That Time I Got Mistaken for Kim Kardashian

I've survived another weigh in. After a second week of PROTEIN FEST 2014, I lost 1 pound and 1.5% body fat. I'll take it because I have to.

I wish I wasn't being such a crabby pants cry baby about this. But I totally am. I was fully expecting a "First Week on the Biggest Loser Ranch" type loss which is not only delusional but unhealthy. Kemper could tell right away I wanted to destroy the scale with my bare hands when the results popped up. I was all, "THE HECK?" And I maybe even dropped a baby swear when I described the way "I worked my AAAAYYYY off strength training this week. Dude. Seriously*."

*"Dude. Seriously." - You know I'm in bad shape when my verbal tick shows up.

Honestly, this isn't a weight loss issue. This is an expectation issue. These expectations stem from the realities of 253 Pound Kelly who could lose five pounds a week thinking about exercise. (Okay, it was never that easy.) But at 253 pounds I had to make very few changes to see immediate results. I could downgrade my large fries to a small and see a loss. I could refuse the second bowl of nightly ice cream. 160 Pound Kelly needs to realize that my body is used to regular exercise and a steady diet of whole foods and it is going to take a bit more (or a bit longer) to see any significant change in my body.

So today, when I have absolutely no accurate perspective of the results from the work I have been putting in, I'm turning to two outside sources. One is Kemper who said, "You lost a pound, but you lost 1.5% body fat. That's really good." So today I know I am stronger than last week. Also I am turning to my husband who, after listening to me whine for 45 minutes that "the scale at Lifetime Fitness was obviously broken and that has to be the problem and not the two three cookies I ate over the weekend", finally interrupted my ranting to say, "Kel, there are people in Africa who are starving to death." Which really snapped me out of it because Jeez-Louise I was turning into Kim Kardashian except that I look much better when I cry.

So from now on I am going to be happy about life. I am doing what I need to do. I am moving my body. I finally had my first post injury non-stop three mile run. My injured neck and shoulder lifted ten pounds in each hand for shoulder press. (Which is a huge improvement from a month ago.) I am choosing good foods to fuel my body (the cookies don't count)(because they were gift cookies)(bakery gift cookies)(which I'm pretty sure are calorie-free and have 100 grams of protein each), and I am drinking so. much. water. I have not had pop or coffee in two weeks and I don't miss them. My clothes are fitting better. Those are victories.

Hoo-rah.

What's Going In Your Pie Hole?

Yesterday I shared that the methods that helped me lose 100 pounds (and keep it off for two years) were no longer proving effective. Read yesterday's post to get caught up, because today we are sitting down with my new favorite trainer Kemper to talk turkey. Literally.

After that horrible weigh in, I sat with Kemper miserably recounting everything that comprises my usual diet. The conversation started in stellar fashion with this little gem:

"Don't judge me, but my big splurge happens first thing in the morning with 150 calories of iced coffee."

Kemper looked up from his notepad and said, "At what time?"

"Around 5:30."

"What's in your iced coffee? Do you make it yourself?"

"Nope. It's pretty much milk and sugar with a hint of coffee thrown in for caffeine's sake. But it's delicious and it's my treat." (*insert stomping foot*)

Because Kemper has amazing self-control he chose not to comment and asked me to continue. I told him I always eat toast with peanut butter for breakfast, a mid-morning snack of a Kashi bar or some fruit (a.k.a. always a Kashi bar), a ham or turkey sandwich for lunch, an afternoon snack of popcorn, and then whatever family dinner I prepared. He asked me about the quality of my bread. ("Whole wheat!" I answered proudly.) He asked what I ate after I worked out at night. ("Um, nothing really. If I have calories left I might eat cereal or ice cream.")

He sat back and said, "It looks like you eat a lot of carbs."

Dun - dun - DUN.

He went on to outline a plan that was partly brilliant and partly ridiculous for me to even consider. These are some of his suggestions that I took.

1. For one week (JUST ONE WEEK, KELLY) give up the iced coffee. It's a ton of sugar to start your day with, and leads to huge spikes in blood sugar that affect your body for the remainder of the day.

