Item #23 - Do Hot Yoga

Last year I ran in the Reach the Beach relay for the first time. It's a 200+ mile team race that starts in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and finishes at Hampton Beach. Over the course of about 24 hours, your team winds its way through the hilly rural roads of New Hampshire down to the ocean. 12 people typically make up a team, with each person taking 3 different legs of the journey. At all times, someone on your team is running - weather, time of day and potential-for-Deliverance-like-backwoods-encounters be damned.

 Ready to run 5 hilly miles through the darkness while watching my behind

On our team of 12, I only knew 3 of my teammates beforehand. And of course, those 3 teammates ended up in team cargo van #1, while I ended up in van #2. Typically the vans only connect every 6 hours or so for about 15 minutes at a time, so I spent the majority of the next 27 hours that it would take our team to finish with 5 total strangers.

I spent about 2 of those 27 hours running, with 30 minutes or so of that running hills that don't exist in the Boston area. And all of the time spent running was spent without headphones, as they're not allowed on the course for safety reasons. This was the first time since high school soccer tryouts that I'd run without them, as I was stuck listening to the thoughts in my head. "How much farther . . . fuck I'm tired . . . . when does this goddamn hill end?!?"

I spent a whole 2 hours of those 27 hours sleeping on the back bench of a cargo van (and 5 minutes figuring out how to climb over the 4 benches in front of me full of sleeping teammates to go piss in the middle of the night). I don't think I ate anything that could actually be classified as a "meal", as all food ended up in "snack" form (bananas, Cliff bars, cheese and crackers, etc). Any bathroom break was spent in the cozy confines of a port-o-potty. And of course, any time spent in the van was spent with 5 other people who would go showerless despite running anywhere from 13-20 miles over the course of 3 legs.

Basically, there is nothing on paper about this relay race that should be fun. Stuck in a cargo van with smelly strangers for 27 hours with almost no sleep and no decent food while running hills in the middle of the night that make your fight back tears. Nothing fun at all.

But it was. It was more than fun. It was fucking awesome.See those people below? Those are 12 happy people that just ran 200+ miles as a team. Those are 12 people that immediately committed to run the same race in 2011 because they had so much fun together. Those 12 people drove an hour back to Boston, showered, and then met back up at the bar to get drunk and close it down at 2am, despite getting almost no sleep for the last day and a half,

So the idea of doing hot yoga with Katie and Sarah from work was kind of like running Reach the Beach. Take something I enjoy doing and tweak the atmosphere so that it's a more arduous experience. Expect to bitch a lot during it. Expect to finish it and then look forward to the next time. If it doesn't kill me, it'll only make me stronger.

The man in the picture below just finished 90 minutes of hot yoga.  This man. . . . is not a happy man.

This man is holding 2 drenched shirts that he used to constantly mop up sweat for 90 minutes (this man stupidity forgot to bring a towel). This man is wearing a t-shirt, shorts and boxer briefs that are as wet as they would be had the man just walked out of a pool. This man had to stop multiple times during the 90 minutes to rest in order to not pass out, despite guzzling down 40 ounces of water in an attempt to survive the absurd heat and humidity (probably 100+ degrees and 50% humidity). When asked by Katie and Sarah if he would do hot yoga again with them, this man said "ummmm . . . . we'll see."

Now 2 days later, and my answer is still probably an "ummmm . . . we'll see." It was brutal. And it's amazing how many different types of "in-shape" people can be. I could probably go out today and play 90 minutes of soccer in 90 degree heat, and I'd be fine. When I'm moving, and when I'm thinking about the competition, I'm not thinking about my stamina. Even during the lonely runs of Reach the Beach, I still was able to fall back on the "gotta keep moving for the team" mantra. Hot yoga was just me against my ability to avoid passing out. Get into a pose and stay there, as you watch sweat drip from your shirt at a rate of about a drop per second. I've already done yoga on my list, but this was a completely different beast, worthy of its own itemization. Yoga was me vs. my pseudo-ADD. Hot yoga was me vs. the need for an EMS.

