A staple of the movie news is "star beefs up workouts for movie role." In this story, for example, one actor worked out eight hours a day for ten weeks. The "easiest" part of those eight hours was two hours of choreography.
I have no idea how people do things like that. Not that working eight hours a day is impossible; it's just … going from working out an hour or two a day to eight? I mean, I know movie stars stay in shape as part of their job, but I assume they don't spend their whole day doing it.
Whenever I ramp up my workouts, my body feels it and takes a while to adjust. (Like, you know, 99% of people.) When I started capoeira, for example, I blogged about how I went to yoga and was unable to do a single chaturanga. When I joined Quintal, I started going to three classes a week. Previously, I had been doing two, and while the new classes were shorter, they were much more intense. I remember drinking what felt like gallons of water in my first few classes. A couple of months ago, I switched to an unlimited plan, and now I go to five-six classes a week. My body is still adjusting.
Friday night I went to our roda, although I didn't play much at all. I told Tarugo that I might come to his Saturday class, although it would depend how physical my volunteer morning at Van Cortlandt was. Turned out it wasn't very, so I went to his class, but as I told him, "I'm tired and sore and probably shouldn't be here." Luckily, we spent the class working our backs and arms, and it was my legs that were already shot. Sunday, I found I couldn't do side plank on the left in yoga. (Monday is my rest day … thank goodness.)
I know one struggle for me is getting enough protein, and maybe that makes a difference in recovery time, but really, I don't think what I am experiencing is that different from most people. (Perhaps, like a movie star, I should have a personal chef.) But I have this impatience - I want to get better faster! and my body is putting the reality check on it. If worked out eight hours a day, I'd get stronger at first - then I'd get injured. No thanks!
Yet, progress happens. I remember the first time I was able to get from a wide-legged forward fold to tripod headstand in yoga. It happened a few months before leaving Nashville, so let's say almost two years ago. I was super-excited. Just yesterday I realized I was able to control my descent enough to set my feet down silently when coming back out. It's not the dramatic part of the move, but it's just as important, and it means I have a kind of core control I didn't have before. That control has been coming along slowly and incrementally, but that moment of breakthrough is always something.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Yoga studio: Laughing Lotus
Laughing Lotus is a studio I'd been meaning to try for a while, so I finally bought a three-class pass. That means that my comments below are based on a very small subset of classes, and I can't comment on most of the teachers. However, I am sure I will be back.
First off: It's a very owner-driven studio. They actually have two studios, the other being in San Francisco, and both of the owners still teach and are very visible.* The studio reflects their style. I know at least one yogi that would hate it, as it's definitely an American take on things. If you like a meditative, traditional, music-free class, this definitely isn't the studio you are looking for.
The space itself looks as if it was decorated by the love child of Betsey Johnson and Ganesh. (It advertises that it has the world's only glitter bar.) While your taste may vary, from a practical perspective the space works well for yoga - hardwood floors, lots of light.
One of the classes I went to was fine, but nothing worth writing home about. The other two were taught by Dana Flynn, one of the owners. She has the kind of oversized personality that makes most of the people she meets want to sleep with her, be her, or follow her around Phish-style. Both classes were her Sunday Revival/Gospel Flow.
Despite the name, there isn't much gospel music; it's upbeat pop, mostly. (Think "Walk This Way" and "Dance Hall Days.") The class is a nonstop flow until the very end, and the focus is very definitely on moving rather than alignment. I don't know if this is true of all of Laughing Lotus's classes. If it is, I wouldn't want it to be my sole studio. But the class is what it aims to be: uplifting. I wouldn't be entirely shocked if someone started speaking in tongues in the middle of class one day.
The class is billed as a level 2 (of 3), and it includes quite a few optional arm balances, but most of the poses are less notable for their innate difficulty than for being strung together into fast-moving sequences.
If you like to use the words "yoga" and "party" in the same sentence, you'd probably enjoy Laughing Lotus.
*I'm working on a theory of yoga studios that divides them into owner-driven, guru-driven, and investor-driven.
First off: It's a very owner-driven studio. They actually have two studios, the other being in San Francisco, and both of the owners still teach and are very visible.* The studio reflects their style. I know at least one yogi that would hate it, as it's definitely an American take on things. If you like a meditative, traditional, music-free class, this definitely isn't the studio you are looking for.
