Yoga Jerk

"Who's the more foolish, the fool, or the fool who follows him?"
Obi Wan Kenobi


I love many things.
I love big band swing.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=--ybdh8RFUE
I love banjos, mandolins, smooth dobro, John Duffy's tenor, and three part harmony.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wigjZ7ng_tc 
I love muscular women, dancing strong and fast on pointe.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXQSCa8gwx
I love my dog.

But I do not love him.

There are six billion people in the world, we need to get along.
If we can't love each other, we at least need to tolerate one another.
We need to be patient and understanding.
We need to honor social contracts, to be aware of, and adhere to, basic societal norms.
We need to follow the Golden Rule.

Still, he drives me crazy.

He came in late, as he often does.
He dropped his mat next to my head.
He rolled it out too close.
He ran it right up to that of the lovely young woman in front of him.
He dropped heavily to his knees and groaned loudly, announcing his arrival.

He is large, hairy, middle-aged, and though reasonably fit, he should not be wearing tiny shorts and nothing else.

Our teacher, MH, is a beautiful man.
His practice is strong and elegant.
His voice is smooth and calming; he uses it sparingly.
He encourages humility, to practice within one's ability and without ego.
He reminds us that child's pose is restorative and an invitation is not required.
We come to his class to learn, to practice, and with at least the hope, if not the expectation, of improvement.

MH is wasted on my scantily clad neighbor.

My neighbor lunges forward, slamming his foot between his hands, ignoring MH's gentle directives.
He refuses to take the less difficult variation, he is constantly off balance, sweating profusely and falling out repeatedly.
He ogles, he caves, he curls his spine when he should be offering his heart (what a wonderful phrase).
Yet he refuses all aid, no blocks, straps or blankets for him and MH has given up.

Standing bent over with hands on knees sucking wind is not a pose.

He brings out the worst in me, I am descending to his level.
I cannot help but get competitive, I want to grind him into his mat.
My half moon has never been better, strong through the heel and all four directions, he falls out, nearly lands on his ass.
MH takes us to Vasisthasana on the right side, MH invites us to go to tree, and to lift the left leg.  I do and hold it.  He tries, and falls loudly.  Oops, says MH, no shame in falling out.  We have become co-conspirators.

I love MH.

Time for pidgeon and I fear what is coming.
MH is going to keep us here for awhile, and that is good.
But my neighbor starts moaning, loudly.
He is hunched over, shoulders around his ears, sharing his reverie with the class.  There is this invisible bubble around him and I am in it.

He is a nuclear blast to my inner calm, this class is shot for me.

His incantations continue in shoulder stand.
We go to plow, and come back down, MH coaching, slowly, one vertebrae at a time.
He slams down and heaves loudly.
Time for Savasana, I do not stand a chance, I am tense, waiting for his loud sighs of contentment.
Salvation; he is stomping around me, rolling up his mat, running out, too busy for completion.
The whole room lightens in anticipation.  A final loud thwock by my right ear; his wet towel.  Fine, I got it buddy, just go.

We go through closing.  We bow, hands in prayer, and give thanks to whoever or whatever it is that we hold higher than ourselves.  Namaste.

I open my eyes and look at MH, he looks at me, winks and grins knowingly.
The lovely woman in front gives me a rueful smile while rolling up her mat.
I pick up his towel, and leave.  The group has extended a helping hand, forgiven my competitve impulse.
I will continue to work on tolerance, understanding, and forgiveness, and just plain letting go.

But if he gets near me again he is dust.

Nuclear Pheromones

"Emancipate yourself from mental slavery."
Bob Marley, Redemption Song

I got this Starbucks CD, free with a 15.00 purchase.  Four tracks, covers, except for Dave Matthews singing this really stupid song called You and Me Together.  Playing it in the car coming up from Grandma's tonight wanted to rip it it out and throw it out the window, except the last track is a cover of Redemption Song.  Not even a Starbucks special can fuck up Bob Marley.