Anyway, like the half-marathon I ran last year, I'm glad I did it. It pushed me to my limits . . . but I'm not sure I need to reach those limits again. A case of what doesn't kill me only makes me a disgruntled, exhausted sweaty mess.

And that navy blue shirt I'm wearing in the post-hot-yoga picture above? If you zoom into that little yellow logo, you'll ironically see the following:

• Thanks to Katie and Sarah for taking me along. Though it may be the same type of begrudging thanks I gave Danielle for Item #10

Item #22 - Try New Foods (Round 2)

"You do not like them, so you say. Try them! Try them! And you may. Try them and you may I say."  Sam-I-Am
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About a year and a half ago, my friend Katie was throwing a surprise birthday dinner for her husband Doug. Doug apparently has a taste for Himilayan food, whatever that may be, so Katie held the dinner at Annapuna in Cambridge. You can check out the menu here. It is . . . not Alan-friendly. None-the-less, I showed up, hoping to concoct some kind of Alan-friendly substitution-laden plate. I think I ordered some type of fairly generic beef dish.  Beef, sauce, maybe some peppers or onions.  For sides, the menu gave us the option of either rice of french fries, and not surprisingly, I ordered the fries.

A few minutes later, the waitress came out and said that the menu was old. They no longer had fries, and I was stuck with the rice. Fine. I'll survive (I think). So the meals came out, and I had my beef, as I mixed it in with the rice. And it was acceptable.

And it was also the first time in my life I had rice. A staple for 2 billion people. And I was 29 years old.

If there was a single story to explain why simply trying 6 more foods with my freakishly "discerning" palette qualifies as a new list item, I think that's the one. 

Food #1 - Falafel

This is one I'm actually surprised I hadn't tried yet. It's apparently deep fried. It's been shilled for by my man crush Tom Brady.

And there's a place in Central Square called Falafel Palace, that I've drunkenly passed 100 times, that's stolen it's architectural design from my favorite fast food place, White Castle. The laws of drunken food probability state that I should have at least eaten there once by now instead of Hi-Fi Pizza (to be fair, it does have the highest fidelity pizza you can get).

Alas, I haven't had it. So when it was offered to me at lunch post-snowshoeing, I accepted. And

 3 Blech's out of 5. Not horrible, but not something I don't need to eat again. Overrated. Most of your opinions are wrong. 

#2 - Roast Lamb

I've been to Olga's 100 times, and I've probably gotten the chicken roll-up and burger-like roll-up 98 of those times. Never an Original Olga, and I've never had a gyro. Basically, I don't think I've ever had lamb (again, just tried rice less than 2 years ago). So while in Barcelona, at fancy-pants Casa De Comida, the roast lamb was probably my best option available.

A mere 1 Blech out of 5. Fairly benign. Actually tasted like a burger, just in an odd form and texture. Not clamoring for more, but not against having more.  However it does get props for basically being meat on a stick (though as my ole pal Ted says, there really should be more meats in cones). 

#3 - Tuna Steak

This is actually one I've been wanting to try for awhile. I've been told it's basically like a regular steak, but since I was never going to risk a $30 meal on something I might immediately spit out like a 2 year old, a tapas restaurant in Barcelona was the perfect chance to give it a try.

1 Blech out of 5, and the only reason for the Blech was that it was fairly dry. It was cooked all the way through, but the rest of the crew said it's better when it's just seared. So I guess this one also gets an Incomplete until I see some pink (yes, I'm still talking about food). 

#4 - Foie-gras

Now it's time to get exotic. At the same tapas meal as the tuna steak, I learned that this is duck or goose liver.

AFLAC Duck does not approve

And thus, this was probably the food I've tried to far with the biggest mental hurdle. Not just a new animal, but a new body part (though I guess I should say this is the first time I've tried liver by itself, as I'm sure hot dogs have liver, intestines, lips, anuses etc).

2 Blechs out of 5. I think I may be grading a curve though as the foie-gras was covered in caramelized onions, which ended up being the dominant taste. So that helped . . . along with the fact that we had been drinking sangria and wine along the Mediterranean for the majority of the afternoon.

