Tag Archives: woman’s humor

Get Your Sweat On

25 Oct

I’m a strong believer in exercise.  It’s a great way to blow off steam, cope with stress, and manage the guilt that comes with eating an entire cheese cake.  I’ve had fantasies about becoming a runner, but that’ll never happen.  I have bad ankles and despise the feeling of my wobbly bits bouncing around and making a scene in public.  I give full props to anyone getting their butt to the gym and ‘pumping iron,’ because personally, I find weights boring as hell and hate the fact that my hands are left smelling like a combination of wet metal and protein powder.  If I wanted that, I’d add whey powder to a margarita, and drink it out of a tin can.

I had basically come to the conclusion that I had serious fitness commitment issues, until I made a discovery five years ago.  Title of my upcoming New York bestseller – “How Hot Yoga Saved My Life.”

For those of you that are unfamiliar with this type of yoga, each class is 60 to 90 minutes and practiced in a room heated to one hundred and five degrees fahrenheit, with forty percent humidity.

Basically:

– you sweat your ass off,
– struggle to breathe, and
– fight to maintain consciousness while an instructor melodically guides you though a set of poses that cause your body to violently shake and make you wish you were never born.

Yet somehow, it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever done!

This week, Jenn got us a month’s pass for Moksha Yoga LA, a new hot yoga studio in her area.  I was completely thrilled with the opportunity, as I was once an avid practitioner, but let’s be honest, it’s been about a year since my ‘avid’ days.  Needless to say, my first experience back was… enlightening?

First of all, it was hot.

Like, I’m sporting a parka while power walking through the Gobi desert, hot.  Like, I’m wearing a full length mink coat while participating in a triathlon on the fucking sun, hot.

Within the first five minutes I became brutally aware that I did not drink enough water that day, and the waffles I had for breakfast? Poor choice.  I was completely soaked, sweating like a beast by the ten minute mark, and my thighs and entire core were on fire and threatening to call it quits, by minute fifteen.  I found it next to impossible to ‘find my focus,’ with sweat dripping into my ears, and almost gagged when it crept  its way into my nose and eyes during downward dog.   There I was, blind and choking in a sea of my own filth, far too mindful of the garlic I ingested the night before.  And friends, I don’t care how waterproof your mascara says it is, it’s lying to you, so don’t even bother.  You’ll never look cute leaving a hot yoga class.  Never.

Now, I know yoga is supposed to be anything but competitive, but when there’s a sixty-year-old woman next to you in a swim suit, no cellulite, and a sticker in the middle of her forehead, bending in half like she’s a fifteen-year-old from Cirque Du Soliel,  I start to feel a little competitive.  I yoga’d  hard.  Shit got real.

The consequence of my ego?  An inability to use stairs for three days, raise my right arm above my chest, or stand fully erect without muttering such obscenities you’d only hear in women’s correctional facility, while the inmates are PMS-ing.

That said, even though Jenn and I left the studio looking like ass, we both felt like a million bucks! We’ve decided to drink more water, accepting that a third cup of coffee does not apply as a substitution, and I will be practicing at home between classes, to improve my form.  Either that or sitting on my mat in yoga gear— while watching The Food Network.  Feeling fit is sometimes equally as important.

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Feeding THE MONSTER.

16 May
(t-shirt courtesy of Polygon)
Once a month I am not myself.  Like a werewolf under the power of the full moon, I become a monster.  An angry, hormonal monster who thinks it’s appropriate to wear men’s XL sweatpants to the grocery store. To this day, men gather around campfires and tell the terrible tales of their women turning into THE MONSTER.

“She threw a yogurt container at my head” one will say.
“She ate a whole bag of marshmallows and wouldn’t stop watching Real Housewives of Atlanta” another will say.
“She said I didn’t love her, and made me talk about my feelings for 45 minutes!”

Oh the HORROR!!!!

They don’t get it. I sometimes wish men had an equivalent to a period. Let’s it call it the “semi colon.” They’d call their buddies saying things like “I can’t play street hockey today Greg. I’m on my semi-colon. I have major cramps, and my tits are killing me.”

This menstruating monster has so many needs. Yes, the monster will stand in front of the refrigerator for 15 minutes at a time, taking one bite out of every container. Yes, the monster will cry while watching “Barefoot Contessa” and “Cake Boss.”  Making the monster even more irritable is the sudden 5 to 7 pound weight gain that occurs. It is of the utmost importance to tell her during this time, that she is the most beautiful monster you’ve ever seen. And for goodness sake, do not mention, or even look at the giant zit in the middle of her forehead.  The monster will not respond kindly.

These monsters have cravings. Severe longings. They love milkshakes, would kill you for a pastry, and demand greasy fast food.  Now since I can’t even digest most of these foods, the cravings are clearly not of me, but of the monster.  And the monster cannot be controlled…

This month it’s cravings were for coconut ice cream bars and In N Out Burger.  After devouring a box of 4 bars, I tricked it by making a delicious gluten-free dish that even the fiercest of menstrual monsters couldn’t deny.  Creamy Baked Mac and Cheese!

Time to take a shot of Motrin, and head to the kitchen…

Creamy Baked Mac and Cheese

1 large sweet onion, diced
1 1/2c. dried elbow rice pasta (or preferred gluten-free pasta)
3c shredded goat cheddar
1c coconut cream or unsweetened coconut milk
salt and pepper to taste

In a large pan, saute your diced onion over medium heat for 8-10 minutes or until onion is tender and golden.  While your onion is sauteing, cook the rice pasta in a large saucepan, according to package directions.  Drain and  return to saucepan.  Stir in the sautéed onions along with 2 cups goat cheddar, and salt and pepper.  Toss gently to combine, then spoon into 1 large casserole dish, or 6 individual ramekins. (Frankly I need help controlling portion size, so this option works best for me!)

Bake, uncovered at 350 degrees F, for 20 minutes.  Stir gently and top with the remaining cup of goat cheddar.  Bake another 15 minutes or until the edges are golden brown.  Let stand for 10 minutes.  Enjoy!

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