I don't like large group fitness classes.  At all.  Only time I ever got the group vibe was in May 1981 running the Clam Beach run from Trinidad down along Clam Beach north of Arcata.  In a pack of  few hundred people we dove downhill into a small fern covered canyon where there was a house with a beat up deck with massive speakers on it blasting Lively Up Yourself and sending it resonating all over the canyon.  You could feel the bass coming up the soles of your shoes and the whole pack simultaneously let out a loud cheer and the energy level skyrocketed and powered by caffeine, THC and Marley we stepped it up big time.

That I get.  I don't get fifty people packed into a shoe box sweating together which is what they were doing in Equinox last night at 6 when I walked in.  The place was packed, but I needed to kill four hours before picking up Ian on Fillmore.  Could not get near the kbells for the first circuit, not that anyone was using them.  So, dumbells and barbells, that went like this:
Cardio
pushups to renegade rows, 35lb, 5+5+5+5
30 walking lunges, body weight
80 lb barbell, squat to press, 10x
30lb single leg deads 6+6. barbell made this very interesting
3x
 second circuit only space is in the center of the gym because they have all these stupid machines in there, so I am a show dog, which I also hate.

16kg windmills, 8+8
32kg swings, 30 seconds, which was 20 per
TGUS 16kg 2+2, 24 kg 2+2
Figure 8 to hold, 24kg, 15.
3x
Third circuit on the swings remembered S. Cheatam's military spouse article and her head position in the photos on the swing.  Her head and neck are completely in line and she is looking down while hiking back.  Modeled that in the mirror a few times (very scary) and then gave it a go, 32 popped up like a cork, I can work with this.  The 16kg feels like nothing.  Some what I think were Janda sit ups and rolling around in the yoga room, steam and stumble out at nearly 9.

On Fillmore looking for raw fish.  No go.  Resist the urge to step into Harry's for a scotch.  Settle for crab cakes and a serviceable Malbec.  Call Ian.  Dir en Grey is done.  Tell him to start walking up Fillmore, I spy him from two blocks away, in a pack of teenage boys, they all look the same except his neon blonde head.  He piles in, had a ball, tales from the periphery of the mosh pit.  He is happy which means his voice goes up an octave and he sounds eight again.  I try to keep him talking.  He explains that he has been jamming with his buddies and they have formed a band, Nuclear Pheromones.  I want to press for the origin, but have to bite my tongue to keep from giggling.

Sleep in and work from home this am.  Catch the 11:10 ferry and head in, aiming for MH's noon class before I have to put on a suit and go spend time with Judge Feng.  Boat is slow and I miss MH noon by five minutes.  Six miles on elliptical.  Up to Feng, where we deal with what we need to; he calls me David on the record, repeatedly.  Been doing this for 20+ years, no judge has ever referred to me by my first name on the record.  Resist the urge to ask if I can call him Sam.  Walk out, opposing counsel tells me he is worried because Feng clearly likes me.  I tell him I could easily lose this case, Feng does like me because I can try a case without being a prick, but that will have no impact on the outcome.  He feels better.  Glad I could help him.

The emails are slowing and get back to gym in time for MH's stiff guy class, where we spend an hour doing hip openers.  By the time we get to double pidgeon I feel young again.  Grandma feeds us, north where the dog is joyful.

Critters

"Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spent the rest of the day putting the pieces together."
Ray Bradbury
The Ian critter auditioned yesterday for the part of  Chevalier Danceny in Porchlight Theater's summer production of Les liaisons dangereuses.  He did a monologue from Bradbury's Pillar of Fire.  When he was done, the director sat back and said:  "Holy shit." So Ian is pretty happy.  In contrast to his audition on Thursday for Puck in MSA's one act of Midsummer Night's Dream, which he apparently tanked on, and was really grouchy.  He is a roller coaster; so much like me at 16 it is unnerving.
Coyote in the marsh yesterday morning.  Rose wanted to be friends but kept her distance.