(We compromised with tea with cream. And? After a week of Kemper's diet I don't even want my iced coffee right now. WHAAAAA?)


2a. Replace whole wheat bread with whole grain bread, preferably Ezekiel bread.

(This is one of those things that will never, ever happen because I've tried Ezekiel bread and I hate it. I also have food allergy kids and am not spending a dime more on bread than I already do. We compromised with organic whole grain rice cakes that I already had at home - which I eat for fun because I love them.)

But not too angry.

2b. Never eat a carb by itself. Always eat a carb with a fat and a protein.

(This has led to food combining that makes eating waaaaay more fun. Instead of, "Ugh, I want to eat all the popcorn but instead I have to eat this sucky apple" now it's "This apple is amazingly non-sucky when you dip it in peanut butter!" Instead of suffering through a handful of berries (which are delicious but leave me seriously wanting) I now get a container of greek yogurt (which has a ton of protein) mixed with my berries. It's like a world of endless possibilities.


3. EAT MORE PROTEIN. LIKE, A CRAPTON MORE PROTEIN. A crapton is the amount where you think, "If I eat one more gram of protein I will yammy all over Lifetime Fitness" but add a chicken breast and a protein shake. That's close to the amount you should eat.

(This is actually my favorite rule and tied for the most effective guideline Kemper put in place. I think it's because it is about eating more - allowing more, not restricting. Also, I did a lot of Pinteresting research to find different sources of protein, which kind of felt like a treasure hunt.)(Rad.)


4. Drink more water. Focus on getting half your body weight in ounces of water everyday.

(For me that meant 80+ ounces of water every single day. This has tied for my favorite guideline because it had some unexpected effects. I am a diet pop girl. I drink it every day. I've tried to give it up but have been so afraid of weight gain (go ahead and laugh at the irony) that I've always returned to my calorie free taste fest. The craziest thing that happened when I started pounding water like I was Shamu without my pool (not a fat joke) was that I didn't have time to drink anything else. I was fully four days without diet pop before I even realized it.


5. Eat every few hours, and especially after you work out.

(This has been harder than expected. Sometimes I am still full from the last time I ate. But at least I don't feel deprived.)(Also, can we take a moment to appreciate that my biggest problem has been finding ways to eat all the food Kemper wants me to eat?

After my workouts I've been sipping some 100 calorie protein shakes. They a'ight.)

Now I am sure there are scientific facts and reasons to back up all this advice. I know it has a lot to do with blood sugar and muscle growth but honestly, science isn't my thing. When Kemper asked me to try it for a week (oh, and did I mention he told me not to count calories?!) I said I would but if I gained weight - "I'll quit my job," Kemper interrupted.

I followed this advice as best as I knew how. Here is a sample of my diet and what Kemper had to say about it afterward.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 26

6:00 a.m.

 16 oz water

   tea with cream

7:30 a.m. 

rice cake with peanut butter

                two scrambled eggs (Kemper - can you add a third egg?)

8:30 a.m. 

16 oz water

11:00 a.m. 

Greek yogurt with berries (Make sure it's plain, not filled with sugar.)

almonds

12:30 p.m. 

leftover homemade Tuscan soup

                  salad (Throw on some extra olive oil for more fat.) (Emphasis mine.)

16 oz water

3:00 p.m. 

tea with cream

                ham and cheese roll-ups (That's good.)(I felt like I earned a gold star.)

5:30 p.m. 

BLT flatbread

16 oz water

6:30 p.m. 

32 oz water (4 mile run, Core 30 class)

8:30 p.m. 

protein shake (Can you add a banana?)

This day added up to around 1500 calories and 85 grams of protein. I also drank 112 oz of water (if you include my tea). 

Now, the moment of truth. The results.

After one week I lost 3 pounds and 2% body fat. I ate waaaaay more food (in volume) than normal, and never felt hungry-hungry. Even more interestingly, I'm not craving any of my junkie foods. Kemper gets to keep his job after all.

