Nobody's Guaranteed their "Someday"

Clocks only really tell you how much time has gone past. They don't create time. Moments in the future may not happen. "Someday" may never come.

I lost a friend and colleague yesterday. He had been diagnosed with prostate cancer a short while before I had. Another colleague recommended I contact him since we were very close in age and he was trying a newer, alternative (possibly experimental) treatment. I remember being less afraid and more mad when I was first diagnosed (which prompted my very first blog post ever). I remember the first phone call I made to him - he was so gracious, and took it upon himself to be my cheerleader. Anyone who knew him would not be surprised at all by this; this was Michael. You always felt better after speaking with him - he made it about you, not him.

His own PSA levels (the blood work indicator that prostate cancer may be an unwelcome tenant in your body) were appallingly, ridiculously high. When he told me what his levels were, I was so scared for him that I went to my go-to, which is humor. "Is that a record? Will we see you in Guinness?" He laughed, and said that he had asked his doctor the same thing, but even though the doctor had said it wasn't the highest recorded, he personally had not seen them that elevated. Neither had my doctors, when I shared his numbers, and the look on their faces should have prepared me better then for hearing of the loss today. But it didn't - one of the few things I am certain Michael and I shared, in addition to working for the same company and an overwhelming desire to help others, was optimism. My entire thought process for Michael from that point forward was that I was going to be able to tell others that I knew a guy who had scary-high PSA levels, but that he BEAT it - he's doing fine. Michael was going to be my underdog story - in case anyone with higher-than-my PSA levels asked me for support (because that's what happens - you unknowingly join a fairly large support group), I was going to be able to say, "There's this guy I know, Michael, who...".

He was supposed to beat this. Guys like Michael aren't supposed to leave this early. so much to do; so many lives still to touch. But sometimes the underdog doesn't win. Sometimes the cancer does. Sometimes all the optimism, positive thinking, prayers, etc. aren't enough.

The clock stopped for Michael yesterday. My heart goes out to his family. We've all got a clock. Make sure you're not wasting your clock's time. Make sure you're saying the things that need to be said. Tell the people you love that you love them. Hug someone. Stop putting that trip off. Don't keep waiting for "someday". And if you're male and over the age of 50 (40-45 if this runs in your family) - schedule yourself for a physical and make sure they test for this. I'd like to think Michael would agree with this. Peace.

Dishwasher

Confession: I put no thought at all into how I put items into our dishwasher. I know what you're thinking - typical male. I know I'm supposed to give this some attention, and it really does make a difference what's on the top and bottom shelves, but to be brutally honest about it, it doesn't matter at all.

It doesn't matter because I live with the dishwasher police. Just joking! <jk>  ;)
Except I'm not. My wife can be on the other side of the house, on a different floor, using the vacuum cleaner, and by the time I have the dishwasher open, she's standing behind me, watching where I'm going to place whatever dish I have in my hand. It's like when you're speeding on a wide open, straight road, with nowhere a cop could be hiding, and suddenly, there's flashing red and blue lights in your rear view mirror. To her credit, she never arrests corrects me, she now simply lets me put the dish wherever my poor, simple, male mind thinks it should go, waits until I leave, opens the dishwasher, and moves it to where it's "supposed" to go. Of course, I hear the dishwasher open, the clinking of the plates; I can even hear what she's thinking as she puts the dishes in "the right places". By the way, these places seems to change according to...well, something, I'm sure, so it's not like I can actually "learn" where it goes. It's kind of like decorating a Christmas tree, when you think the ornament looks great where you placed it - as a matter of fact, it's been in that same spot the last three Christmases - but no, not this year. Now it doesn't go there anymore; I must be an idiot.

I used to try to argue my position, much as I'd imagine an attorney would, if said attorney was embroiled in a heated legal dispute concerning the placement of dishes in the dishwasher. Considering some of the insanity I've seen in the courts lately, this is not impossible.
Me: "Aha! So you admit, that on the previously aforementioned evening in the summer of 2012, you did, indeed, with malice of forethought, actually place the bundt cake tin in the UPPER shelf, which resulted in not only the dishwasher NOT being damaged, nor any damage being incurred  by the bundt tin's associates, namely, the spatula and microwave-safe icing tool, but also the bundt tin surviving completely clean?!?!?"
Wife: "You're insane."
Me: "Answer the question, damnit!!"
Surprisingly, this did not go over well. Even though I was totally right about the bundt tin.