Friday, am meeting, then four miles on the elliptical and a really good yoga class with MH.
Saturday, marsh walk with Rose.  Then into SF for kettlebell turned reformer session with Brigid and Cecilia T.  Brigid is really really tight and locked up in her lumbar spine, worse than I knew.  Cecilia was very good with her and if I can get Brigid back in we will.  Citizen Cake (best fucking lemon bar I ever ate) then the Haight.  Back to grandma's where Barry was stashed, ate pizza and watched Cal beat Stanford.  Yay !
Long hike with Rose and Ian on Burdell today, good for all of us, even with Ian's Norwegian Death Metal soundtrack; fortunately batteries died on the speaker.   Ok bird day, two huge Ravens, Redtails, Coopers Hawk, bunch of woodpeckers.  Burdell is a treasure.
In City late tomorrow evening to collect Ian, so late session at Equinox, hope holiday will thin the crowd down and I can put the pieces together for a little while.

Be Good

"Be-bop wasn't developed in any deliberate way."
Thelonius Monk

Four albums I listened to when I was 12:  Bridge Over Troubled Water, Bookends, Sly & The Family Stone's Greatest Hits, and Monks Dream.  They just put up Monk's performance from Newport in 1959 on Wolfgangs Vault.  Charles Rouse on Tenor, fat fat sound, just wonderful.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxX0-Oa

Whiney last post.  Want to edit it out, but need the reminder.
Wednesday, three hours to Soledad.  Dreading meeting Donald, looked in the mirror in the head before going in, thought I looked like shit, bleary eyed, scruffy, and harried.
Walked in, half hour late.  Donald chained to the table, lit up when I came in, only creature that happy to see me these days is my dog.  "David man, you look great, what are you doing to yourself, man I am blown away."  Later it came out he'd been in solitary for three weeks which explains alot.  Still, it was a delightful three hour visit, not the least of the reasons was getting authority to settle his case, put money in his pocket and move on.  "I am going to do what you tell me man, cause I trust you and I know you ain't gonna sell me out."  He is rolled out the door, waiving over his shoulder calling softly:  "Be good David."  This is why I did this.

Feeling good, in the visitor lot on the way out.  Red tail lands on the light standard.  Camera is in the car and I start shooting.  Minute later, three cars come screaming up, guy yelling "put down the camera."  Three burly guards around, armed to the teeth.  "What the fuck are you doing here ?"  "Uhm, taking pictures of the hawk that was up there."  Check the ID, hassle me for five minutes, look at the pictures, ok, you can go.  A little touchy there . . .
Coming through SF at 5, stop for 5:15 yoga.  Great class, lots of warrior three variations, very strong.
Today, get in at 7:20.  Ten minutes with Monk on the treadmill.  Phone starts ringing, planned five miles turns into one.
Back in the evening, went like this:
15 Hindu push-ups
10 goblet squats, 24kg
BUP 5+5 16/12kg x2
8+8 single leg deads, 16kg
3x
16kg high swing, pull snatch 5+5
32 kg swings, 20
TGUS 2+2 16kg, 2+2 24k
60 sec plank
3x
Wine tasting at Equinox.  Look at it going out, last thing I want.  Long road north to kids and home.

Not LikeTexas

“I have always had the feeling I could do anything and my dad told me I could. I was in college before I found out he might be wrong.”
Ann Richards

For anyone reading this (if anyone is reading this) Ann Richards was a class act, smart school teacher who was Governor of Texas before Karl Rove sent her packing and installed George W. Bush as Governor.  We have had some sick Texas folk the last decade and with all due apologies to Lyle Lovett, who I do love, the place is just down right western weird.  Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSJ0RuOeqCI
We lived in Texas from 1962 to 1967; in Dallas when JFK got shot, left when my father (who grew up in New York and had a graduate degree from Columbia) could no longer stand hearing his children grow up with Texas accents, and landed us in the Bay Area in 1967.  We went from Roger Miller ("King of the Road") to the Grateful Dead ("The Golden Road to Unlimited Devotion") in about a week and there are pieces of us that are still in Lyle Lovett, Joe Ely, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Jerry Jeff Walker, Robert Earl Keen country.  Weird places breed good songwriters and how the hell could you leave Townes off the list.  Hot dirt makes good art.
San Francisco is not so direct and some of that has to do with geography.  Unlike Texas you can never see your destination from a distance; there are no straight lines to anywhere.  Its like being wrapped in a cocoon surrounded by gentle hills and it is always a relief to return, no matter where you went or why you left.

