Wall-climbing

Wednesday night, I supported a man. But not like a well-behaved wifey.

At the end of my first formal climbing class, I found myself responsible for the heft of a 6ft2, lanky, broad-shouldered man-boy (we'll call him Charlie), hanging 40+ feet above me. As he efficiently climbed up the four-story wall, I shifted rope, hauled in, anchored all of his 180ish pounds like a kite-line anchors one of those large, topsy dragon-shaped kites.

At 25ish feet, Charlie fell.

But not far, because I've already told you: I was supporting him back on the ground.

Turns out Charlie was testing me. Lucky for Charlie, I was holding down the 'forte.' And you should know that I'm pretty strong. A regular 5'5" wonder gal. Also, happily, I can add 'belay-supporting a wall-climber aided by gravity and friction' to a short list of natural aptitudes I seem to sport. (Phew!)

So I'd been wall-climbing before, just a bit during an Adventure Education class in high school – and I've been looking to get back into it. Wasn't it satisfying to sit on the top of the playground monkey bars at age seven? There's something about using your own strength and reason to reach an acme, and then literally surveying your progress from the top.

During this first class, we brushed up on novice rope-tying and harnessing skills. Everything came back to me quickly, and as soon as they let me, I eagerly (but carefully, with calculation) rainbow-routed my way to the highest point. I got some praise from the instructor, some mini-cheers from my four classmates; sure, I was thrilled!

But, once up top, in all my blushing glory, I realized my hands and wrists had weakened, were limp and sort of pulsing, nearly useless. They were way out of their element, these typing-accustomed pansies. And that won't do. Gratefully, I pushed away from the wall to be lowered down.

During this week's class, we'll get into finger-strength saving technique. It's boot-camp for these hands. Glove...camp.


So what'll I do by the end of this week?

Kundalini Yoga

'Aerobic' yoga at 6am? All right.

This week's major new thing was Kundalini yoga, a variational, meditative and often-aerobic form of yoga that I'd only learned about a few months ago. My friend Lisa had mentioned the class before, and she'd been getting really into it recently – talking about rising early, and kriyas, and feeling great. So when she invited me to join her for Friday's early class, I was enthusiastic.

Actually, I'm an exercise junkie, somewhat addicted to bouts of more intense activity. I think of yoga as something that calms you down, zens you out. Brings out your goofy, chanting side. Shines your light, makes you one with the Oneness, and all that.

Yoga, to me? Good stuff, but something I've always considered a soft supplement to delightful, adrenaline-pumping, wear-you-out action.

Still, I'm open. I've taken a few yoga classes in the past several years, given them hearty thumbs-up. And gosh, for thousands of people worldwide, yoga happens as a matter of course. It has to happen daily, as naturally as taking a gulp of water.

There's a power in yoga that draws all these people, power that I want to tap.

Plus, I'd been told Kundalini could be 'different' from more traditional yoga forms. I'd heard it described as 'a great workout,' 'empowering and unexpected.' 'A mixed bag.' Hey, I love surprises. Bring on the Oneness.

Yep. Even if my sleeping pattern seemed off this week because of early work days, and I was already worn out - even if I was still awake, perusing Google Reader at midnight-30, early on Friday morning, I was intent on making it to 6am yoga.

And I did. I pedaled through the chill, dark morning to the studio, unrolled a yoga mat, breathed in, slowed down. And I dug all 1.25 hours of the class. Kneeling, stretching, squatting, waving, pulsating, strengthening our 'third eyes.'

This Kundalini session wasn't the same kind of active as a 45-minute run, but we were on. We moved, breathed and tested our strength. Two minutes of this move, four minutes of that. There was even a full four minutes of eyes-closed dancing to the Black Eyed Peas, with the small class composed of Lisa and a middle-aged man in white linen pants shaking their hips next to me.

At some point, our yogi mentioned that we were focusing energy on our frontal lobes. Not something you get from every yoga session, I venture. And at the end, we sang along to a ballad-like prayer track and committed to shining our lights on everyone around us.

After all this, I felt limber, silly and happy.

Kundalini was challenging–and invigorating. I'd do it again. Until then, watch out for my light. I'll totally flashbulb you.

Lend me your expertise...(Intro)

Lately, the trend for folks my age has me pondering where to direct my energy, on what to focus.

Wellsir, I've been in love with doing since I can remember. Moving, trying, tasting. Getting into things. Meeting people. Learning!

So, for a while, 'doing' will be my focus. Doing (at least) one new, novel or keen thing each week. My goal will be to expand my mind, step intentionally out of my comfort-sphere, collaborate with other people doing their thing, have lots of fun and write all about it. These are all things I already do, but loosely. This blog, and this week, will be the start of documentation.

I have a few ideas to get started, but I've found that the best ideas for good times come from friends, often out of nowhere. Please throw me your suggestions for cool things to do - say:

swell vegan/vegetarian foods to try
Chicago-area neighborhoods to explore
cerca-urban day-adventures
hobbies you dig
your friendly book club that'd welcome a guest one week
off-the-map music shows to check out
book-signings
mustache-wearing/clothes-swapping/money-raising themed parties
meditation sessions
skyscrapers with great views
teach me how to DJ
show me how to write basic code
throw me your recipe for avocado cake
give me your expert run-down on fixed gear bikes...
let's collaborate on a movie short,
or a comic strip
or write a folk song...

I'm up for almost anything you'd be up for. Why not?


Best,
LL