Random. Structured. Haphazard. All Me.

A Tangled Yarn of Thoughts Being Unravelled…

Recent Posts

  • The Day Of Lurve

    I didn’t know about Valentine’s Day till I was in elementary school in the US. It didn’t mean much once I came back to India. Well it still doesn’t mean much because I’ve only celebrated it about a handful times in my adult life.

    The husband isn’t the roses (red or otherwise)and candy kinda guy. He does his bit on a daily basis and then some. Anyone who makes me a cup of coffee every morning is aces in my book. Even if he then leaves wet towels on my side of the bed without fail. EVERY DAY.

    So over the years these are some of the more interesting V-Days I’ve experienced:

    • Circa early 2000s- a long-stemmed red rose on the eve of V-Day followed by a movie with 2 other couples and a nice, long bike ride to nowhere in particular.
    • Circa early 2000s (again)- a bouquet of flowers which smelt STRONGLY of Charlie because the flower vendor thought the natural smell of the flowers wasn’t powerful enough for such a special day. I spent half an hour sneezing and then tearing the petals off and scattering them all along the road while heading out for a movie with a special someone.The special someone grumbled on the entire ride at the stupidity of the flower guy and it made for a funny anecdote later on.
    • Circa  early 2000s (boy! I haven’t lived since the early 2000s, have I?)- my BFF and I doing a nice girls night out and landing up in the auto of a creepy, fanatical Hindutva- spouting, pink-heart-hating maniac who grumbled and ranted the entire time we were in the auto. Needless to say, we stopped the meter earlier than expected!
    • Circa early 2000s- another girls’ night out with BFF and another friend, recently single; dinner and lots of laughs over Chinese food and some pretty lousy tipping on our side.

    Since then 14th February has been a date in the calendar and nowhere else. But that’s fine because if given a choice I wouldn’t know where to go and what to do. Red&I normally factor in a date night when my folks visit or when we want to watch a movie badly enough to park MLM on a good friend’s couch with his faithful iPad for a few hours.

    But it’s also nice to look back on those days when the day meant something ‘more’ than the usual routine was in the offing and that it included a dinner, a movie, a well-groomed guy and definitely some marked attention from aforementioned guy; for a few hours.

    Oh to be young and single again!

    Naaah…

    Image courtesy- voices.washingtonpost.com

     

  • Of Hip Hinges&Mountain Climbing…

    I must be doing something right because my trainer (P.B.U.H) added new exercises to my routine. He also tweaked an existing one just to see if I could take it up a notch. And a tiny notch it is. A wee one really but I have been extremely pleased (and tired) all day because things got taken to a slightly higher level.

    Speaking of higher levels, doing step-ups on a 16 inch high box is my new nemesis. I mean who designs these things anyhow? I am 60 inches high. I’ve stopped using the word tall when I mention my height because when you’re 5 feet, you are anything but tall. But being vertically challenged is a story for another day. I’ve also been called a preshrunk-shrink back when I was studying Psychology but I digress. Ah yes…16 inch box is baaad. I gasp, pant and puff a la the Big Bad Wolf only without blowing anyone’s house down!

    Anyhow, the reason I’m pleased is quite simple. I can endure a little more than I could one month ago. Even a week ago. I break into a sweat later and later during the exercise sets each time and don’t always need a water break to recharge myself after every 5 minutes. And those voices inside my head saying, “Have Mercy!” and “Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?” have kind of faded. Not gone away completely, but faded a bit.

    Today I started doing something called a Hip Hinge- you fix your hip/lock it in a particular position and keeping bending till you touch your toes or ankles. So your torso is functioning like a flap that opens and closes. I was not a fan initially of hinging the hip but it worked out. And then my instructor sprung another surprise on me by getting me to do something called a Finisher. That nearly did finish me off since it was in the fag-end of the exercise routine but after it was done, it felt pretty damn good. After my heart stopped pounding in my ears and I could feel my limbs again that is.

