Sunday morning..... raining.. the noise never stills in my mind. Not even a brief second of peacefulness and calm. It is like the A.D.D child bouncing off the walls inside my head.

Disorganized thought: What am I having for lunch? easy answer hummus, roasted chicken multi grain crackers, peas, and corn. A handful of Teddy Grahams and black coffee to keep me from devouring a giant Canoli after dinner tonight.

Where would you be if you could be anywhere but here? Another easy answer, Rome, Italy. Maybe Capri.... The images haunt me everyday. The strong desire to speak Italian as if it was my native tongue. To taste and smell the life of someone who holds no schedule, no agenda.



Yoga was packed this morning and my teacher sprang to life like I had not seen her in over a year. Do you ever catch a glimpse of someone when they are truly vulnerable and alive. It's quite beautiful. They don't even realize that you recognize it. Their essence pours out of them. It's as if their spirit is overflowing. I go to a studio far from where I work. A place where I am just a student not a trainer, or an instructor, no management title, or a sign that reads sounding board across my chest, not taking the form of a punching bag for disgruntled members with outlandish complaints. "Like the soap is too harsh. The towels are not plush. The toilet paper is too rough." "The cycling instructor talks too much. We have been "spinning" long enough we don't need someone to tell us what to do."

Today the question the teacher asked was "What are you feeling? What do you need?" All of the possible answers that she rattled off, resonated within. Anxious, scattered, happy, tired. I was everything this morning. My desire and my need, one in the same. To wash myself clean of all that I hang on to. And of all that hangs on to me. I feel my fear sitting there. It has taken up residence deep within my heart and decides to throw a raging party from time to time that lasts for weeks.

They say the fear of falling out of a pose, for instance a handstand or headstand stems from the fear of death. I say all fear stems from the fear of death. It such an all encompassing fear.
Death holds such a stigma of sadness. At one's death, we forget to celebrate their life. We overflow with sadness. A selfish sadness because we are left with out.

Then there is a fear that we will not complete all of our hoped for future accomplishments.
The fear of how or where or what we leave behind. The fear of who we will lose.

Part of the Yogic practice is to over come such fears, such sadness. To embrace, to accept, to empathize. To live out our inherent freedom.

Someone once asked me to define Asana or Pose. What it means to take a pose.

Answer:
To make a statement with the language of the body. To put forth a stoic external expression of the internal stirrings and happenings.
To create a living, breathing sculpture that is a cultivation of emotional and physical anatomy.

Feedings of a Gym Rat (MENU)

6:30AM Breakfast 1
Peanut Butter on Sprouted Bread (toasted), Black Coffee, Skim Milk

10:30am Breakfast 2
Granola and Greek Yogurt (Yum!)

1:00pm 1st Lunch
1 Turkey Burger, Green beans and Corn (maybe a touch of salt)

3:30pm 2nd Lunch Hummus, Rice Crackers, Cheese Stick, Apple
More Coffee!!!

My friends compare me to a hobbit with my eating style.

7:30pm Dinner
Whole Wheat Pasta with Turkey Bologenese (add pecorino cheese and crushed red pepper)

Turkey Bolognese Recipe
1 Pound of all natural or organic ground turkey
For extra flavor can add hot Italian sausage crumbled
3 cloves elephant garlic chopped
1 yellow or white onion (4 shallots are a nice substitute) chopped
1 can of tomato paste
1 can of crushed tomatoes
1 can of peeled tomatoes (I like Sclafani San Marzano)
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Fresh Basil
Dried oregeano
Kosher Salt
Pepper

Saute Onions/Shallots and Garlic until translucent remove and set aside
Brown Turkey and Sausage in olive oil and butter, add italian seasoning or oregano, salt, and pepper
Add Tomatoes, tomato paste and sauted garlic and onions
Add fresh basil (and extra seasoning if necessary)
Let it boil down for approximately 1 hour.

Keep in mind that much of the seasoning is to your taste. If you like more or less garlic that is optional. Sugar is not necessary as the onions are sweet.

Trenches of the Cynical Gym Rat’s Mind

It’s a beautiful, unseasonably warm day. I feel grateful for being able to breathe in and smell the air today. Which for some reason always reminds me of kindergarten on the playground. And I am gently tossed into my past for a brief moment when all my worries were what to watch? Thundercats or Heman. What snack should I have? Cheeze-its and milk or apple slices with chunky peanut butter? Not that those decisions no longer exist. Trust me I still ponder what I am having at my next feeding… but, now it is more or less which bill should I pay first, which crazy person should I call back who has a million and one complaints for me today.
Do you ever notice that the silence sometimes gets so loud that the sirens in your mind blare full blast. The traffic spans the length from San Francisco to San Diego. It’s like a 20,000 car pile up and the mess will take days to recover from.

You remember the promise to your toes of a power wash and fresh paint and to your soles that ever needed reflexology.

Your rhomboids screaming for that elbow to be dropped in and your shoulders thirst for that massage oil to melt away all of the tension that resides in them.

