Books and Caedmons and the Barkley Marathon

Caedmon didn't have school on Friday.  This meant we got to spend the whole day together, which is thankfully still good news to our youngest.

We had very important things to do.

He coached me on the finer details of Pokemon.  Again.

This is his "explaining important Pokemon stuff" face.

We read a big pile of books together.  Again.

As a big old parenthetical, the above is one of my most recent favorite picture books, along with

Triangle

It's so cute, and so strangely funny, and really I just love anything illustrated by Jon Klassen.

Also Pig the Pug

because again, hilarious illustrations, plus it's about sharing.  Maybe your kids are perfect, but ours could perhaps use a reinforcing message here and there on the benefits of sharing.

And finally, They All Saw a Cat.

This is one is so conceptually brilliant you'll want to buy it to own yourself.  Even if you're an adult.  Adults are allowed to buy children's books, you know.  A cat moves along, walking around, and each set of pages contains an illustration depicting how he is viewed by different creatures, giving you a depiction of the way a cat might be viewed from the perspective of a dog, a mouse, a bird, and so on.  Good, good stuff.


Parenthetical book thought over.

Caedmon also came to work with me for a couple hours on Friday, where he was so good one of my co-workers plied him with candy.  At one point, after returning home, I told our youngest I was going to do some yoga.  He asked if he could join me, and I responded that of course he could!  Yoga for everyone!

As it turns out, Caedmon's not real big on personal space during yoga, so I got to go through all my sequences with a small boy rightnexttome.  It's definitely a different experience to push back into downward dog and have a little face appear under you, asking, "Are we almost done?  Is this one hard for you?  Can I tell you about Charmander's abilities, now?  Do you know what my powerfullest Pokemon is?"  

Just about the time I want to say something like, "NO MORE POKEMON TALK.  EVER," he hands me this.

And then I'm stuck.  Three more hours of "I have four EX's, but Atticus has more; he has seven, but my charizard is jfo;awenvoaiwrb."   Nonsense letters at the end there because that is what all it sounds like to me:  a bunch of nonsense syllables.  Then we got to thumb through his Pokemon cards and look for something- I don't know what and I didn't care.  

That must be how Derek has felt all weekend when I've given him Barkley Marathon updates (#gogarygo):  "Yikes, the race started at 1:42 A.M.," "Loop 1 took them 9 1/2 hours!"  "They're on Loop 2, and have had trouble finding the books in the dense fog."  Lucky, lucky Derek.

And Then I Started Teaching Yoga

I had a professor in college who, if you were in a meeting with the organization she led, just a-brainstorming away and then raised your hand to contribute your idea, would say to you, "That sounds great!  That is a good idea for this reason and this reason and this one, too.  You are now in charge of making that idea happen.  I will check back with you next week to see what progress you have made."  And you would blink back at her and realize that you were now actually being forced to do something with your ideas, for once, rather than just yap-yap-yapping away, which really is exactly what college kids need.  This is one of the many things that make her a terrific professor but also make raising your hand in her presence slightly terrifying.

I'm thinking of this because last summer, when I interviewed for my job at the library, the director and I were discussing the current programs at the library along with potential future programming.  She mentioned the possibility of yoga.  I told her that I love yoga!

Six months later I was teaching a yoga class.


The circumstances were a trifle different this time, as I was first asked if I'd like to lead a yoga class, plus I'm teaching alongside one of my co-workers.

Teaching yoga has been... interesting.  Wonderful and delightful, but also interesting.  In the past I've pretty much done whatever the heck I want to do when practicing yoga.  Tight hips?  I think I'll do 45 straight minutes of hip-openers.  Tree pose getting a little boring?  Then I'll just practice dancer pose forever and ever amen just because I love it so much.

Well.  You can't do that when you have a dozen people staring at you, waiting to tell you what to do next.  Especially when you're trying to keep the knee problems of one, the back problems of another, and the hip replacements of the third in mind.  I don't exactly tailor my sequences to the needs of our participants, but you have to keep the ability level of the people you're working with in mind.  45 straight minutes of hip openers and no one will come back, unless you're me, of course.  So when I'm in Warrior II and would normally hold it for another ten breaths but can see that half the class is dying, I only make them hold it for another two.  Two and not one because sometimes you have to be a little bit mean.  I speak out of a place of love, of course.  (Or do I?)