The space itself looks as if it was decorated by the love child of Betsey Johnson and Ganesh. (It advertises that it has the world's only glitter bar.) While your taste may vary, from a practical perspective the space works well for yoga - hardwood floors, lots of light.
One of the classes I went to was fine, but nothing worth writing home about. The other two were taught by Dana Flynn, one of the owners. She has the kind of oversized personality that makes most of the people she meets want to sleep with her, be her, or follow her around Phish-style. Both classes were her Sunday Revival/Gospel Flow.
Despite the name, there isn't much gospel music; it's upbeat pop, mostly. (Think "Walk This Way" and "Dance Hall Days.") The class is a nonstop flow until the very end, and the focus is very definitely on moving rather than alignment. I don't know if this is true of all of Laughing Lotus's classes. If it is, I wouldn't want it to be my sole studio. But the class is what it aims to be: uplifting. I wouldn't be entirely shocked if someone started speaking in tongues in the middle of class one day.
The class is billed as a level 2 (of 3), and it includes quite a few optional arm balances, but most of the poses are less notable for their innate difficulty than for being strung together into fast-moving sequences.
If you like to use the words "yoga" and "party" in the same sentence, you'd probably enjoy Laughing Lotus.
*I'm working on a theory of yoga studios that divides them into owner-driven, guru-driven, and investor-driven.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Sandy came to town
Sandy swept through New York last night, and let me tell you, I was very lucky to be where I was. The Upper West Side got off very lightly; I haven't lost power, and I haven't seen any major damage in my my immediate neighborhood. As you already know, much of the city and nearby areas were not so lucky and have sustained major damage.
The sign down in the photo was unusual enough that I wasn't the only one photographing it. The fact that a down sign was a big deal - as opposed to flood waters, floating cars, or fire damage - tells you a lot about how fortunate we were.
In Riverside Park, many small branches and a few trees were down, but frankly fewer than after Irene. I tried to go down to the Hudson River Greenway, but the police were blocking off the entrance to the Cherry Walk. That didn't make much sense to me, since the park itself was much more dangerous with weakened, falling branches, but I'm not one to vault over a police vehicle without a much better reason than curiosity. (I saw a few cyclists, making me think another access point was available.)
The roads and river were mostly quiet, although helicopters were constant overhead. One boat floated out in the Hudson alone and unattended and, seemingly, undamaged.
The sign down in the photo was unusual enough that I wasn't the only one photographing it. The fact that a down sign was a big deal - as opposed to flood waters, floating cars, or fire damage - tells you a lot about how fortunate we were.
In Riverside Park, many small branches and a few trees were down, but frankly fewer than after Irene. I tried to go down to the Hudson River Greenway, but the police were blocking off the entrance to the Cherry Walk. That didn't make much sense to me, since the park itself was much more dangerous with weakened, falling branches, but I'm not one to vault over a police vehicle without a much better reason than curiosity. (I saw a few cyclists, making me think another access point was available.)
The roads and river were mostly quiet, although helicopters were constant overhead. One boat floated out in the Hudson alone and unattended and, seemingly, undamaged.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Class divisions
I had a very brief conversation with a non-academic friend the other day about the difference in job responsibilities between adjuncts and full-timers (be they tenure-track or lecturers), when he expressed surprise I wasn't paid extra for student advising. Adjuncts are paid strictly by the course and are not expected to do work beyond that. (This is only mostly true: At my institution, they are expected to attend convocation, and one adjunct from each department sits on the faculty senate.) On the other hand, full-time faculty members such as myself are paid to do a range of other things.
Well, what other things? Research is the immediately obvious one, although this expectation varies wildly by institutional type. A Vanderbilt faculty member would be expected to devote the majority of his or her time to research; at my current institution, one annual conference paper is sufficient.
Student advising is another, although some schools farm this out. I have about 50 advisees I am expected to meet with each semester. Some faculty members are involved in other student activities, such as advising a club or overseeing a scholarship competition.
There is committee work. In my case, this means faculty senate. At a non-profit there would be more than this, but at my for-profit, we have less of a pretense to shared governance. (And per another recent conversation with another friend, it is mostly a pretense.)
There is also some service that I would classify as teaching-related - coordinating courses that there are multiple sections of. I do this for our senior leadership and negotiation course, for example.