    I’m turning 37 soon and honestly, this is the worst I’ve ever been physically. I was actually in much better shape while my kid was an infant and a toddler (no surprises there) but over a point of time the eating became haphazard and so did the sleep and I made the mistake of thinking that I had time for a do-over. I have it; but just barely.

    So when I can move from one exercise to another, do a new one without needing a bolus of glucose just to feel alive again; it feels really good. I suspect those are my endorphins talking but I hear them loud and clear!

    Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to hobble away to my bed and sleep for 12 hours.

    Image courtesy-clipartfest.com

  • Gym: Where I Meet My Body

    Before I started going to the gym, I thought I knew my body. Most of it was bulgy or chunky in places it shouldn’t have been but I did not become acquainted with my scapula, soleus, trapezius as much as I thought I would have earlier.

    They were names in an anatomy book but barring that they weren’t too relevant on a daily basis. Now they are. Because they ache, are tender or getting flexed and nudged rudely out of their comfort zone of near-complete inertia.

    There’s a small poster in the gym that states, “The trouble is, you think you have time.” And while I try andq get my short arms and legs to move, I realize that time has not been utilized well all that much. 

    I started out with a mix of exercises while my trainer figured out which ones would go well together and not have me pass out on the floor at the end of it all.

    And gradually I got to have a proper routine. I’m refraining from calling it a regime because that makes it sound more rigid and barring my stiff muscles post the workout, there isn’t anything rigid about it. My trainer isn’t a drill sergeant and basically takes care of the people under his care. And he does seem to be able to size up the people who come in. 

    A gym I briefly went to when MLM started playgroup, had the the usual cliches coming out of it in spades. The too-tight muscle shirt-wearing himbos, tank tops, people calling each other “dude” and trying to surreptitiously flex their muscles when chubby people walked in the door.

    The trainers there would usually tell you your BMI and tell you to sign up for a year and get shoes of a specific brand while playing jhango Bollywood beats for you to exercise to. 

    The place I go to now is unpretentious. It’s largely minimalistic and doesn’t embrace the “gymming” culture by showcasing treadmills and cycles the moment you enter. And am fairly sure *no one* calls anyone “dude” there.

    Anyhoo, back to all 5 feet of me. I’m getting to know my adductor muscles daily while my calf and my plantar also make it a point to chat me up. Usually cribbing about being weak from disuse. Maybe if I’d walked to the fridge to snack more often rather than favoring my gluteus maximus for so long.

    Speaking of which, no amount of lard on your rear end will come in handy when you’re asked to sit on a ridged object and roll back and forth. So might as well cultivate your hieney as a brief resting place rather than masquerade it like a mini land mass.

    But all snarks aside, it is amazing how moving your hand back and forth or standing on one leg for a little bit of time can teach you how wobbly your entire body is. It’s not merely mind over matter; you actually have to make things happen! Willing it to happen is only the first step.

    As it is, no other muscle of mine has ever got as vigorous a workout as the ole tongue. That one can bench press a helluva lot of words while scarfing down a large plate of cheesy nachos. Which again go and set up shop at the hips and south of the border. 

    *emits forlorn sighs*

    My body and I are so *not* having a happy reunion till now!

  • Bedtime Bloglet

    Many kids sleep clutching a teddy bear, plush toys and even a blankie.

    Mine sleeps with dinosaur figurines under his pillow and a wooden alligator/croc in his arms.

    God I love that kid when he’s sleeping!

    That’s how we roll!

  • I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud…

    Quoth good ole W.W aka William Wordsworth. And so did I…or my mind did instead. It happened at the gym where a lot of stuff has been happening of late. I have an active imagination. I can daydream with the best of them. In glorious HD 1080p. We have moved on from Technicolor!