Now, I realize this is a really premature post. This is entirely too new to me to pretend I understand all that I am doing and why. I'm still really uncomfortable with not counting calories (in fact I cheated and totally did even when Kemper suggested I stop doing it). I am a 34 year old woman who has never known her hunger to dictate portion size. When Kemper says, "Eat some almonds and some bell pepper for a snack," I want/need to know exactly how many almonds and how much bell pepper he is talking about. This was kind of foreign to him. He suggested I read the serving size label and eat one serving. I still need these kind of rules. But so far Kemper has steered me in the right direction. So I'm following him.

My next weigh in is Monday night. I'll keep you posted. Have a great weekend!

The Weight Post You've Been Weighting** For

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In September life was relatively normal. I weighed about 153, and was at week ten of my twelve week half marathon training. My week consisted of 1. not counting calories and maintaining my weight and 2. literally running my tush off in between swimming, biking, and weight lifting. It was divine.

Then Brian got sick. I didn't get any exercise for a solid month. None. I could try to blame this on how overwhelmed I felt trying to run our house, take care of Brian, and also get him proper medical care so he could be diagnosed and treated, but mostly there is no decent reason I didn't throw in a Jillian DVD or hoof it down to my basement to ride the elliptical. (*Therapist Couch Break* I'm pretty sure it has to do with working out being my "escape" from home. Since I homeschool my kiddos I am with them in the house all the time. Gym time is a mini vacation for me. Being alone is my incentive to exercise. Sweating inside my own home where I can still see and hear the chaos has little effect on the relaxation aspect of working out. *End Introspection*)

After Brian was well enough to be left alone with the older kiddos I headed back to the gym. I got almost two weeks of workouts back (and my month-long absense from Ab Lab really made itself known to my poor tummy) and then I broke a bone spur in my foot.

I was on crutches for two weeks. I was given the go ahead to return to biking, swimming, or even elliptical as soon as I could walk on my foot without crutches, but no running for six weeks. This was just a minor setback, right? Unfortunately I ended up messing up my trapezius muscle as a result of my posture from the crutches and spent the next nine weeks getting physical and massage therapy three times a week so I could turn my head and lift my arms. This injury meant not only no running, but no swimming and no biking. It meant no Ab Lab. It meant no significant upper body strength training.

This all happened within the trifecta of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Honestly, being injured and not counting calories was like the perfect storm. It was like a tsunami of fat washed over my body.

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I noticed it for the first time on Black Friday. Nothing fit. Then I tried one size up and it was all good again. I had gone up an entire clothing size in less than two months. I was all, "Woah," (say it like you're Keanu) but since I've lost 100 pounds and kept it off for two years, I wasn't really all that worried. I knew how to lose weight, right?

Enter January 11, and my much anticipated return to the gym. I had an amazingly puke-worthy workout and it seemed brighter days looser clothes were coming.

Except they didn't.

No problem, I just needed to be faithful counting calories.

Except I wasn't.

Okay, I've been here before, it's simply a determination thing. I need some accountability. Lifetime Fitness had a 90 Day Weight Loss Challenge beginning February 8. That sounded perfect. I would pay actual money ($25) to be weighed in weekly by a personal trainer. They would record my weight, BMI, and my Body Fat Percentage.

The first week my eating was spot on. I prepared to blow away my personal trainer with my amazing weight loss skills that would surely net me at least a four pound first week weight loss. I was ready to be given a crown and hailed as the Weight Loss Master of the World. (I had no reason to believe this number; my home scale needed a new battery so I was honestly just pulling a number out of the air.) I was assigned an attractive young man named Kemper to handle my first weigh in.

"Well, you've lost .7 of a pound. But you've lost 3% body fat, so that's amazing."

What? Excuse me, I don't think you know how my body responds to weight loss mode. I lose. That's what I do. Eat less, move more. WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK, KEMPER?

So I settled down for another week of counting. I was eating 1600 calories everyday, and exercising 4-5 days a week. My workouts were a mixture of classes (Core Blast, Core 30), running, swimming, and strength training. I was really confident at my next weigh in. I probably had a humble speech already prepared in response to the accolades I would receive for my giant weight loss that was surely due me because LAST WEEK.