I'll leave research aside for the moment to focus on teaching-oriented institutions such as my own. I teach four classes a semester; an adjunct who did the same would be paid $56,000 less per year than me. All that advising, teaching service, and committee time is, I assure you, not $56,000 worth of work, no matter how hectic things seem at the height of advising season - despite this tongue-in-cheek assertion that it is.
I teach a course as an adjunct at another institution, by the way, and as a public institution it has a faculty union that is very active in fighting both for full-time and adjunct faculty. I'm in the process of joining that union, even though the rate of pay is nearly irrelevant to me; it strikes me as a basic civic duty, rather like voting or serving on a jury.
One could make an argument that at a research-intensive institution, research is worth a higher per-hour rate of pay, and thus full-time faculty deserve more. (This is certainly arguable, but the point could be made with a straight face, at least.) At a teaching-intensive institution, this is harder to justify. My committee work might deserve a premium, but not one that large.
The problem isn't that I'm overpaid, of course; it's that adjuncts are underpaid.
Well, what other things? Research is the immediately obvious one, although this expectation varies wildly by institutional type. A Vanderbilt faculty member would be expected to devote the majority of his or her time to research; at my current institution, one annual conference paper is sufficient.
Student advising is another, although some schools farm this out. I have about 50 advisees I am expected to meet with each semester. Some faculty members are involved in other student activities, such as advising a club or overseeing a scholarship competition.
There is committee work. In my case, this means faculty senate. At a non-profit there would be more than this, but at my for-profit, we have less of a pretense to shared governance. (And per another recent conversation with another friend, it is mostly a pretense.)
There is also some service that I would classify as teaching-related - coordinating courses that there are multiple sections of. I do this for our senior leadership and negotiation course, for example.
I'll leave research aside for the moment to focus on teaching-oriented institutions such as my own. I teach four classes a semester; an adjunct who did the same would be paid $56,000 less per year than me. All that advising, teaching service, and committee time is, I assure you, not $56,000 worth of work, no matter how hectic things seem at the height of advising season - despite this tongue-in-cheek assertion that it is.
I teach a course as an adjunct at another institution, by the way, and as a public institution it has a faculty union that is very active in fighting both for full-time and adjunct faculty. I'm in the process of joining that union, even though the rate of pay is nearly irrelevant to me; it strikes me as a basic civic duty, rather like voting or serving on a jury.
One could make an argument that at a research-intensive institution, research is worth a higher per-hour rate of pay, and thus full-time faculty deserve more. (This is certainly arguable, but the point could be made with a straight face, at least.) At a teaching-intensive institution, this is harder to justify. My committee work might deserve a premium, but not one that large.
The problem isn't that I'm overpaid, of course; it's that adjuncts are underpaid.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Grumpy, Dopey, and Sneezy
I have been suffering with a cold for the last week - which, for me, is a long time to be sick - and it shows no signs of letting up. Consequently, I've been a grumpus in spite of sleeping a great deal and supporting an entire orange grove with my drinking habits. I've realized over the last 24 hours or so, though, that my crankiness is not due entirely to this plague, which leads me directly to this self-confessional post.
Over the past few months I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life. Well, let's not kid, I've been pondering these same questions for the last couple of years: It's just that only in the last couple of months has my thinking borne any fruit. The questions are (a) What do I want to be when I grow up? and (b) Why do I keep making the same dating mistakes over and over again? (Because, you know, at some point I want to stop dating, and not because I give up in disgust.)
I'm going to be vague about the first question, but for those of you not in academia, part of the issue is that, even if I wish to remain in my current job, that requires decisions - where do I want to take my research, what do I want to teach - and if I don't, that requires me to decide a whole other set of questions. It's only within the past month or so I've actually discovered the answer to that question. The answer came seemingly as a bolt out of the blue over lunch with a friend, but in truth it was more like the result of a long calculation being carried on by various mental subroutines finally completing. I've been contemplating it ever since, but now I am pretty sure of where I want to go and, even more importantly, how to get there.
The second question is a harder one. I habitually date guys who I shouldn't be in serious relationships with. It's not that they're puppy-kicking jerks, but that they and I aren't right for each other, and I should know it from the beginning: I may deserve something else, but so do they. Frankly, part of me knows this from the very beginning. So why do I keep doing it?