    Anyhow, the only time I focus on myself in toto is at the gym. And after a while I start to wander off. Always mentally. Physically I’ll be frog-stretching my way to aching thighs but mentally I’ll be thinking about the rap song lyrics calling forth the bitches and hos  to “get lit” and how inappropriate they are or when Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah played on the radio etc.

    I’m serious. When I focus inwards, that focus goes deep and then goes right out of my head. We have mirrors spanning the walls on two sides of the gym. When you exercise in front of one of them, you see unending images of yourself in the mirror to the back and you become a 6-year-old in a fun house with funky mirrors instead of a soon-to-be 37-year-old who is supposed to be watching her posture, her balance and her breathing.

    You assume a particular posture on one bended knee with the opposite hand over your head and your mind screams, “OLE!” and you think flamenco and giggle inwardly. And it’s all very silly and un-adult but that’s how some of our minds cope.

    I remember once when Sia’s Cheap Thrills came on over the radio, I got so caught up in the song I did some extra stretches lasting almost half the song. Again, silly.

    But it’s also fun and my mind is a fecund breeding ground for blogs and ideas and all with their very own templates, colors and often sound tracks. And that’s where I’ll draw the line now before someone carts me off to the madhouse in case these are hallucinations.

  • Training Right

    A good trainer trains well and gets you to meet your goals. The right trainer helps you define and understand your goals better and chalks out the best possible path to reach them.

    I’ve been going to a gym for 2 weeks now. And the main thing which struck me about my trainer vis-a-vis any other gym or other physical fitness instructors that I’ve come across is that my trainer is damn observant. And that makes all the difference.

    When you are observant you notice whether the individual is breathing right; even something as minute as when they are inhaling or exhaling. You notice whether the individual has high distractibility, what kind of personality they have, if they’ve skipped a couple of steps in the exercise line-up and if they’re doing something absolutely right or just barely.

    Why is that important for a person who just wants help in losing weight? Well, if your personality is like mine where the mind tends to wander and you focus more on whether the country song playing on the radio at the gym is “appropriate” music for the workout or if the rap song playing has misogynistic lyrics; you forget to focus on your breathing. You inhale when you’re supposed to exhale and turn into a sweaty, soggy, panting mess. You assume a posture and think to yourself, “Ah…I look like a flamenco dancer!” and forget to turn on the timer or keep looking at the unending images of yourself in the mirrors all around and forget the next steps. The list goes on…and that’s where the right instructor is a gem.

    They help you come back to the matter at hand, they explain that the fatigue and panting like a dog can be avoided by doing things the right way. And they patiently correct you, often with a quick blink-and-you-miss-it-smile, again and again till you get it right on your own.

    They understand and appreciate that you are a person who needs the whole blueprint laid out in front of you and aren’t always able to learn or adapt on the go. They enable you to slow down, literally breathe easier and do what’s right for you. They focus on what you do, how you do it; inside the gym and outside.

    A good instructor can maintain the right kind of body image, promote healthy eating and be a good role model all in one. But the right instructor help you work towards all of those things; your capabilities, personality and physical makeup notwithstanding.

    Image courtesy- bostonbakedbeanz.com

    P.S: I still think that while meditating to regain my focus is a good suggestion; streaming country music with lyrics like rib-eye steaks and margaritas are too much for any foodie. Especially one who is trying to cut back from life-long vocation of being a glutton…erm foodie. If I had that much control, I’d be featured in Sports Illustrated!

  • Genesis 3:19…Kinda

    The saying goes like this, “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground   since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.

    But for an overweight, brand new gym-goer it kinda goes like this-” The sweat of your brow shall drip in your eyes, burning them while you blindly stumble around thinking, “Why hast Thou forsaken me Oh Lord?!!”

    But fear not…for there light at the end of the tunnel! It is damnation (in the form of box-squats, sit-ups, frog-stretches) but with relief and because God rested on the seventh day; so shall you.

    Amen.