Spoiled rotten and your medium sized dog too.

Up Market street Monday at 7:05, went like this:
20 cp, alternating l/r 24kg, switch to 10 pushups, good coaching from Sneha when she took off the invisibility cloak the floor trainers seem to wear.  Don't be harsh, she is terrific, particularly good help on left which is decidedly weaker.
30 box squats, body weight.
20 walking overhead press, 16 kg
8+8 single leg deads, 16 kg, in honor of Sara Cheatham's 11/10 blog post, photos from military rag.  http://saracheathamsblog.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-article-in-military-spouse-magazine.html. She might be the healthiest human animal ever, need to show this to Brigid who wants to do ROTC in high school.
3x
8+8 windmills, 16kg
swing, highpull, snatch progression, 16kg 5+5
32 kg swings, 30 seconds
TGU, 2+2 16kg, 2+2 24kg
2x, ran out of time.

Back for 5 miles of hamster work in pm.

Tuesday am, six miles.  Wanted to return for MH stiff guy class in the pm; either hips or hammies, anything is better than shoulders.
Not happening.  Phone was ringing as it was getting dark.  Addenda to draft on no notice.  Receivables to stress about.  You can't be or do whatever you want.  You do what needs to be done.  Pretty much where Jay was coming from.  Three hours each way tomorrow to see Donald in his maximum security shithole.  Suck it up.  Look forward to getting back.

Down Time

"A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of."
Ogden Nash

Made a crack about baby seal pictures while being unkind to Adam Gopnick last week.  See ?
Saturday good flow class with MH.  Ninety minutes of tension and sweat.  With only a walk on Friday was really strong so the one legged stuff, warrior three variations, half moon, were all solid.  Staying up in triangle to keep torso straight, better.  Plank and vinyasas really strong, no shoulder soreness at all.  Held crow for a good bit.
Hanging with Barry all day Saturday, boring routine stuff, more time at the house than I'd spent in weeks.  Opening and closing the door for Rose.  Glad I can be of service.

She is gimpy so no walk, evening was just a 25 minute blast like this:

16kg swing, high pull, snatch combo 5+5
10 clean to five press l/r, 20kg
20 swings, 28kg
5x



Today, rejuvinating two hour nap on the floor in the sun with my constant companion.  She was disappointed, no mud, salt water or shit to eat,  but one of us has to be the adult in the relationship.

No Denim

"I hear the train a comin'; it's rollin' 'round the bend,
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when."
Folsom Prison Blues, Johnny Cash

Donald Young was convicted of kidnapping and first degree murder in March of 1983.  He was sentenced to life without parole.  He was 23.
A few years later he was diagnosed with Ankylosing Spondilitis, a degenerative disease affecting his spine.  His condition coupled with the glacial pace of the California Department of Corrections responses to his ever increasing medical needs gave him the opportunity to become a serial plaintiff.  He has filed multiple actions based on the federal Civil Rights Act due to the state's inability to timely respond to his medical needs.  The fact that he is smart, mouthy and a born leader who goads the correctional staff to retaliate adds color to his claims.
I met Donald in 2008, when I was appointed to represent him, in what I think is his 12th or 13th case against the state.  Representing him means visiting him for extended periods in several maximum security facilities, which, god willing, I would never otherwise have the chance to visit.  Donald is in a wheelchair, but his upper body is extraordinarily fit; Donald is a true badass.  He doesn't scare the shit out of me, but he comes close.  I don't like him, at all, but his appetite for learning is impressive.  He always brings a pad and pencil and writes down any word I use he is unsure of, and is always sure to use it, correctly, in follow up correspondence.
There is a litany of rules for visiting inmates.  One rule is no denim.  Inmates wear denim, no one else, and there is no room for ambiguity.  The Department of Corrections staff are incredibly polite, and first time I visited Donald I joked with the admitting officer that I'd almost worn my jeans.  All humor drained from her face:  "It would have taken you days to get out of here."  Oh.