Your fantasies are not about being on an island in a far off tropical place but, they are about cheeseburgers and fries, milkshakes and chicken wings, tacos and nachos and pizza with toppings. And visions of little fried drumsticks dance in your head. You feel so deprived and get sick of the dry chicken and vegetables, that the idea of eating clean and a six pack escapes you.

Now you remember, that you promised yourself 5 hours of Cardio, 3 hours of weights, 4 hours of yoga, and 2 hours of Pilates this week. And you punish yourself for every cookie that you think of and smell.

The laundry list of items gets longer every time you cross one thing off. You find yourself treading faster just to stay afloat.

Your best client forgot that she was meeting you at 6am on your day off so you stand there waiting staring aimlessly into space.

The phone rings and now you have to rush in to the gym to teach a boot camp class in 8.7 minutes and you have not prepared anything not even the music. You don’t even teach boot camp.

The therapist appointment can’t get here fast enough because you need to lay on that couch and divulge all of the secrets and rantings that haunt you every day.

The dirty dishes call for you to rescue them from the sink.
Your scattered pile of laundry gets tired of waiting and walks itself over to the machine.

The computer coerces you to pour your heart out so the little lettered keys can translate the cries into metaphors and confessions.

If you were to ask me what a regular day in my life looked like this wouldn’t even scratch the surface. The above diatribe is just a peak inside my mind before 9am.

Extraordinary (Possibly Disgusting) Occurrences

Here is a brief list of weird occurrences that I have compiled. All gym related. It’s really a work in progress. The list grows daily.
*Child eats its own feces in the babysitting room
*Ecoli strikes. Pool closed.
*Power Outage strikes the whole northeast and the members refuse to leave the gym that is located in a basement without natural light.
*Unidentified Man smears his own feces all over the walls of men’s locker room and leaves some samples in the steam room as well, for extra fun.
*A gentleman strolls to the front desk to borrow the computer to check email in his robe and slippers. He stays a while.

Dancing Queen

Ok, so I am not referring to the awful ‘70s song by Abba. I am referring to Sasha. The lady with the soap in her eyes from previous ramblings. Yes, she appears in many of my days. Four to five times a week to be exact. Not only was I trapped in a paid hour of "therapy for her jiggly ass," but she would haunt me in the locker room, the local bar on Saturdays and a variety of other places that I considered off limits. She wanted to “get the jiggle off.” That was her goal in life. When I meet a client we go through the assessment. We create a list of goals, long and short term. The jiggle was an absolute catastrophe in Sasha's little bubble. I really was not sure what “jiggle” truly was. So, I was not the only person enlisted in this operation. The plastic surgeon played a major role in this drama. He had the courage to work with this woman frequently. The “jiggle” as Sasha spoke of often was sucked out of her ass and inner thighs and was then injected into her scary little face. Isn't that a pretty picture?

1:00pm
Sasha’s Monday afternoon appointment. No sign of her yet.
1:10pm
First phone call placed to Sasha. No answer. Keep in mind, I arrived at 5:00am. Shift ended at 1pm. Nap time and snack scheduled for approximately 2:05pm.
1:13pm
Eyes feel heavy, stomach is digesting itself. The thought of a pillow and blanket luring me in. Knowing that if not for this appointment my destination would be reached earlier. 20 minute waiting rule for clients in most fitness facilities.
1:17pm The arrival of Sasha.
The excuse today was a good one. She was dying her hair. Her hair was constructed out of extremely long extensions that reached her surgically altered bottom. In this process , the hair at the crown of her head got burned by the bleach. She arrived sporting a punk rockesque faux hawk at the top of her head with the remaining locks still long and mostly bleached to crayon yellow.

Wednesday Night Session Scheduled for 4:30pm
We are at this point approaching 4:59pm no answer, no returned phone call. No sign of Sasha.
5:30pm Next client arrives. Session complete. Still no word
It is now 7pm. Midway through third scheduled client.
Picture the setting. An average gym during a prime time hour. I am in a uniform shirt with Trainer printed on it. Black pants and running shoes on. My client by my side, 5’7 black hair cut to her chin, lean and athletic, mid pull up, Sasha runs across the gym floor “I’m here, I’m here.” Now, 7:01. I turn my gaze to my watch then to Jeanette, my current client, back to my watch then to Sasha. Exemplifying a look of pure confusion. “I’m here.” She repeats it as if it is going to change the situation. My gaze changes to a glare. “I am in a scheduled session Sasha….You did not show up for yours.” Stunned she peers back at me through red eyes. “I got shampoo in my eyes.” Taken back by the lack of creativity of some emergency excuse that would cause a two hour delay, I respond with “Seriously?! I am in a session. I cannot train you now.” Needless to say this did not go over well. Because in the land of Sasha, time stands still for her.
She proceeded to call me a “little bitch.” I thanked her for the compliment and dismissed her with a simple “Goodbye.”
Of course this was unfortunately not our final encounter. No where near it.