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Hot Yoga: I Will Die With Abs

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Four weeks ago, raw panic set in as I realized that I have to wear a toga this summer, so I found hot yoga.

 

I’m not wearing the toga for fun, mind you, but an author event in beautiful Frankenmuth, Michigan, a glorious little town with Christmas, Polka, giant pretzels, fudge, and midwestern charm to spare.

Long story short: I am 6′”1. I was at 250 pounds of. . .let’s call it “human”. Not fat, not muscle. Just critically forty-nine years old and in need of a boost.

Enter hot yoga.

I went. I gasped. I sweated– Lord above, did I sweat; like I was a spy under interview lights– and my heart pounded from a tortuously fluid series of motions that went on for three days.

Okay, one hour, but still.

But it’s amazing. I love it. It quiets my mind, and makes me work harder than I’ve ever done in any other workout, and all with a smooth deliberation that leaves me energized and at peace. It’s incredible.

Today I did the Crow pose and Eagle for the first time (without falling over like a giant Polish tree). It’s quite a sensation. I have three months until the Day of Toga Reckoning, and I think I will be– not beach ready, but Toga Ready.

That’s a thing, right?

ALSO!

Follow me on YouTube. I’m doing writer-y stuff.

5 Minute Author Coach

See you this summer, my calendar is up to date!

Cheers,

Terry

Goal: Somewhere between then and now, but with shorter shorts.

My Health Journey: Parte the Firste

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I know, Christmas time might not be the best starting point for a *ahem* reshaping of my body and diet, but I’m nearly two weeks in and no going back.

Unless I eat seventy-five Oreo’s, but still.

Before we go any further, a point of clarification: Weight is not my sole concern. In fact, it’s actually fifth on the list, behind my heart, teeth, ability to live long enough to use coupons without irony, and blood pressure.

Goal: Somewhere between then and now, but with shorter shorts.

So, the grim statistics:

49 years old.

Starting weight– 260 (pounds, not kilograms. I’m an American, not some fancy European who measures out tiny blocks of cheese and carries it home in a wicker basket while laughing and listing to French jazz or whatever).

Starting blood pressure: Not bad, but not great. 121 over 90.

Hair and teeth: Present and accounted for.

General feeling: Thick, not Thicc, and vaguely immobile. This galls me in particular due to my love of sports, running (running isn’t a sport, it’s meditation while gasping), and walking up stupid hills. All hills are stupid when you’re not hiking, and even then, they’re only tolerable.

I’ll report weekly, and then in January, will go to the doctor for a general “State of the Union” exam.

If you’ve made any life changes and have found recipes or foods that scratch the itch, so to speak, I’d love to hear them.

My weaknesses are:

Sweets.

Sweet things.

Things that can be made sweet by adding sweeteners.

Sweet things wrapped around sweet things.

Gravy.

More to come as this list expands with memory.

Let’s be support buddies and such.

Cheers,

Terry (who thinks he is hungry)