Latest obsessions

Health, health, health I tell you!

Here’s what I’m up in a crazed daze about lately:

Trader Joe’s always and forever till I die, homie. More specifically, their salads and their new Mini Cafe Twists (made without dairy, butter, eggs or yeast). I’m not actually sure what they’re made of, but at only 30 calories a piece they’re pretty awesome with some strawberries and light whip cream. Strawberry shortcake in the spring and summer sun is one of my all-time favorite desserts!

I also decided that instead of buying a ton of ingredients and ending up with a ton of produce that goes bad, salad burnout, or crappy tasting salads, I was just going to run to Trader Joe’s and buy salads every week. With a ton of options at $3.99 a piece, they make super healthy, yummy lunches. I’m in love with the Spa Salad (chicken, noodles, grapes, mandarins, and lettuce in a curry dressing for only 320 calories!)

AND… to top of my week of wanting to feel healthy… I bought myself a new treat. There are very few things I love more in life than wearing yoga pants. On a whim last weekend, I picked up a cute pair of Victoria Secret’s PINK MVP yoga pant (in a fun paint splatter print). Not only are they SUPER comfy, but they don’t rub when I run, and they hold all my lady bits in, making me seem a whole ton more firm than I really am. Score!

Loves I tell you. Loves all around.

Currently Feeling: Excited to get the new Girl Power Hour blog calendar launched, the the blog guide I wrote sent out. Lots of work for exciting new things coming up!
Currently Anticipating: My roommate coming home from vacation. Sometimes it’s nice to have the house to yourself, but then I start to get freaked out by every little sound and can’t wait for the safety in numbers!
Currently Needing: A pedicure. Or a new fabulous toe color. I’m bored with pink, and my Miami gold sparkle pedicure is chipping off big time.

Hotttt child in the city

For those of you who follow me on Twitter, Facebook or read my “Currently”s, you know that I went to hot yoga last night with my sister.

To say I was a bit nervous is an understatement – my anxiety toward the class continued to build as the day went on. It started with my post on Facebook about how I was nervous to go to hot yoga. From there, I received THIRTEEN comments from people, which either gave me advice on how not to pass out, or said things like, “Even sports athletes pass out!” or “Did I tell you about the time I passed out, got a concussion and had to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance in the middle of class???” (True story). Gee, thanks friends.

It only escalated more when even the yoga teacher told me, “I see people swaying back and forth all the time – just lie down if you feel like you’re lightheaded. By signing these two papers, you agree to not leave the room, NO.MATTER.WHAT. Even if you think you’re going to pass out, just lie down, don’t leave the room.”

Um, yah. About that last part. Have I told you that I have minor anxiety about being sick in public and not being able to get away? If that doesn’t make sense… image why I have a fear of flying – because if I have to puke or have to go to “the bathroom” or catch the Ebola virus, I don’t want to be stuck in a place with a bunch of other people, in a situation that I can’t escape from. What can I say, I have a thing for being sick in the privacy of my own home. So let’s say I feel like I’m going to puke or pass out, I don’t want to be holed up in a room with all the other people in the yoga class.

After that little proclamation, I was ready to throw in the towel and give up completely. My heart was already palpitating a little bit. And to make matters worse, one of the most gorgeous, hot-bodied men I’ve seen in a long time was in line behind me, sans shirt, waiting to pay his price for the class I was signing up for. Scenes were flashing through my mind – I’d slump to the ground in a sweaty heap, my tongue would be lying out of my mouth, drool trailing slowly down my left cheek, the ambulance would come and they’d have to CUT OFF my yoga pants with scissors, and I’d be wearing granny work out panties. (Isn’t that why women wear cute underwear all the time – for the fear that we’ll be caught somewhere with our pants down, literally, in gross undies?!) And the hot man would be there to see the whole thing.

I sucked it up though, entered the room and set up my yoga mat. (My little sister was there to taunt me with the fact that hot yoga burns as many calories as an hour of running). I was only two minutes in, just sittin’ around and waiting for the instructor to start, and I was already thinking about how nice a hammock in a stiff breeze would feel. Or maybe dunking my head IN a pitcher of margaritas. Or taking an ice cold shower. That room is mother freakin’ HOT. I tried not to think too much about just how hot I was, cause then that good ole anxiety would start to creep up again, but if I panicked, I’d be STUCK in the room with everyone else watching me have a minor meltdown.

