Yoga - girly pastime or extreme sport?

My gorgeous svelte neighbour got me into Yoga earlier this year and I thought I would go along to relax and chill-out. You know get in touch with my inner self and all that palava, I mean I was kinda desperate being a corporate tragic with two boys under five. Half way through I was dripping with sweat trying to get my arms behind my ears with my arse in the air. It was FULL on. 

Downward facing dog - more like downward facing agony with breathing added in so you don't die. I was shocked! 

And at times when doing planks and upward dogs, downward dogs at speed I took the option of collapsing on my face to recover, the instructor said it was ok and that I was in child pose (she was being nice!)

Although you wouldn't know it to look at me now I was once a rower, I even did surfboats for a season, so I have subjected myself to all sorts torture many times over (6km erg tests are the worst). And unlike the one person in the world that stopped rowing in a race, that happened to happen in the Olympics, I'm like the other 99.99999% of them and never have. So being done in by Yoga, was a little bit of a surprise, albeit (eventually) a pleasant one. 

There is a reason, I discovered, why there are Yoga studios popping up on every single street corner, it is a weird juxtaposition of spirituality and physical exertion that makes it so amazing. What other sport do you feel like your inner being is being worked on while your hamstrings scream in agony. It is completely illogical and completely effective. 

The eagle pose - note the sweat people - hardcore.... 

I was lucky enough to be at a resort for two weeks that had Yoga most mornings so I went along and found that my downward facing dog started to get less agonising even within an hour and a half. I also noticed my shoulders that normally are attached to my ears dropped a little more after each class. My 'question mark' body normally curved around a device was straightening out and turning the other way (?) and it seemed that maybe some more blood was getting to my brain. 

Look my point is quite simply if you are a hardcore cardio tragic and you think Yoga would be too light for your amazing VO2 then think again, it will be right up your alley and it might calm you down at the same time as working the crap out of your bunched up muscles.

Do it peeps - it so rocks, even for rowers, runners, spin-junkies and any other psychotic sport-types. Namaste!

Update: Discovered hot yogi that can only be described as a walking muscle at my local - even happier now!

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All I want for Christmas is ... is cheese!

Once a Christmas fire engine rolled past our holiday house running carols over its very loud PA system complete with Santa on board throwing lollies I knew it was time to "join 'em". 

Left Bottom: Even Angus was sus about this pretend Santa!

In the end there is nothing to beat when you are knocked out by beautiful christmas lights, reindeer and good will to all. Yes every year until I hear my children say the words "Mum you know Santa isn't real right?" I will struggle with the myriad of lies created to keep, let's face it, quite a complex fairy tale alive, this time last year I was struggling with these questions. BUT hearing Crash yelling in the most excited shrill every time he sees decorations or lights "Christmas!". Hearing Bang already rationalising the amount of Santas he sees everywhere with they are not the real one, they are pretend. Listening to countless renditions of Jingle Bells and Santa Claus is coming to town...and their faces on Christmas morning. Nothing beats it and I am a converted Christmas sucker lapping up every random, cheesy tradition.

So just to prove it - check this out! 

Merry Christmas and a happy, peaceful and safe holiday
and hopeful new year! xxx 

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"Shake your bøøbies" Mummy! Parents dancing and other really cool stuff

When I was 16 I entered my first night club on a fake ID. It was called the Tivoli, which way back then was where the Metro is now on George St in Sydney. It was the start of a love affair with dark, smokey, throbbing rooms that my parents probably could have predicted from the day they saw me doing "isolations" to Prince's Raspberry Beret on stage at a jazz ballet concert years before.  

Late into my 20s I was still addicted to dancing until the wee hours, there were many nights at Danceteria, Metropolis, and a late night North Sydney basement we went to after the others had closed, because 1am was far too early to go home. 

I had a 5 year hiatus where I became a rowing nut and went to bed every night at 9.30 to get up at 4am and paddle about in the dark trying to avoid the rivercat until I saw the "light" and joined a surfclub. There I discovered fitness and partying needn't be mutually exclusive. The clubbing began again. The only difference now was instead of arriving at lectures with both eyes closed I was turning up to work that way. Didn't really matter though, it was Advertising, a hang over was considered lightweight compared to most of my bosses, who cured their own with substances said to "enhance" their creativity. 

Fast forward to now and I am still sleep-deprived, in fact I feel hung over all the time, problem is I haven't had any alcohol...or drugs (before you suggest it). I am the cancer council's poster child yet a picture of horror. So going out dancing is a distant memory that I currently don't miss...or so I thought.

So when Bang, my 2yo yelled out "Shake your Boobies Mummy" in the car yesterday other than laughing my head off at the substitution of the word "Booty" I was surprised at how excited I got to throw my arms in the air, anthem style, and do a caricature of my former self, complete with half-closed eyes while gliding my head side to side. My style was only rivaled by my 18 month old who looked like a seasoned podium dancer, holding his hands together and thumping the sky in time to the bass. From the outside, the car must have looked like it was transporting a bunch of loonies to the asylum, either that or a group of teenagers any given Saturday night, even driver 'Dadda' was punching the air. All that was missing was four fluorescent tubes and a strobe. 

Who knew motherhood would be a constant dance party?! Ok so "constant" maybe too strong a word, but I am now* encouraged by two very short people, to spin, shake, stamp and wiggle to Cars 2, the Wiggles and anything with a bit of a beat, like Crash's favourite song "Feel so close"! 

(*That is when they are not screaming, falling from height, crying hysterically, fighting over a toy or trying to strangle each other for fun.)

What have your kids made you remember?

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