I hopped on the scale, the machine scanned me, and Kemper said, "You've lost .4 of a pound, but your body fat has gone up 2%."

This is when I punched Kemper in his young, sculpted cheekbones. Sike.

Instead I sat down to put my shoes on, glanced at Kemper and forlornly said, "Do I need to eat less?" (Imagine the most pathletic and broken voice possible. Not because of the weight loss fail, but because I really love food. And I really love eating. And I'm really overly dramatic.)

Kemper said, "Not necessarily," and then he sat down and went through my entire diet with me, which is awesome, because people pay him for that and he did it for me for free.

I'll post tomorrow* on his opinion of my diet, what he recommended I do, and the results of his way of eating. Stay tuned!



(*Sorry. I know this is bogue. My kiddos are starting to stir. I've got to go do the mom thing. Where does the time go?!)

**Did you see what I did there?

Directions to the Meth House**

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Facebook Status: I just got carded while buying cold medicine because apparently you have to be 21 to make meth.

We've been a bit sidelined this week. Some unexpected house guests dropped by, and wanted to hang around for about a week. While I firmly believe being hospitable is a necessary part of loving others, I was ready to kick our visitors to the curb after a mere 24 hours. I'm giving you a heads up because they might still be traveling together and looking for a new home to invade  take down  destroy visit, so keep your eyes open (but DEAR LORD don't touch them, and then wash your hands for good measure anyway) and lock your doors if you hear from the trifecta of Pink Eye, Croup, and the Common Cold*.

-begin rant-

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*Does anyone else feel like the common cold is the most underwhelming and inaccurate name possible? Usually it's even paired with the word "just". Like, "it's just the common cold." What a misnomer. I vote we rename it something worthly of it's characteristics and capabilities. Something like, "I've come down with a case of Wanting To Claw My Sinuses Out". Or, "The doctor told me it's just the Swallowed the Blades of Ten Thousand Samurai Swords sickness that's going around". Or even "I've been diagnosed with HAHA Good Luck Getting Out of Bed Today".  

-rant continued-

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I also think that the tissue companies should be a bit more honest in their product descriptions. The Cadillac of Tissue (A.K.A. Puff's Plus with Lotion)(Not an affiliate link because I suck at marketing) has a tagline that reads "A face in need deserves Puffs indeed." On the first day of the Common Cold (I've decided that's the name it's PR team came up with to try and make it "family friendly") I'm all, "These tissues are like a down blanket of happiness against my septum." By the fourth day my nose was a red and raw chapped mess (#hot) and I was thinking of the movie Seven where that woman chose the pills over the phone because her nose was gone. Day four found me crying at the tissue box, "MY FACE IS IN NEEEEEEEED!" because I'm definitely not more of a Drama Queen when I'm sick missing my down blanket of happiness in the form of a lotion filled tissue. I've decided tissues need more of an accurate expectation for performance. Something like, "Lotion-filled tissues - great for a sprint - but not trained for endurance." I know, it needs some work. But, honest.

-end rant-

So, in case you missed the point, last week my house contained pink eye, croup, and the common cold all at once. I'm making myself a "I Survived the Illness Trifecta of 2014" t-shirt to layer with my "I Survived the Polar Vortex of 2014" t-shirt. (Have you seen the Time article yet about Detroit being hit hardest by the cold weather? No? Lucky for you I am linking it here. You're welcome. And please send electric blankets and boxes of Bigelow Vanilla Caramel tea ASAP.)

**Story for free - in our old house the backyard connected kitty-corner to the backyard of a house we lovingly referred to as "The Meth House." This was mostly a joke name only because the bushes were overgrown and the curtains were drawn all the time, so we weren't stereotyping at all. The grass was always barely within legal limit of length and the "foliage" in the back corner of the lot (that connected to our yard) was chest high and contained a lot of mint plants. (That was a clue for all you CSI fans.) We seldom saw people go in or out but we lived in a suburb of the Motor City - home of the third shift and people working on the line - so that could have been explained easily enough. What really cemented the name "The Meth House" is when the SWAT TEAM showed up. Best part of this whole story? IT'S A FREAKING CLIFF-HANGER. I never found out the true story behind the SWAT team. Welcome to my private pain. Feel free to speculate with me for the rest of your natural life. Happy Monday.