Anywhoo, hot yoga (or Bikram yoga, as it’s named after the founder) is a series of 26 postures and two breathing exercises. I didn’t know this, but it’s the same EVERY.time. In Power Yoga, or the yoga most gyms offer, it’s usually always different, ranging in different poses and sets of moves. But, the 26 poses in Bikram are exactly the same, from beginning to end, every class. The poses work in intervals, pushing yourself for one minute in a few poses, then doing them again for 30 seconds. Sort of a rise and fall – bringing your heart rate up and then letting it come back down. Wooo boy, did I appreciate that. And by “that,” I mean the slow down part. When you’re out of breath and your heart is rapidly beating, being in a 105-degree room with 40 percent humidity only compounds the agony. It’s like if you decided to run a marathon inside a sauna. So I appreciated every little rest and small sip of water I was gifted. (Cause, no lie, water sips are regulated in the class since actually having too much water can make you sick).

I totally managed to survive the class without passing out or panicking. It was a lot different than yoga classes I’ve attended in the past – a lot less relaxing, to tell you the truth. I feel like Bikram is more about pushing past a mental state of wanting to breakdown, rather than slow breathing and stretching while listening to a babbling brook. Afterward, it really is like no other feeling. Kinda like, “I can conquer the world!”

Oh, and I had NO idea that much sweat could come out of my body…

Currently Feeling: Sleepy from staying up too late to finish my resume for the career workshop I’m in today. (Good thing someone pushed me to finish by a deadline).
Currently Anticipating: Happy hour with Adam tonight.
Currenty Wishing: There was another “good” fat on this diet besides almonds, avocado and olive oil. Those three things are getting mighty boring for dressings.

I did it, I said FART on my blog

I’ve recently been attending a yoga class at my gym on Monday nights. I’ve always wanted to do yoga, but have never found the time or money for it. This week I finally unwrapped the pink yoga mat I purchased approximately eight months ago that’s been in my car, if that tells you anything. I think the increase in stress and anxiety in my life led me searching for someway to relieve it – and I’ve always heard yoga does the trick. So I signed myself up.

So far, it’s been really great. I love the special yoga room at my gym that has equipment to borrow, like blocks and straps, so I don’t have to buy them, and the giant windows gently let downtown Seattle twilight the room. I love that the yoga teacher plays relaxing music – but not just “ding, ding, ding” and babbling brooks – a couple weeks ago she busted out “Us and Them” by Pink Floyd. (A personal favorite).

But really, I have a dilemma with this whole yoga thing. I seriously only concentrate on not-farting the whole time I’m there. Yes, I know it. I just said FART on my blog. Gross. But, “girls give off just as much methane gas from farting as men” or something, which is what my boyfriend told me once to ease my embarrassment about farting myself awake while lying asleep in his lap on the couch. (Yes. He was awake; so mortifying). The problem with the girls farting vs. guys farting thing – even if we’re on level playing fields there – is that guys get away with it. They don’t care; they don’t give excuses, and they certainly don’t get embarrassed. But us girls, oh no – we’d rather die a slow and terrible death – or kill someone – than fart out loud in public or, for most of us, around a boyfriend. (I will never be okay with opening doing this with a boyfriend, and for those of you who think it’s a part of being comfortable with someone, I will argue you to the death).

So the whole 75 minute class, I’m thinking about how freaking.embarrassing it’d be to fart. But yoga forces you to bend and contort your body, often times holding and squeezing muscles with your butt high in the air. There’s times when it’s all I can do to prevent a slip. It’s stressing me out! I tell yeah, I join yoga to ease my mind from the stresses of life, and I spend the whole time stressing about farting. I need a stress-reliever from yoga. Or from farting.

Namaste.

Currently Feeling: Super relieved to have Mexico figured out.
Currently Anticipating: A crock pot dinner tonight with Bestie Amanda.
Currently Loving: Soy crisps with Laughing Cow cheese.