#5 - Alligator

My buddy Ryan has a Mardis Gras party every year, and every year, he goes balls out. Embracing his Louisiana roots, he flies in some real Cajun food for the extravaganza, and last year that included alligator. It was deep fried, and basically looked like popcorn chicken. But Ryan tried to be cute, and as he went around offering it to everyone, he told me it was indeed popcorn chicken, from southern icon Chick-fil-a. I . . . . was not amused by his ruse. And thus Ryan learned that I have no problem not trying something purely out of spite.

This year, Ryan learned his lesson, and when he made his rounds, he offered up the truth, and I obliged.

And it was pretty darn close to actually tasting like popcorn chicken, though it gets the one Blech because it just had a little . . . funk to it? I don't know. Maybe like popcorn chicken that was left out overnight? Though I did have it without ketchup, which is really a sin in the Book of Alan (hmmm, does deep fried falafel go with ketchup?) 

#6 - Thai

Yes, I am getting real specific here and just listing "Thai". I think I may have had it before, but I'm pretty sure it was the aforementioned meat-on-stick, in both chicken and beef varieties (and it done was so out of necessity. My work gets a catered lunch once a month, and one month they lost their minds, and decided to get a thai buffet. So what was I to do - go out and PAY for lunch? Crazy talk).

And while I can't find the menu online for the place Jill, Alycia and I went to, I do know this was probably a little more authentic than meats-on-stick.Some type of ground chicken. Peppers. Onions. Tomatoes. Basil. Maybe even some curry.  And to give myself a little more adventure, it was given 2 out of 2 on the menu's spicy pepper rating. 

 

No Blechs!  I could have done without the stems on the basil, but now I'm just being anal retentive for the sake of being anal retentive. It was quite delightful, and I handled the spice like a MAN. . . and then walked out wearing purple shirt and scarf.

Item #21 - Take a Trapeze Class

An estimation of my overall trust in people, with a few key moments.

Point A

When I was a kid, like most people, anything an adult said was taken as gospel. Vegetables are good for you? Sure, even though they taste like ass. Babies are brought to mommy and daddy by a flying bird. Sure, seems plausible. A fat man in a red snow suit flies around the entire world with 8 reindeer, dropping off toys via chimneys to every child in the world, all in single night? As long as the presents keep coming, sounds good. I love you mommy and daddy.

And then the horrible truths are revealed, and you find out that Santa doesn't exist - it's really just mommy and daddy spending hundreds and hundreds of their hard-earned dollars on toys and staying up ate to wrap the gifts themselves. Damn you mommy and daddy! How could you do this to me?!?  LIARS! And the myth of all adults being omniscient is exposed


Point B

Ahhh, first love. As I mentioned in the last post, I landed my first girlfriend Christy during my junior year . . . and then she dumped me the night before soccer tryouts. It sucked. Who knew the dating world would be tough? But if she wasn't into me, then she wasn't into me. C'est la vie. However, just 2 weeks or so after, she had already landed her next boyfriend, Paul. Christy and I went to different schools (it would have been tough for her to go to my all-guy high school, considering her utter lack of a penis), but Christy and Paul did not. And while their were no rumors of cheating via the friends network, I now certainly had reason to believe she wasn't the most trustworthy of girlfriends over the last month or 2 while we were together.

Being a nice boy that I am, I invited Christy to one of our first soccer games that year. A few minutes into the game, I noticed her sitting in the front row. However, she wasn't alone, and I got my first look at her new boy while I was playing. That . . . sucked. Though one of our very next games was coincidentally against Christy and Paul's school, and Paul just happened to be on the team. We won 2-0, and vengeance was MINE! 

Point C

While Christy never actually cheated on me, when I was a sophomore in college, my girlfriend Kim actually did. Or so I've been told. I didn't actually find out about it until months after we broke up, and for the next 6 or so years after, we basically ignored each other. Apparently there was a little bit of a Ross and Rachel episode, as we went on a weekend break in which I thought it meant 48 hours apart, while she thought it meant a chance to put her tongue down someone else's throat (what bitterness?)

I assure you, this will be the only reference to a Friends episodes in this blog's existence. Frankly, I'm ashamed that I brought it up. Those 2 years I actually watched Friends . . . a dark time in my TV viewing life.