I'm not criticizing my wife by the way - I exhibit the same behavior myself, so that would be hypocritical. For example, we have, as I'm sure many of you have as well, a steak knife block. Since we're both right-handed, I believe the serrated blade should face to the right, so that it is not in the direction of our bodies when we remove the knife from the block. This seems logical and safe to me, but my wife, even though made aware of this, often puts them in the "wrong" way. At some point, I will mimic her dishwasher behavior, and surreptitiously turn the knives the "right" way, normally when she's not around. She's probably, at least up to this point, unaware I do this. I say "up to this point" because I am well aware that she reads my blog. So I guess I AM an idiot, after all.

But this is what married people do. She's not wrong or right, and neither am I - we just look at things differently. Then we correct each other/for each other. Without becoming angry over it. This is also a measure of the health of your relationship - if you're both doing this, and are aware the other is, and it remains a "small" thing - you have a strong, loving relationship. No one ever gets divorced over improper dishwasher loading; that's just the excuse because the larger issues remain unvoiced. Those little differences? They really don't matter at all. Except for the steak knife thing. I'm also totally right about that. Peace.

Am I Just Making Expensive Pee?

Multivitamins and supplements. I take them, but I'm always wondering: are they making me healthier, or am I just making really expensive urine?

Why do I wonder? There's just so many conflicting opinions. Healthcare professionals, and by that I mean people who work at GNC or The Vitamin Shoppe, highly recommend them, using specialized technical jargon like, "Creatine", "Branched Chain Amino Acids" and "Bro". Apparently I need pre-workout, during workout and post-workout powders/drinks/syringes if I want "to get really huge". Fortunately, these only come in 55-gallon drum sizes, so I'm pretty sure the act of carrying them to my car and into my house will help me get "huge". Or a hernia - no pain, no gain, Bro. Besides, getting huge is a young man's game - I'm just trying to neutralize the pre-death rigor-mortis that appears to have laid claim to my body.

Doctors, those "other" healthcare professionals, who think they know everything because they've gone to higher-education institutions for a decade or so, can name every bone in the human body, and amassed enough student-loan debt to exceed our national debt, won't really weigh in on the matter. Except Dr. Oz, of course. who, among other "miracles", suggests we drink a special green coffee (that means the beans aren't roasted, so obviously they have magical powers) because it will help us lose weight, re-grow hair, get Congress to actually DO something and bring peace to our planet. And we should trust him, because:

1. he's a doctor
2. he's got his own TV show
3. he's endorsed by Oprah 
4. he's got a REALLY cool name

Here's the other thing I can't figure out - they sell multivitamins, right? Which have somewhere upwards of 357,000 different vitamins at potencies of more than 50,000 times what the RDA is, all in...ONE PILL. But I can also buy pills that are composed, supposedly, of just ONE of those 357,000 vitamins, and somehow, they can actually be LARGER than the multivitamin - how is that even possible? This is a question, along with, how can you possibly fit 4 normal-sized adults in a Fiat 500, that needs to be answered.

One of the supplements I take is Omega-3. Well, actually, it's SUPER Omega-3; which is obviously WAY better than NORMAL Omega-3. If they came out with a Super-Duper Omega-3, you know I'd be all over that bad boy. The Omega-3 I take has no fish oil in it even though I know fish oil is considered the Captain America of Omega-3 supplements. That's because fish oil burps, which are inevitable when taking fish oil capsules, taste like, you guessed it, fish oil. Actually, they taste like the fish vomit from a fish that has eaten several fish that have ingested fish oil capsules. I imagine you could come close to the same experience gargling with the oil that sardines are packed in, followed by rubbing anchovies over your lips after working a 10 hour day at a fish market. Really - a fish oil burp can make you want to rip your own face off. People in your immediate vicinity, and by that I mean a 2-block radius, also want to rip their own faces off.

The multivitamin I take, while not causing toxic burps, does turn my urine an interesting color. I imagine I could get the same effect by sucking on a yellow highlighter for several hours. And again, it's hard to figure out if I'm doing myself any good, or am I just throwing money down the toilet, literally.

Hey, if I eat asparagus every day as well, I can get nearly glow-in-the-dark, strange smelling, and expensive urine. Throw in some fish oil capsules, weaponize it to be delivered via drone strikes, and we can rule the world. A better world, through the targeted delivery of multivitamins and supplements. Peace.