Conspiracy Theories - Kleenex Edition

There are a few undeniable signs that life is about to get menstrual. The first is the desire for a mass consumption of chocolate. Since I am currently on day 5 of a wheat, dairy, and sugar fast I've been able to satisfy that craving and move on. Haha. That was a joke because I'm thisclose to driving to the nearest store and snarfing every piece of candy I recognize - and even those I don't.

Another clear sign of the impending monthly is that I get a huge case of the Feels and cry over everything. I'd like to take a minute to thank Great Big World and Christina Aguilera for the timing of their hit song "Say Something". Having it dominate airwaves the same week I'm PMSing is genius. I'm pretty sure that song is being sponsored in part by Kleenex brand tissues. Well done, Kleenex.

-John Green

I'm also thanking for great timing this week = my library. Finally getting me to the front of the line for John Green's The Fault In Our Stars this specific week was stellar. For those unfamiliar with this work of art I suggest you read it immediately. It is a YA novel about a girl named Hazel Grace who has cancer. She is tethered to an oxygen machine at a cancer support group when she meets Augustus Waters. Their relationship will wreck you. Decimate. Couple this novel with Great Big World's "Say Something" and you know Kleenex (and BIG BROTHER*) played a part in in it all. 

(*This is no joke = on Tuesday I was twenty pages from finishing The Fault In Our Stars - which means I was sobbing like a baby because if you've read the book you know what just happened - when my telephone rang. Since I was a hot mess I checked Caller ID before I answered it because I reserve my hiccuping snot-filled voice for my most special friends. GUESS WHO WAS CALLING AT THAT EXACT SECOND?!?!

This, kids, is a land line telephone. It is what came after telephones that still had cords. If you look closely at my Caller ID (#baller) you will see the person calling me during the end scenes of The Fault In Our Stars was none other than CHILDREN'S CANCER.

Well done, Drones Spying On My House, well done.

In conclusion, remember Big Brother (and Kleenex) are always watching. 

"I think your garage is on fire." "Cool. Thanks man."

There are many differences between men and women.

For example, at 9:30 Sunday night, when a couple is half way through the much anticipated return of Walking Dead, and they hear an unanticipated knock at the door, the man will stride confidently to answer the door, while the woman will beg him to take a weapon because who comes over unannounced on a Sunday night?

The man will check out the window, open the front door, and through the storm door say, "HEY. HOW CAN I HELP YOU, MAN?" The woman will stand looking out the front window silently lamenting that her man does not even have a baseball bat with him, because surely anyone knocking on the front door late at night is out to cause great bodily harm. I mean, she has seen movies about home invasion.

The man knocking on the door will say, "Sorry, bro, I was just driving by and there is a lot of smoke in your driveway. Like, it's on fire. There are flames next to your garage." The woman listening will begin to freak the heck out, because of course there really is no fire, this is how young man lures your man outside where a gang of bandits rape and pillage the entirety of your household. Because, the Bible*.

*this may be a minor taking out of context the account of Sodom and the angry mob outside of Lot's door.

The man of the house will hear the words "smoke", "fire", and "flames" and respond calmly, "Thanks, man." He will gently close and lock the front door, put on his coat, and walk through the kitchen to the garage door. The woman will hear those same words and, mixed with her skepticism about the reality of said fire, be all, "WHY AREN'T YOU PANICKING AND PLEASE TAKE A WEAPON."

The man will open the garage door, say, "Stay here," and serenely stroll into the dreaded abyss. The women will dash through the house to see if she can see anything through the front window. When that proves insufficient she will dash back to the garage door and open it a teensy bit in order to check the status of her beloved's life, and her beloved will be shoveling snow onto the actual fire in front of the garage and yell at her, "CLOSE THE DOOR," because when plastic melts there are toxins.

The woman will forget the fire and be all, "Dude, he yelled at me," and return to watching The Walking Dead.

The man will come inside and say, "I guess the embers were still hot."

The woman will say, "WHAT?"