As for co-teaching, here me now:  If you are ever asked to teach a yoga class (because take it from me, this does happen, apparently), and you have a chance to teach it alongside another person, DO IT.  Yes, teaching is rewarding and you get to choose what you're doing and how to lead the class, but what's even better than all that is leading four or five poses and then getting to just follow along for the next few- sure, demonstrating all those poses for your peeps, but also listening to Suzy's voice as she tells you to let your shoulders slump over your knees, or to twist just a bit further, or to hold that foot stretch longer than you ever would on your own, because she is flexible and strong in ways that you are not, and vice versa.  Marvelous, I tell you.

We began the class in January, and while I was at first worried that no one would come, I'm now starting to worry about space.  We are a small library, and each program we host requires some serious Tetris skills as we move furniture around to make everything and everyone fit.  Yoga is no different, as we average around one new person signing up each week, which I suppose isn't so surprising, as it is, after all, FREE, and as I told my mother-in-law, could also be called "yoga for people who have always wanted to try it but are too intimidated to do it at a gym."  Thankfully not everyone comes on the same day, so we tend to have one set of people with us on Monday, and another on Thursday.  Both days share the same favorite pose, however:  Corpse.  I've decided to believe that this is because it is so relaxing, not because it signals the end of class.

I'll just add yoga instructor and self-delusionist to my resume.

Good Stretching and Bad Running

Recently a friend of mine asked if I'd be a guinea pig of sorts.  She's a physical therapist, and needed some of her runner friends to come in so she could practice getting video and analyzing exactly what's wrong with us (or... something).  She first said this is in a way that indicated I'd be doing her a huge favor.  Based on past race photos, I knew I had a janky stride and something was up with my form, so my response was something like, "Sure I'll help you out!  When do you want me to come in?  This afternoon?  How about right now?  Is yesterday too soon?"

So a couple days ago I went to her clinic and got to see my friend in all her Physical Therapist glory.  This was fun and unusual because normally we're all sweaty and in running clothes when we're together, or, as the case was last weekend when I went to watch her in a triathlon, I was in civilian clothes and she was in costume.  I think she said it's actually called a "kit" but growing up a dancer I'm much more comfortable with the term "costume."  It was the first triathlon I've ever attended, and after watching her and several hundred other sadists compete my thoughts were, "This is so cool!  So amazing!  So inspiring!  I would never ever ever do this to myself!"  I have read multiple times that triathletes suffer far fewer injuries than straight runners, but I have to think my lack of injuries would be a small comfort when I'm drowning in a lake trying to swim over a mile.

Anne had a student with her at the clinic, and they started by pumping my ego, oohing and aahing over my flexibility, diminished as it is by this hamstring injury I've been nursing for the past couple months.  Speaking of which, our middle child may look more like his daddy, but this kid's flexibility is courtesy of yours truly.

He's always been like this, too.  I mean, I know most babies and toddlers enjoy relative flexibility, but Atticus has always had crazy range of motion.

He frequently falls asleep like this,

and it's one of the first things we do when he's in the midst of a night terror- unfold his body from whatever position it's pretzeled itself into and back into a straight line. To a certain extent I can I understand this sleeping position, because every time I do this in yoga, I can feel myself begin to doze off if I stay here too long.

Then again, that might be the sleep deprivation talking.  (Photo by Atticus, who loves to hang out next to me while I do yoga, trying to imitate the poses, but always ends up lying on floor asking to take pictures.)



At the clinic, after testing my flexibility and strength, it was time to hop on the treadmill for a few minutes, followed by some outdoor running.  Then it was time to pop the helium-filled balloon that is my pride and gleefully watch it plummet to earth.  This was done by the time-honored way of watching a video of myself run

from behind

in slow-motion.


Gravity, thou art a cruel mistress.


In the end, I got to see how specifically wonky my stride is, and Anne gave me some great advice on things I can do to begin to correct it.  Why correct it?  Well, because that wonkiness likely led to my apparently-not-so-random hamstring injury.  Plot twist.

I've spent the last three days attempting to implement some of her exercises and tips, and as a result I feel much like this when I'm running:

At least the scenery's been pretty.  Run early enough and there are only trees out there to judge you.

There is a tree I avoid running past two blocks from our house, though, as the owner has attached a scary face to it.  It's one of those that you don't even notice until you're close enough to do one of these:

I keep meaning to take a picture of it, but I'm too scared to because two things are possible here:  1) This is a tree with an actual menacing face that grew out of it and it most likely does not care for scared runner paparazzi, and 2) the owner of the house and tree are people who do things like attach mean faces to their trees to frighten unsuspecting passersby.  One of these is admittedly more likely than the other.  Guess which one I believe to be true.