Hiking (aka eating bugs)

I love hiking - communing with nature, being with my wife, getting exercise (I can earn almost an entire day's worth of extra calories on a 3-4 hour hike, which allows me to have a fast-food shake or decaf/mocha/cappa-frappa/caramel/vanilla bean/double espresso latte), seeing nature in all its glory - what's not to like? I'll tell you: bugs. Yes, I understand, bugs are part of nature, but seriously, am I the most interesting thing in the forest? You'd think so, the way they swarm all over me. Both my wife and I sprayed ourselves quite liberally with enough insect repellent before the hike to easily kill Mothra (age check). She's not getting bothered at all, but I killed about 200 mosquitoes within the first 5 minutes of our hike. 200 mosquitoes doesn't sound like a lot until you realize you've inhaled easily the same amount. Sure, they're protein, but how many would you have to eat to even get 1 gram of protein? I mean, have you ever seen a fat bat? Didn't think so. Re-applying the insect repellent didn't seem to help, but at least I got to apply more toxic chemicals to my skin. Yay, me.

I'm not sure anyone really knows how many insects exist. But I don't think I'm being too conservative when I estimate that number at 7,342,803,777,144. I'm sure you're thinking I'm exaggerating, but it's even worse: that's PER person. If you consider their life, it's no wonder they're so annoying; they're born, they eat, annoy humans (sometimes that's also eating), create more bugs (sometimes THAT includes humans as well - yuck), then repeat until death. You can't tell me they're not an alien race, bent on humanity's destruction. They suck. Literally. They suck your blood, burrow under your skin, lay eggs, bite you, sting you - some of them even VOMIT into you.  That's right, it's not bad enough that the little bastards suck your blood - no, some of them actually THROW UP into you. Those kinds are basically the frat boys of the insect world, going from frat party (human) to frat party (next human), drinking and throwing up. You're like a walking "kegger" to them. Yum.

However, the ones that really bother me are those that dive-bomb your head, repeatedly, sounding like mini B-52's. They seem intent on getting inside your ear, or really, any cranial orifice, I presume so they can burrow into your brain and eat it. That's right - zombie bugs. But they're not the kind of zombies we're used to from Hollywood, the kind you could outrun while in a wheelchair as they lurch about. No, these FLY and are so fast you can't even see them, let alone outrun them. They're supersonic zombie bugs. And there's BILLIONS of them. BILLIONS. You can't outrun that, you can only flail awkwardly and repeatedly as they laugh at you (other hikers, even though similarly pestered, will also laugh at you). I can imagine their little insect huddles: "Hey, look - humans! Let's go have some fun. Let's split up - you 450 million, you go for the ears, you 600 million, take the eyes, and the rest of us will try to go up their noses and mate. Okay, let's synchronize watches. Crap! We don't have watches!! Just go - DIVE, DIVE, DIVE!!"

So why do I continue to hike? For all the reasons I listed initially, and then, there's this. This. This isn't something you find laying on your couch, tweeting, texting or facebooking (or even blogging). This has no equal in the electronic world. This is nature. This is priceless. This is beauty. Peace.

Diet Crazes (Crazies)

I'm just SO sick and tired of being barraged with the latest "new" way to: lose weight/get rock-hard abs/get rid of the 40 lbs of undigested meat you've been carrying in your intestines for decades. Every week there's a "new" way to get the body you want, when it's really pretty simple: stop eating crap.

Breaking News: A new berry, found in the excrement of the red-butted baboon, is thought to have spectacular weight-loss properties that may benefit humans. "We're very excited about this", said local scientist Pierre Ahmafraud (and by scientist we mean someone wearing a white lab coat). "We noticed right away that this particular berry (named the Gottasquat berry) seemed to be found only in the largest piles of baboon feces. I don't think it's