The man will explain, "When I cleaned out the fireplace I emptied the coals into the plastic bag inside the plastic garbage can."

The woman will respond (incredulously), "You didn't think maybe it would melt anything?"

"Yeah, that's why I put it outside our garage. Because I learned from the last time I started a fire in the garage*. Don't worry, it's out now."

The woman will think practically. "Is our garbage can okay?"

The man will laugh and respond, "No, it's totally gone. Once the snow I put on top of it melts you'll be able to see the handle. That's all that's left."

There you have it. The main difference between men and women? A women won't let a little thing like a fire interrupt the mid-season premiere of The Walking Dead.



*When we were engaged I was out of town and Brian celebrated his last bachelor Fourth of July by setting off large amounts of fireworks at his parents house. He disposed of these fireworks in the garbage can inside of their garage. His mother awoke to a garage filled with flames. Thankfully the house was spared. Brian, however, will never live it down as long as I have a blog.

Yoga for Dummies - Part 2

If you are a teacher, you will understand when I say I've had to work all week on lapbooking, which is why I didn't post sooner. If you are not a teacher, lapbooking has nothing to do with being a stripper or the mafia. Totally don't worry if that's what you obviously thought at first. It is because of lapbooking that I needed yoga Monday. (Scrapper's Back, anyone?) It is also because of lapbooking that I missed yoga Monday. Thus the cycle of destruction continues.

I left off on my yoga tutorial (Part 1 found here) with the warm up from hell. Let's return to the current scene: fiiiiine young gentleman is leading you through the next vinyasa* (*series of movements coordinated with your breathing)(this one the "real" workout).

Fiiiiine young gentleman will lead you through some moves that you vaguely recognize from previous classes, except the intensity of his poses produce in you the inner monologue of "Dude, is he on crack?" They will be slower and broken into smaller steps so be thankful, because this slow speed is exactly what you need in order to stay with the class. You will keep your eyes trained on the neighbor to your right until fiiiiine young gentleman has you turn to face the hallway; then, with your right side neighbor out of sight you notice the person behind you (now to your left, stay with me) is a YOGA SUPERSTAR and follow her every chance you get. You will finish the flow facing forward once again.

She looks exactly like this, except slightly
more bendy. (source)

This is the time to hurry up and pat yourself on the back. You are NAILING yoga class. Congratulate yourself quickly before FYG does the whole vinyasa again but for the other side of your body. You will now need to mirror those moves you barely survived the first time around. This round will not be as smooth as the first attempt. In fact, when FYG asks you to move from triangle to a standing split without crashing to the ground you will snort a bit and get your back leg approximately eighteen inches from the ground. YOGA SUPERSTAR looks exactly like she is doing the splits in midair. (Don't worry, she probably has bad breath.)(Or punches kittens.)(Or secretly loves spam.) Ease out of standing splits into tree pose (HAHA), finish your vinyasa, and face front.

As you mentally prepare for what is next, take a moment to practice your non-panic face and review the best moves in your arsenal of free-style interpretive dance. You will need them at your disposal. Fiiiiine young gentleman will say, "Now move through that vinyasa at your own pace, using your own breathing to guide you," and everyone else will know exactly what they are doing and you will be all, "THE HECK ARE WE DOING? NO ONE IS LEADING ME." Cover nicely with some flows that say, "Do I look like I know what I'm doing? No? Well I am communicating quite adequately then because I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING." Randomly crouch into yoga-esque poses and notice, while you are glancing feverishly around the dark room to see if there is anyone you can copy, that some overachievers are actually standing on their heads. By choice.

Sublurban Mama: making Santa Clause
weird for you since 2014.
(source)

Thankfully FYG will make the rounds and correct people on their form. He will be saying super helpful things like, "Shaking just means your muscles are getting stronger and more able," and, "We don't judge our bodies here, we only observe and notice them." (He also loves redundancy and restating things using different words.) You hope perhaps he will observe and notice you are completely lost and throw you a bone and move through this with you. You see as he nears you he pauses to correct a women in tree pose. He grinds stands behind her, pulls her shoulders back and uses his leg to wrap around her leg and turn her knee out. You will immediately feel like you are in the opening sequence of a porno. Once she is "adjusted" he will tell everyone to finish at their own pace. "Finish" the vinyasa you were in the middle of choreographing, face the front, and try to breathe. My compliments to you; you have survived the ab-libbed portion of yoga.