Earlier this week planned on spending Friday and Saturday in Folsom with Donald, preparing for trial to start Monday 11/16.  Got six miles of cardio in on Tuesday, and sixty minutes MH's Stiff Guy yoga class, where we spent an hour on shoulders.  It sucked but needed it badly.  Wednesday, no exercise, 18 hours in Irvine settling a real estate case, missing the last flight to SF and having to fly into Oakland late, cabbing it to SFO to pick up the car, getting in after midnight exhausted but wired, spent an hour drinking Malbec and watching You Tube videos of Lauren Brooks and Mark Reifkind doing high pulls and snatches and some Hungarian guy doing some really crisp cleans.
Thursday, trial prep.  Five miles in the morning, to the office all day, then load up the largest Timbuktu bag made with 35 pounds of paper and hit the gym.  Might be the only workout for a while, went like this:
15 Hindu push-ups
10 goblet squats, 24 kg
10 clean to five press, 24kg/r 24/16 kg left.
20 tactical lunges, 16 kg
3x
Five 16kg high swing, pull, snatch combos, l/r, much better
10 windmills, 16kg 5l/5r
15 32kg swings, these were great
TGUS, 16kg 2l/r, 24kg 2l/r
3x
Back down market st. to ferry, Timbuktu/gym bag bandolier, look like an idiot but functional fitness in action.

Today.  Up early to get to Folsom by 9:00.  Since no denim the only casual pants I have that won't fall off are 17 year old very faded black dockers, with ripped hems, bleached spots, and paint splatters.  Shit, going to be with Donald behind a metal table all day, going to be comfortable.  He won't care.  Throw on a washed out light shit brown turtleneck, no shave or beard trim, look like a mangy aged rottweiler.  Add a nice dollop of coffee down the front going up highway 37, yes Donald, your counsel is here, ready to prep you for your 12th or 13th civil rights case.
Get off at Greenback, start looking for Folsom prison.  Directions are ambiguous as hell.  Pull over to figure out where I am, AG's office calls.  Donald is still at the prison in Salinas.  He missed the bus to Folsom.  WTF, how could he miss the bus, he is in a wheelchair and it takes four guys to move him.
AG says, come down to my office, we will call the judge, get a short continuance.  Wonderful.  Mangy aged rottweiler now gets to go face to face with the opposition.  Back down to Sac, praying the judge will not require us to appear, eyeing the pile of dirty shirts in the back seat, wondering if there truly is not a better option.  AG gives me a long look, but he is cool.  I keep it straight faced, we talk about our kids and drink too much coffee.  Judge gets it, kicks us  to 12/14.
Iphone freezes on the way back down.  No phone or email for 90 minutes.  May as well just shoot me.  Get home, spend an hour restoring everything.  4:00, take Rose to the marsh for a walk and to breathe.  Lost all the tunes on the ipod, can replace most, but will miss uber-hot Felicia Day vid, Do You Want to Date My Avatar.  In the marsh, stop every ten feet to send a snarky email to someone back in the office.  Reply at your peril.  Absolutely will not kick my dog; the rest of the world is fair game.
Back toward the car, somone has boosted Rose's harness and leash from the bush where I'd left it hanging.  $45.00 dollars of lab restraint now to  be replaced.
Brigid comes in, proud of the sprocket grease on her tricep.  She rocks.

Really looking forward to yoga in the morning . . .