too much of a scientific leap to theorize that because it accompanies large poops - and I'm trying to use laymen's terms here - it goes without saying, even though I'm saying it, that the berry is likely a super cleanser. We think this will be of tremendous help to millions of obese Americans, particularly those fond of consuming berries extracted from primate fecal matter." Several companies are vying for rights to the berries, although production and marketing may be tricky. "Production initially seemed like the biggest hurdle; the berries in their natural state are indigestible by humans. It's the digestive process of the baboons that makes them viable for use in humans. It would be very expensive to sit around waiting for the baboons to eliminate and then have an employee sort through the feces. They just don't eat enough to produce the volume required to fit the need." Scientists believe they have it figured out, however. "We're planning on feeding the baboons a diet of cheeseburgers, fries, soda and 1,00 calorie coffees - you know, basically the average American diet - and slip the berries into the cheeseburger. We're also adding Ex-Lax in a dose 10-20 times the recommended dosage to everything in the diet to increase the frequency of the bowel movements." When asked if they didn't expect the baboons to reject cheeseburgers with berries hidden in them, the scientists responded, "They've been selling cheeseburgers by the BILLIONS to Americans that contain less than 40% meat and NO ONE questions what the other 60% is made up of - why would you think the baboons would notice?" The marketing departments are already abuzz with coming up with new product names. One that was leaked by an anonymous marketing person was: "Babpoop". Filling the position of "feces-sorter" is also expected to be problematic, even in this economy.

Breaking News: HIIT (High Intensity Interval Training) being upstaged by HIIT (High Intensity Injury Trauma). A new study, released by the Richard Simmons Institute for Aerobics and Short Shorts, revealed that the new fitness craze, HIIT, while initially quickly producing remarkable results, tends to see a plateauing after the first few weeks. Orthopedic doctors quickly identified the cause for the "plateau" as a result of actually having to cease exercising due to the unusually high rate of ligament, muscle and tendon tears, broken bones, internal hemorrhaging and

in one case, a dislocated chest (the first ever known in medical history), injuries commonly associated with the new fitness craze. For those unfamiliar with HIIT, it typically involves overturning truck tires (while still attached to the trucks for the more advanced), working out with ropes (ropes usually used to moor battleships), and less typically, rhino-tipping. However, HIIT zealots brush off that theory and claim their participants aren't doing enough, and most people don't have a high enough pain threshold to "get really ripped, bro". "We blame the participants", states Crosspit owner/trainer and "Pain Should Just be Ignored" author Kirk Lattissimus. "These wussies start slacking at the first sign of pain. Pain's just your body's way of telling you that you're doing the right thing. That's the signal that they need to step it up and work through the pain to reach that next level of fitness. That's why our motto is, "If it ain't tearin', that swimsuit you won't be wearin'!" When asked what he thought of the medical community's outrage over his suggestion that people exercise past the point of tearing connective tissue, Kirk's response was, "When's the last time you met a medical professional who could bench 400 lbs.? Think they're really qualified to make those kind of judgements?" When asked if he felt responsible for possibly encouraging people to push themselves to a point where they may get a permanent, debilitating injury, Kirk replied, "I don't answer questions from dweebs who don't do Burpees, bro. Drop and give me 20."

Breaking News: New Cleanse Diet reportedly also eliminates several organs, boosting weight loss gains.  A new cleanse diet sweeping the nation, claiming to clean out years of undigested meat and jello shots and thus help you immediately drop weight and inches, seems to be causing an

added "benefit": losing unwanted/unneeded organs. Based on several patients's reports (after admission to local emergency rooms) of large, "organ-like" feces found in their toilets nanoseconds after drinking the wildly popular "Lavender Rooter", it was noted upon ultrasound analysis that many had lost not only all undigested food stuffs in their intestines, but also part of those intestines, kidneys, gall bladders, appendixes, pancreases, ovaries and in one case, a testicle. Medical professionals are sounding the alarm on the dangers of this new "cleanser", but the users are less concerned. One patient stated, "I haven't been able to fit into a size 12 in YEARS! I still have one kidney, so what's the big deal? Being able to see my toes again, while still being able to shovel anything I want into my mouth is TOTALLY worth it!" Another patient, who asked to remain anonymous, begged to differ. "I miss my testicle. It's like I've lost one of two close friends." That patient's wife was unavailable for comment as she had to be resuscitated after passing out from a sudden laughing fit.

Seriously, if you want to lose weight, it's pretty simple. But it's not easy, and therein lies the rub; we want the easy/quick fix that requires the least amount of energy and/or willpower. And we're willing to pay for special food, drinks, cleanses, wraps, exercise devices, pills, surgeries, etc. to achieve it. But you only need four things:

1. A little knowledge - knowing what foods are good/bad (hint: if it's processed and will not decompose for 10 years, it's probably "bad"), what kind of calories you're consuming, and a clear realization of what a "serving size" is.
2. A little math - this is the easy part: burning more calories than you consume = losing weight. So either eat less, exercise more, or, ideally, do both at the same time.
3. A way to track what you're eating/burning - tons of apps/devices out there that will help you with this, but you have to be honest and diligent. The one I use is a free app called MyFitnessPal, and it is simple to use and works and syncs on all platforms (smartphones, PC's and tablets). I highly recommend it.
4. A little willpower - this is by far the hardest part. But if it's important to you, you'll do it. But don't fall into the trap of losing weight/inches "for" an event/season/etc.. Don't diet - change your lifestyle, and you'll find it's far easier to maintain your weight than constantly re-losing it. Peace.
   

