(nother) yoga class!

Yayy science!




Toe Fame, via ToeMail

Manitoba, Canada.

click here for Toe Fame

I’ve always been self-conscious about my Fred Flintstone feet when they’re not inside shoes or pointed — a la synchro swimmer. This week, at the encouragement of the creative folks from ToeMail blog, I decided to set self-consciousness aside for toe fame. Have a look for yourselves!


Sammy Rules in Hot Yoga & Swimming

By vandle89 via Cheezburger.com

By vandle89 via Cheezburger.com

As a retired synchro swimmer, the image above appeals to me. Also, the caption resonates with my quest to keep my sweat at a reasonable level in hot yoga. From what I gather, the majority of hot yoga enthusiasts wear minimal amounts of clothing while they get their asanas on. These classes are very well-lit and always full, so no, I’m not brave enough for yoga shorts.

These hot yoga finds just might boost my confidence in the studio.

One of my favorites — a classic at poolside — Sammy (the) Shammy:

Poolside Classic, Sammy

Poolside Classic, Sammy

Kaya Yoga Wear

Kaya Yoga Wear

Carousel Ink
Carousel Ink

Nicola and the Newfoundlander
Nicola and the Newfoundlander

J.P. Morgan, Wonder Woman, & Hot Yoga

Day one of hot yoga month and I’m happy to report that I made it through the hour-long class without crying. Admittedly, it was touch and go at one point.

I think the instructor was a little worried about me part way in. I’m fair-skinned and I have rosacea, so it doesn’t take much for me to get tomato-faced. The rosacea is one of the reasons I left hot yoga a few years ago. I didn’t like being red-faced for the remainder of the day. Also, according to my dermatologist, heat is a no-no.

Self-conscious about his rosacea, J. P. Morgan...

Self-conscious about his rosacea, J. P. Morgan hated being photographed. I wonder how he’d feel about a hot yoga studio with mirrors? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Why return?

In part, I have practical reasons for returning: the studio is close to the gym that my son trains at a few times a week (so I can drop him off and hit a yoga class, instead of swilling coffee in the gallery — another rosacea no-no). Also, the studio is offering a month at $40 — so it’s the least expensive option.

Though the heat started getting to me about 40 minutes into the practice, I loved all the sweating (mine, that is). It made me feel so athletic! And now, three hours after class, I’m noticing that I’m less puffy — my rings are rattling around on my fingers, like they used to about 10 years ago.  Ahh age and hormonal shifts…experiences in humility.

And speaking of humility, Maya Georg’s post, “Fear and Loathing on the Yoga Mat” (YOGANONYMOUS)  couldn’t have been more timely. If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll know that today’s practice was my first big class practice in years — I’ve been doing private & semi private practice. In today’s class my plan was to avoid the mirrors — take a spot in the back and be less conspicuous. The problem: back row was already full. So I got a spot smack in front of the mirror.

Georg’s YOGANONYMOUS post talked about, among other things, the ways we sabotage our own and others’ yoga practices by projecting our insecurities onto them. It resonated with me because throughout the class I was distracted by my image in the mirror, making it difficult to stay with my practice.

“Is this a ‘fat mirror’ or are my hips actually this big?”

“Tomorrow I’m coming earlier so that I don’t have to be so close to the mirror!”

“I’ll bet all those young yoga beauties in the back row — positioned on either side of my reflection — picked the back because the perspective gives them a thinner reflection.”

Distracting and damaging to my practice.

Fortunately, I wear glasses and I’m nearly blind without them, so I took them off and was back in the game.

Whatever works, right?

Wonder Woman didn't wear glasses. When I do yoga, I don't either.
Wonder Woman didn’t wear glasses. When I do yoga, I don’t either.

Hot yoga — too hot?

Right or wrong, I’ve always thought hot yoga was the domain of the young and beautiful. My first impression of hot yoga was formed about four years ago when I tried a three-month membership at local hot yoga studio. The students and the instructors were minimally clothed and super-bendy. They were amazing.

Oh, and there were mirrors everywhere. When I studied dance and aerobics a few moons ago, mirrors didn’t faze me.  In this class though, I found myself very mirror-shy. I would position myself strategically among the crew so that I wasn’t right next to the most youthful beauty, and guaranteeing  that people around me blocked my view of the mirror.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll know that I’ve been working with a teacher and a small class in a boutique yoga studio. That’s not changing, but I’ve decided to diversify my practice. A friend of mine from the morning private practice has been raving about hot yoga, so I thought I’d try it. The studio is very close to one of the gyms my son trains at during the week, so I can slip practice in while he’s training (instead of sitting the gallery swilling coffee). As in real estate, location sells in yoga practice.

My first hot yoga class is tomorrow. If I don’t melt — and even if I do — I’ll let you know how it goes!