I tend to assume guys are out of my league, I'm out of their league, or they're swell people but not the right person for me. (Look, if you're gay, 55, extremely religious, or already married, it's just not going to work out, no matter how lovely you are.) So I settle for one of the latter two categories. I said to myself one day, okay, look do you actually know - or have you actually known - any guys who you do think would be right for you? If there is no one at all, either you are being too picky or too hard or yourself. I have never believed in the idea that we all have exactly one soulmate, so surely in 36 years I should have encountered someone suitable. There must be someone out there that I can happily imagine waking up next to in another 36 years.
When I put it that way, the answer jumped out at me with terrifying speed from the nearest bushes, so to speak. Yeah, I have known someone like that. Now, I am not going to date him anyway*, but the point is, he isn't a unicorn. He's a real person, flaws and all, and if he exists, other men like him exist as well.
People keep asking me how my dating life is going or when I'm going to get back into online dating. The thought of going on dates just to go with dates makes me want to stab myself in the eyeballs. I'm willing to hold out for the good stuff, now that I am confident that it exists.
So, with all this, why am I cranky?
You have these breakthroughs, and you feel awesome for a little while, and then you realize that, in spite of knowing where you are going, and knowing how to get there, you still are standing in the same place. You still have to make the effort to climb the damn mountain. And you have a cold, and a big pile of grading, and you really just want to teleport straight to the top.
I have to stop looking at the mountaintop for a while, and just focus at the step right in front of me. Life isn't really so different from AA, or from completing a dissertation, it turns out.
* Look, there are people you just can't date. Your boss, your best friend's husband, your friend who lives in Indonesia, your sister's ex … the exact reason doesn't matter. The point is that circumstances, not the person himself, renders it impossible.
Over the past few months I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life. Well, let's not kid, I've been pondering these same questions for the last couple of years: It's just that only in the last couple of months has my thinking borne any fruit. The questions are (a) What do I want to be when I grow up? and (b) Why do I keep making the same dating mistakes over and over again? (Because, you know, at some point I want to stop dating, and not because I give up in disgust.)
I'm going to be vague about the first question, but for those of you not in academia, part of the issue is that, even if I wish to remain in my current job, that requires decisions - where do I want to take my research, what do I want to teach - and if I don't, that requires me to decide a whole other set of questions. It's only within the past month or so I've actually discovered the answer to that question. The answer came seemingly as a bolt out of the blue over lunch with a friend, but in truth it was more like the result of a long calculation being carried on by various mental subroutines finally completing. I've been contemplating it ever since, but now I am pretty sure of where I want to go and, even more importantly, how to get there.
The second question is a harder one. I habitually date guys who I shouldn't be in serious relationships with. It's not that they're puppy-kicking jerks, but that they and I aren't right for each other, and I should know it from the beginning: I may deserve something else, but so do they. Frankly, part of me knows this from the very beginning. So why do I keep doing it?
I tend to assume guys are out of my league, I'm out of their league, or they're swell people but not the right person for me. (Look, if you're gay, 55, extremely religious, or already married, it's just not going to work out, no matter how lovely you are.) So I settle for one of the latter two categories. I said to myself one day, okay, look do you actually know - or have you actually known - any guys who you do think would be right for you? If there is no one at all, either you are being too picky or too hard or yourself. I have never believed in the idea that we all have exactly one soulmate, so surely in 36 years I should have encountered someone suitable. There must be someone out there that I can happily imagine waking up next to in another 36 years.
When I put it that way, the answer jumped out at me with terrifying speed from the nearest bushes, so to speak. Yeah, I have known someone like that. Now, I am not going to date him anyway*, but the point is, he isn't a unicorn. He's a real person, flaws and all, and if he exists, other men like him exist as well.
People keep asking me how my dating life is going or when I'm going to get back into online dating. The thought of going on dates just to go with dates makes me want to stab myself in the eyeballs. I'm willing to hold out for the good stuff, now that I am confident that it exists.
So, with all this, why am I cranky?
You have these breakthroughs, and you feel awesome for a little while, and then you realize that, in spite of knowing where you are going, and knowing how to get there, you still are standing in the same place. You still have to make the effort to climb the damn mountain. And you have a cold, and a big pile of grading, and you really just want to teleport straight to the top.
I have to stop looking at the mountaintop for a while, and just focus at the step right in front of me. Life isn't really so different from AA, or from completing a dissertation, it turns out.
* Look, there are people you just can't date. Your boss, your best friend's husband, your friend who lives in Indonesia, your sister's ex … the exact reason doesn't matter. The point is that circumstances, not the person himself, renders it impossible.
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