What Kind of Cleaning Fluid Are You? I'm Benzene.

Can we just please all agree to stop with the Facebook quizzes? The first couple were entertaining, but I believe the "jumping the shark" level has been breached. No one cares which Dwarf you are, what kind of toe fungus you are, what kind of spice (unless you're a former Spice Girl, and then...do tell, girlfriend!!) you are, etc.. Move on, it's over, time for a new Facebook activity to eventually annoy the 99% of us that don't give damn about any of these quizzes or other activities (game-players, I'm talking to you). If I know you personally, I already know which member of the Brady Bunch you are. If I don't know you personally, I don't want to know. I mean, c'mon, does anyone really WANT to be Marsha Brady? And who would post that? I'm pretty sure whoever gets Gandalf (and why does spell-check want to turn Gandalf into "Ugandan"?) in the "What LOTR Character Are You?" quiz proudly displays their wizard class - but does anyone really post that they're Gollum? I think not.

Then there's the passive-aggressive behavior on the internet. It's like the "share if you love your son/daughter/dominatrix/etc." meme posts, with the directive to post if you also love your (insert noun here) - suggesting that those who don't share don't love their (insert noun here). Seriously - when you post those kinds of memes, it makes me wonder if the opposite is true. Not to mention the religious ones, don't even get me started on those. An omnipotent deity (note: NOT Zuckerberg) has a Facebook page (which means they also have an email address - yeah, let that one sink in for a minute) - I don't think so.

Same goes for the offline world (yes, there is one) as in bumper stickers, like: "I brake for animals". So you infer that the rest of us that don't publicly proclaim the willingness to cause a rear-end collision to save a possum are actively seeking to run them down? And I fully recognize that there are people out there who do, but I hope they're in the minority (and likely also members of Congress). It's like the "Baby on Board" placards, designed initially with the intent to alert other drivers to drive more carefully, because let's face it, except for possibly the people also trying to run down animals, NO ONE wants to injure a baby. But that's not the effect those signs have, if you're one of the people still sporting them - people will drive the same unfocused, distracted, dangerous manner that they always did - what it did was make us very wary of YOU and get as far away from you as possible. The hard truth is, if you have a newborn and/or very young child, we can assume a few things about you:

1. You haven't slept. Since your child was born. You can no longer discern any difference between the physical and dream world, since the dream world is reserved for people who actually sleep. You've basically become a zombie, replacing the flesh-eating part with a diaper-changing role. Which is a perfect segue to:
2. The odor of mustard-colored baby poop has lodged itself permanently in your nose (we can tell by the look on your face). THAT alone would make anyone irritable. AND suicidal.
3. You've lost the ability to speak conversationally with adults. Sometimes it's subtle, like slipping in words like "potty" or "sippy cup". Other times it's worse; you'll be at a business lunch and unconsciously wipe a little smudge of salad dressing from the corner of your client's mouth or wet your fingers with your saliva and try to tame that cowlick. Yeah - stop doing that. It creeps us out.
4. You've heard "The Wheels in the Bus Go Round and Round" so many times that even when it's no longer playing, you hear it. The thought of driving at high speed into a bridge abutment to make it stop occurs to you every 15 or 20 seconds. Your fellow drivers find this worrisome.

So back to the original point of this post before I went all tangential on you: please let's all agree to stop with the Facebook quizzes. Otherwise you leave me no option other than to block you. Especially if you're Marsha Brady. Or Gollum. And while we're at it, stop with the game requests. For those, I won't just block you, I'll go all Liam Neesom on you - hunt you, find you, etc. I have a very select set of skills. Peace.

Yoga - The Final Frontier

So, we're doing yoga. I've done it before, when I was much younger, and really enjoyed it. But now I'm 55 and have the flexibility of your average house cat. If your house cat was dead. In rigor mortis. And frozen. You get the idea. I also had far fewer major injuries back then, although, to be honest, I'd have to go to my pre-5 year-old days to have NO major injuries. Such is life. So what does a 55 year-old with reconstructions of both shoulders, both knees, multiple dislocations and a giant chuck of titanium in one leg where the bone used to be practice? Why, something that requires you to put your limbs and joints into positions not normally found outside of Guantanamo Bay "enhanced interrogation" rooms. Perfect.

