Monday, September 22, 2003

In Which Our Heroine Goes to Yoga Class
Yoga, ah, yoga. I'd been debating going to yoga for a while but fell prey to the classic "oh, I don't have the time." This despite the fact that I certainly had the time if I felt like it. It is always just the initial effort of getting there, etc etc. But my coach had ordered me to go (and also to start doing ab circuits) so I went. Being a competitive sort though, I went to Power Yoga. Supposedly at the studio of the guy who originated it. But that's not the issue. Power Yoga, it turns out, is held in a 90 degree room, which a) limbers your joints, and b) makes you sweat in a way you've never sweated before. At first, I thought this was going to be horrible - the woman in front of me (in a Basics class) was doing handstands to warm up. Holy Hannah. But then class started and we all had to do our series of poses, etc. The heat certainly did help with flexibility and movement, but the sheer amount of sweat was amazing, and towels are a big requirement since the floor gets very slippery with everyone dripping like that. Up, down, all around, wheeee. I was good at some of the poses, but for some reason the simple ones (like the "Tree") eluded me. I shall have to practice the tree, but in the meantime I keep finding myself stretching and suddenly winding up in these yoga poses, thinking about creating space in my shoulderblades and the like. Normalcy is so far away..........
In Which Our Heroine Puts Her Heroine Powers to the Test
Oh the humanity! And the blood. Team Milhouse has had a wee setback. Liz has broken her nose. She was doing an abdominal circuit, and if you want to know how you can break your nose doing that, you'll have to e-mail me and ask me. Not that I can provide great answers, as frankly I watched it happen and I still don't know exactly how this occured. One second there was the toning of the abdominal muscles. The next second there was blood, gore and screaming. Granted, not that much screaming. Certainly not as much screaming as if *I* had broken *my* nose. But then I am a noted wimp, and Liz is quite obviously a tough girl. Which is good, as she also got a fat lip too. She will recover fully, or so we're told. They'll reset her nose tomorrow (she will need painkillers for that, and frankly I am already needing valium at the sheer thought of it.) and she can row again as "soon as she can breathe through her nose" the doctor says. We are supposed to race on Saturday. If we actually do that, well, I'll be even more impressed with Liz than I already am.

Frankly, when it all happened, I was a bit of a mess. Liz keeps thanking me for all my help, but all I did was drive her to the hospital and make a couple of phone calls. Oh, and ask a lot of questions. But that is the sort of thing I do anyway. It really is not fun though (flashbacks to the hypothermia incident) to have to make phone calls to people's parents and say "Errrr, hello. We're in the Emergency Room. No, calm down, everyone's going to be fine. But we're worried that she's broken her nose." And of course, the whole thing would have gone a bit better and actually asked Liz's dad's secretary if I could speak to Liz's dad, rather than Liz's brother.

The truly best bit actually occurred coming home. Having dropped Liz off into the care of her rather shocked roommate, I grabbed a couple of bags of books and nabbed the bus home. Changing buses in Harvard Square, I had one of those mildly disassociative states where you suddenly perceive yourself as others see you. There I was, one in the afternoon, sweaty, in spandex and a rain jacket, the ever present rowing sandals and socks combo, spattered with blood (I found some on my face later, just to add to the sight), looking like quite the recently released serial killer. But a highly literate serial killer, given the two big bags of books. Just as I realized that the men in white coats were about to swoop from somewhere to take me somewhere padded on all four walls, the woman next to me suddenly turns and asks me "Do you row?" What gave it away? That copy of "Moral Man and Immoral Society" at the top of my book bag?

Team Milhouse Emergency Room Visits So Far This Season:
Anne: 4 (once accompanying Liz)
Liz: 2 (once accompanying Anne)

Monday, September 15, 2003

In Which Our Heroine Gets Into the Cambridge Thing
Long time, no post. Life has been terribly busy of late. School, moving (still moving! There is still stuff at Liz's.) Work. Practice. More practice. Ab circuits. The whole nine yards. But in the midst of all this, slowly a routine is settling in of some fashion. And I've been enjoying being a Cantab. Working at Burdick's has meant some unusual hours for me, as I've been leaving work at 11;45 at night - far past my usual bedtime. This has, however, led to some interesting exposures. For starters, on Saturday nights I now cycle past the people lined up for the midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I didn't know people still did that, but they do. In full regalia and camp. I guess they enjoy it. I can see where it would be fun to do again, but I can't see myself out there in bustier and boots throwing things. Maybe I'm just turning into an old fuddy duddy. Or maybe not, as I now cycle to school (across the bridge, which is an excellent adventure in and of itself) and get far too much joy out of being at the top of the ramp of the parking garage and just letting the brakes off to fly down the ramp. I think the biking is one of my most favorite things about Cambridge. Everyone bikes, it seems. Not just the students. As I pedal around, there are more people out of Harvard Square cycling than in it without question. And of course, being Cambridge there are cycle lanes and most drivers seem to know how to handle it. Those that don't I just assume are from Boston. That is an easy assumption to make, I must say. The second I cross over the river, it is driving and biking chaos. The Boston Bike Coordinator was fired over the weekend. Good job, I say. I didn't know Boston had such a thing, and I can't say he had done any sort of a good job. The sad part is that he doens't seem to be being replaced at all, much less by someone competent. Budget cuts, they're claiming. This is why the only cyclists in Boston seem to be couriers.

Another thing that is great about Cambridge is the bookstores. Harvard Square is reputed to have the highest bookstore density in the world. I believe it, and more importantly they are good bookstores. I can get lost in the Coop for hours, and the Harvard Bookstore (not affiliated with Harvard University) will take old books in good condition and pay you either 15% cover price in cash or 20% in store credit, which you can spend anywhere in the store. Including, I need hardly add, on the used books. This allowed me to clear some bookshelf space over the weekend and also to have some money to spend. I took the store credit. I know that I will spend the money there!

The one thing I know that I don't have to change, nor should I by moving to Cambridge is my loyalty to the Red Sox. We have 14 games left in the season, and are currently five games behind in the dreaded Yankees in the division, and a half game ahead in the Wild Card stakes. But seven of those 14 games are against lowly Tampa Bay. We're in with more than a shot, my friends. But I'm very worried about Nomar's flu.

My lemon tree is in bloom and so is my jasmine tree. Ah, how wonderful. My clothes dry outside in the joy of air drying, and the kitty has returned home from his summer holiday at Susan's. All is well and content here on Marie Ave, and I have far too much school work, private client work, writing work (already a week behind deadline, and it is my first deadline set!), and practice to do.
Contentedly, if busily yours,