This is how you want to do tree pose.
(source)

You are dripping sweat. You are sweating in places you did not know contained sweat glands. Your earlobes are sweating. Your fingernails are sweating. Your teeth are sweating (editor's note: we call that drool, Kelly). This is the perfect opportunity to do some work on the floor.

Since I forgot to take my camera, you'll just have to
take my word that this is pretty much what I look
like in my sports bra and yoga pants. Give or take
thirty pounds. And, you know, the mid-section of
someone with four c-sections under her belt.*
(*did you see what I did there?) (source)

Take plank position. Your forearms are covered in sweat, so slide around a bit as you seek purchase on some kind of grip on the mat beneath you. Move to side plank. Raise your top leg and stretch your arm above your head. Now you are in serious trouble. All this sweat makes you think this must be what mud wrestling feels like. It is with that train of thought that fiiiiine young gentleman will choose to come over and "help" you out. He will be in the middle of murmuring, "Really streeeeetch it out," when he attempts to grab your hand and gently puuuuuuullll, but after the initial grip he will try to pull and your sweat will allow his hand to glide completely off your palm. He will stumble a bit, and you will giggle. He is centered so he will not giggle but merely reaffirm, "Shaking just means your muscles are getting stronger and more able. Feel it." (You will probably only feel like thinking of the movie Goonies, and dwell on the realization that Data was way ahead of his time with his invention of slick shoes; you have successfully repelled fiiiiine young gentleman with the slick power of your perspiration, effectively employing the same principle that saved the Goonies from the Fratelli family.)

(source)

The last part of yoga will include frog pose. Frog pose is horrible enough on it's own, but it wouldn't be a proper yoga tutorial if I didn't prep you for what might will undoubtedly occur.

Since your sweat is still an issue, as you settle into frog pose prepare for the following sequence of events:


1. Enter frog pose. Think it must be a joke. Look around and see everyone blissfully chilling out, not at all freaking out about their knees, inner thighs, or shoulders.

2. Listen to FYG say, "We are going to spend about three minutes here. Just the duration of this song." Listen to Adele sing one of the acoustic heart-breakers from her first album.

3. Wonder WHY THE HECK can't Adele sing any faster?

4. Squirm. Get caught by FYG. Listen to him say, "Try not to fidget. Embrace the discomfort." Know it's directed at you. Wiggle your toes vehemently in protest. He's not the boss of you.

5. Realize your sweat is turning into an agent of torture against you. Your whole upper body will tense in trying to keep you stationary. It will all be in vain. As the last of your upper body strength leaves your body, embrace the discomfort as your arms slide out from under your body as you crash onto the floor. Don't worry, your chin will break your fall.

6. Knock over a candle on your way down. You will be slightly stunned from the floor burn on your chin but you will have the presence of mind to acknowledge the need to right the candle before you burn down the yoga studio. Make a sound like you are about to throw up as you lunge toward the candle. As you take hold of the candle, saving everyone from a horrific death, notice it is electric.

7. Kill FYG and Adele.* (*Sike.)(Leave Adele alone.)

Yoga will try to end on a nice note. Namely, with corpse pose for five minutes. This is normally your favorite part of yoga. It is where you zone out and relax. Fiiiiine young gentleman will ruin this when he chooses to bring out a guitar and starts singing an original tune conveying that if you ever feel like giving up, come to him, he will embrace you and be there for you. You cannot relax because you are now in awe that your yoga class was taught by someone who probably wanted to be in One Direction.

And that will be enough to get you to go back.

Aaaaaand that is my tutorial. I hope you learned a lot. The moral of the story is: if you have never done yoga, you can't do much worse than me. (Unless your studio uses real candles.)(Then you could probably burn down the whole place.)(Which would be waaaaay worse.)(But that probably won't happen.)(Because liability.)

Happy yoga-ing everyone!