Our teacher, an incredibly lithe young woman (who apparently has been born without bones,

ligaments, tendons - basically anything that would prevent a human person from tying themselves into a knot), starts our session, which is in a dimly lit room that contains a full-wall mirror, which thankfully, I cannot see myself in due to the dimness of the lighting coupled with my poor vision. I shall soon learn to view my inability to see myself as a small gift and can only wish the same for my fellow practitioners.

"Lay down in 'Shinvinyatoyotamazdadu' position" (which apparently means lay on your back with your eyes closed), "and breathe deeply." This I can do, except I call it 'sleeping', and I'm not usually on a thin mat on a wooden floor surrounded by so many people, but, whatever. I begin to think, 'okay, this isn't too bad at all'... and then the class actually starts. "Now I want you to bring your right knee up to your chest and slip the strap around the arch of your right foot." I have a sudden memory of a cheap hotel room and a snickering locksmith removing handcuffs, but I shrug that off and center myself. "Now straighten your right leg and pull on the straps, bringing your foot towards your head while keeping your leg straight, spread your toes and point with the ball of your foot - you should feel a slight pull in the back of your thigh." And by "slight pull" she apparently means someone pouring lighter fluid on your hamstring and setting it afire. "Now, allow your foot to slowly drop to the right side and then begin to pull it as high up as you can towards your head." I'm seeing a pattern here - why does she want my foot near my head - I certainly don't want my foot anywhere NEAR my nose! "Just remember, the goal is to eventually be able to do this move while standing." Riiiight. The involuntary guffaw escapes me before I can restrain it, but I cover it by ending it in "ooohhhmmmmmm". Really? I'm supposed to do this while standing; I'm still mastering drinking while standing. But, I'm a positive guy, so I'm sure, that with many years of practice, I may be able to do this. Once. Let's save time and have the ambulance squad already there when I attempt it, shall we? Better yet, maybe I should just attempt this right in the hospital ER and cut out the middlemen.

Later on, we get to a more complicated move, possibly named 'Vishrasuburulinguinewasha', but at this point I've experienced so many head-rushes that my instructor looks like a 6-armed emu/elephant, so I'm pretty sure I misunderstood what it's called and in fact thought she sneezed. Anyway, this pose consists of performing a number of things simultaneously, yoga multi-tasking, if you will, which explains why I'm the only male in the class. Although I AM pulling off the yoga pants really well, or at least MUCH better than some who don't understand that even lycra has a stretching limit. Back to the pose: I'm supposed to adopt a wide, straight-leg stance, with my left foot pointed forward and my right foot pointed outward, making sure the heel and ball of my right foot are aligned with the arch in my left foot, keeping my spine straight by extending my tailbone towards the floor (whatever the hell THAT means), and keeping my torso "squared". I believe the police should adopt this part for their roadside sobriety tests - they could fund their entire annual budget within a month. "While taking a deep inhalation, pull your lower abdomen in towards your spine, grip the floor with your toes while simultaneously pulling inner left foot and right heel towards one another to "root" yourself to the mat." Sounds complicated, but, triumphantly, I do it, and my brief moment of joyous accomplishment is shattered upon learning that we have not yet even done "the move"; we have merely gotten into the starting position. Clearly this deception is why firearms are banned from yoga studios. This is called "warrior pose", which I mentally decide should be called "dead warrior pose", since it is painfully apparent that I am completely open to attack from many, many angles. But I digress.

From our starting position, we are now told to "bend your right knee to a 90 degree angle while inhaling" - wait, when was I supposed to have exhaled? - "and reach with your left hand and grasp your shin, your ankle, or your foot. Now rotate your left hand towards the ceiling while turning your torso and look up to the ceiling, pulling in your abdomen to your spine" - this is called 'charging the core' which I have also mentally renamed 'trying not to fart', since that burrito I ate before class clearly has plans on revealing itself, and soon, probably violently - "and hold that position for 5 breaths." I'm also pretty sure that at some point in the class I was supposed to exhale earlier, but I think I passed out before breath #2. At least that's what the EMT's told me, while fanning away the ghost of my burrito.

Namaste.