    P.S: This is an exercise in creative writing and being tongue-in-cheeky. No religions were harmed in the writing of this blog post so in the name of the exercise mat, the barbells and the treadmill do send slimnesss and lard-free bodies unto us. 

    A-M-E-N!!

  • Snake, Rattle&Roll

    By now everyone would have realized that I pun and desperately so. It’s almost my calling card in my blog posts. Titles especially.

    So to jump to the topic, my kid is into Nature. Likes some parts of it even more and absolutely j’adores bits of it. And those bits are far-flung, disjointed and only he knows why certain things send him into raptures.

    Our old printer was on its last legs, cartridge, carriage…you get the gist; so another one came and took its place. And Red being Mr.Technologically-Advanced wanted a wireless printer. So we got one. 

    So now the situation is like this- MLM will pick up my phone after switching on the printer and making sure there are REAMS of paper in it, and simply command me-GIVE ME A PRINT OUT.
    And his litany will begin-

    • Secretary Bird (no short necks only long-necked ones)
    • Gila Monster.
    • Komodo Dragon
    • King Cobra (proper one not cartoonish, cutesy snakes)
    • Alligators AND Crocodiles- because yeah, like he knows the difference between the two.
    • Leatherback turtle
    • Vampire Squid
    • Armadillos

    And the list goes on. And as each page rolls out his eyes turn bright and he rubs his hands in glee and hisses in my ear, “Give me birdsss of prey Ayuuu.” I swear it’s like having your own personal Smeagol leering at its Precious! 

    For those who glossed over that reference-watch LOTR ok? You can’t miss out on Smeagol and his Precioussss. Half the memes on the internet have to do with those two.

    So after condors, peregrine falcons and vultures flew out of the printer and we called it a day, the hissing ceased and Gollum..I mean MLM went his merry way with his printouts.

    A new day. A new pet peeve for me. Life is just full of opportunities!

  • Gym Nemeses

    I haven’t made enemies at the gym. Oh no…I’m breathing too hard trying to ward off a heart attack to talk to anyone.

    I mean the instrument of torture aka the rumble foam roller!

    I am supposed to park my gluteus maximus on it, turn, fold one leg over the other and roll back and forth. Sounds simple? Bah humbug!!

    Let me tell you that going to the gym is not only fat-bursting but myth bursting as well! All this while I thought all the extra padding on my posterior would act like a shield of sorts. Oh heck no! The grooves of the foam (not as soft as the name appears) H-U-R-T! 

    And rolling back and forth on it is enough to make me start cursing myself for all my bad eating habits. Almost.

    And if that wasn’t doing the trick, this beauty of an exercise I do, totally accomplishes it!

    It’s called the Frog Stretch and it makes me want to boot frogs off the face of this earth.

    But all rants aside, it’s a sombering day when you find you have trouble willing your body to do even basic things. Not being able to do things invariably hurts more than doing them and feeling the burn. Each day is a lesson in humility and If-Onlys.

    But all that aside, I am pushing through the resistance though the inside of my head becomes a censored zone the moment I have to do these 2 things.

    An apt example, if ever, of the spirit being willing but the flesh being weak as hell!

  • No Guts…No Glory

    So the idea is that only if you have the guts will you feel the glory of getting rid of them and not being an official ‘rotunda’.

    Sadly as women, the only time you get a pass from not being able to see your toes without bending is during pregnancy. Take that out of the mix and you have no reasons why your stomach precedes your entry wherever you go.

    The idea is not to be buxom (let me tell you that’s a whole different can of worms!) or be model-thin. The former leads to few things fitting properly and the latter spells doom during strong winds and roller-coaster rides.

    But one’s gut is the thing that’s possibly the hardest to get rid off. Even the clingiest kids get weaned off, literally and figuratively, before the gut melts into a plane or a plateau.

    My metaphors are all over the place. Tends to happen post all that huffing and puffing in the gym.

    Till the next installment of me and gut diaries…ciao!