11 years later, and now me and Kim are cool. But all it really takes is one good instance of cheating to really drop your faith in the opposite sex. Combine that incident with a 4 year college stretch that included a whole lot of questioning of why I listened to the Catholic church verbatim for so many years (a post in and of itself down the road), and what you get is the swan dive shown in the graph. 

Section D

I've slowly regained my overall trust in others since then, and you kind of have to if you ever really want to get close to someone again. I've definitely kept a cynical side, and probably always will, but at least I no longer subscribe to the Stone Cold Steve Austin DTA theory - Don't Trust Anyone. And yes, I feel much better about myself referencing the WWE than I do Friends.

While I may not have needed the relationship trust to take a trapeze class, I definitely needed to show up with a healthy dose of trust in my fellow man. At the start of the class, they keep it pretty simple. Listen to their calls while you're up there. Get your knees on and off the bar when they say so, and kick forward and backwards when they say so. Now get your ass up to the 3rd story of the scaffolding so you can jump off.

Once your up there, your safety belt gets clipped into the harness. When you fall, it obviously helps to slow you down, but you can definitely come down wrong and get hurt.

Once secure, you grab the handle to your left, get your toes on the edge of the platform, get your torso out past the edge, and lean out to grab the bar with your right hand. At this point, it's time to hope you've never pissed off your instructor in a previous life, as the instructor grabs the back of your belt (which you really don't feel at all) and tells you to reach out and grab other side of the bar with your left hand. Now as I mentioned, at this point your entire torso is already over the edge, so as you let go of the handle with your left hand, your entire body is in the the hopefully good hands of the instructor. If he lets go of you, you're falling. And that first time that you finally let go with your left hand is one of the freakiest feelings I've had in a awhile.

Now that you've put your entire weight off the edge of the platform, the instructor says "Ready . . . . HUP!", and you're off ("Hup" is what in the biz use instead of "go" or "jump". Yeah, I'm hip to the industry jargon)

 

 The knee hang, with a backflip finish

For the first hour and a half of the class, we practiced the above. Swing out. Swing back, getting your knees above the bar. Swing out, reaching backwards as if you're going to grab someone. Then get back down to a standard swinging position so you can do a backflip dismount. Pretty cool for our first class, but what was even cooler was the last 2 attempts, in which your trust once again gets put on display. That part where you pretend to reach out and grab someone? Yeah, now you get to.

The knee-hang, with a catch

Now not only do you have to trust that the person will actually be there, you also have to trust their timing, because the catcher is the one giving you the signal to leave. And if you don't leave at the exact moment they say so, or don't get your knees on the bar in a half a swing, you're shit out of luck, and down you go. Lucky for me, I went 2 for 2 on catches. 

$75 for a 2 hour class (which took place in a furniture store), and well worth it. Enjoyable enough that my friend Alycia and I spent another $50 and signed up for 2 more. 

Also at that location of Jordan's furniture? An IMax, a Fudruckers, a Jelly Belly store, an Ice Cream parlor, and a mini-Bellagio water fountain show. It's f'd up. 

Round 2 was this part Thursday, and we had yet another variation on the trust fall. The move basically consisted of getting your ankles to rest on the bar, getting your ass up, and sticking your head in between your knees. A nice and compact ball of blindness. And rather than reaching out while hanging, seeing yourself into the arms of the catcher, and gracefully transitioning into their snare, you instead explode out of your tuck, change your line of sight 270 degrees by going from straight up to straight forward (the long way around), and then hope that you can find the catcher's hands and hold on in about 0.1 seconds. And once again, you're completely reliant on the expert timing of the instructors . . . which wasn't very expert-like on my first catch attempt. A complete whiff as the catcher was already in her backswing as I reached out into the nothingness. Try #2 was better, though it basically ended with us slapping 5's and heading our separate ways. My way was down.

Our 3rd class is in another month, and hopefully I'll get my average back above .500, as I currently sit at 2 for 4 on catches. I've regained yet another smidgen of trust in my fellow man, but sadly, the net and harness are only metaphors in the frustrating world of dating.

(Cheesy ending? . . . cheesy ending)