Timed 100 @ 1:45ish. I can also tell the difference between fast and slow in the pool now. So yay for that. Haha.
Swimming is by far the area of triathlon racing that I stand to improve the most in a short period of time. The first real milestone actually may have been a few practices ago where I actually felt like I was *swimming* instead of *not drowning*... My goals have progressed each week and now just about every time I get in the pool I feel like I'm getting more comfortable and faster (which is the goal - ha!).
Lately, I've been practicing a method called Total Immersion (the site was recommended to me by Coach Chris at the OTC Mills swim workouts), which the basic gist I've gathered is as follows:
1. Relax the recovery arm (high elbow, but fingertips almost drag along the water's surface before dropping into the water)
2. Emphasize feeling the surface area of the arm catch the water at a target point in front of shoulder
3. Kick once at the same time and with the same leg as the entry arm upon entry
Now, this last point is what has helped me the most with my anxiety in the water. If ever I feel scared like I might drown I just go back to this rhythm (kick and stroke same side just once together!)... This really helps my body calm down. I'm not sure what it is about this that actually works, but - for some reason seriously I have no idea why - it calms my whole body down and gives me the confidence I need to keep going. If my kicking is frantic and I'm gasping for air, I just go back to this easy rhythm (kick and stroke on the same side together). It brings my heart rate down immediately and I'm able to focus on other things like relaxing my neck and catching the water and rotating my body to take breaths. Anyways, I'm definitely learning a lot in the pool. I'm starting to crave harder workouts, but I know I still just need to hit my stride...
Showing posts with label act slow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label act slow. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Friday, May 2, 2014
The Waiting Game
I realize that this blog has been, at times, depressingly self-important. Haha! Since August, blogging about my experiences here has been a linear connection to home (and a very therapeutic one I might add!). Though the content has been pretty positive, the whole story is that it hasn't always been puppies and rainbows. I've experienced homesickness (missing Billy and my family and friends), along with loneliness and *lots* of waiting. In fact, looking back, so much of my time here has been - in one way or another - a lesson in waiting.
In terms of volleyball, waiting is such an important part of training; not just in terms of resting and recovering properly after workouts, but also technically on defense, hitting, and blocking. Not unlike many sports, volleyball is a game where a lot has to happen between touches in order for a team to be successful. The incredible saves you see... the impossible kills... they all occur because of 1. the incredible ability of a team to perform explosive synchronized actions in a split second and 2. the ability of individuals to wait for the exact correct moment to come into contact with the ball.
In terms of life, I've been counting down the days until my return home since Billy left in February. Looking around this place I've inhabited since August, my bags are finally packed. I'm now counting down the hours before I leave France (maybe forever). It's a strangely familiar feeling... My two beautiful sisters, Sarah and Meghan, were here in Paris with me this week... in a way, ushering me back into my life in California. The waiting will soon be over. That will be a feeling I haven't felt in a while!
In terms of volleyball, waiting is such an important part of training; not just in terms of resting and recovering properly after workouts, but also technically on defense, hitting, and blocking. Not unlike many sports, volleyball is a game where a lot has to happen between touches in order for a team to be successful. The incredible saves you see... the impossible kills... they all occur because of 1. the incredible ability of a team to perform explosive synchronized actions in a split second and 2. the ability of individuals to wait for the exact correct moment to come into contact with the ball.
In terms of life, I've been counting down the days until my return home since Billy left in February. Looking around this place I've inhabited since August, my bags are finally packed. I'm now counting down the hours before I leave France (maybe forever). It's a strangely familiar feeling... My two beautiful sisters, Sarah and Meghan, were here in Paris with me this week... in a way, ushering me back into my life in California. The waiting will soon be over. That will be a feeling I haven't felt in a while!
Friday, February 14, 2014
Castle Country
First things first! The bike shop in Tours had a whole range of contraptions with two wheels. After we wiped our drool off of the race bikes and asked about their rentals, they rolled out this lime green dream. I couldn't stop laughing at the thought of Billy riding with upright handlebars and pedals with no clips... Haha! Seeing this clunker, at least, gave me hope that I might in a million years be able to keep up with him. We laughed all the way home. It was so good to be back on bikes with Billy. I've seriously missed riding with him so much.
As soon as we got home we started planning day trips to the nearest castles to our east and west. We spent the next three weeks exploring castle country on a beautiful bike route that spans from Nevers to Nantes. The well-marked La Loire à Vêlo signs kept us pedaling in the correct general direction AND on the right route (for the most part - ha!).
 |
| Chenonceau is the one in the bottom right. |
 |
| Don't those seats look comfortable?! |
Even though we took the train to Chenonceau, we still took our bikes with us that day and it's a good thing we did because our train back was delayed. So, that evening, instead of freezing our butts off at the (outdoor) station, we made our way east past Chateau Chissay and went all the way to Mont Richard and back (another 20km/13mi). So, just as a side note, yeah... No banks in these parts. Not even an ATM. Do all those people bank in Tours? Off shore accounts? Shoe box under their bed? We may never know.
Almost as awesome as being back on the bikes and taking trains through the scenic Loire River Valley were the looks we got when we told people that we have been riding our bikes to these places. Haha! Priceless.
Friday, December 27, 2013
A Long Story Where Nothing Happens
This morning I checked out of my hostel in the 1st arrondissement (between the Louvre and the Pompidou), and, at around 9am headed up to the 9th arrondissement to compare a cheap apartment I found on auboncoin.fr (which is like French craigslist) with another hostel from the same company (Bureau des Voyages de la Jeunesse or BVJ - kinda like French YMCA). I also went straight away to check out the Bikram yoga studio in Montmartre. The studio is amazing and I can't wait to get in and get started. Today will be my fifth day in a row and I'm feeling more determined than ever.
After popping my head into the studio (which is also beautiful and fully-equipped with mats and showers), I set out to hunt down the hostel. It was a short five minute walk away, but when I arrived, the thick blue doors were closed and locked and there was no answer when I buzzed the front desk. Hmmmm... I dialed the number for this hostel and who picks up but the guy who just checked me out at the Louvre location! Yep. They told me this location doesn't open until tomorrow, and that I needed to go back and stay one more night at the Louvre location. So, this got me thinking that maybe the apartment was going to be the best course of action since these hostel people were not doing the most stand-out job. Maybe if this apartment really sucks AND if the price is right...
By this time, I had been schlepping my bags all over the metro and Montmartre for a few hours and my shoulders were begging me for a break. I found a cute little corner cafe that looked like an appropriate spot to people-watch and bang out some postcards, so I sat down at a tiny outdoor table. After about ten minutes I realized no one had seen me sit down, so I popped my head in and asked if it was okay that I sit "there" indicating the location of my tucked away table. They said no problem and sit down and we'll be right out to take your order. So, five minutes later, server #1 popped out to take my order. Cappuccino?? No problem. I was forewarned that the milk takes at least five good minutes for her to properly froth. I said that was absolutely fine as I was especially fond of a frothy foam. Flash forward five minutes and out comes said server with a cigarette and a friend. I just patiently wrote second-hand-smoked cappuccino-less postcards. I thought for sure she's going to come right out after her cigarette break with this coffee... Nop! Four postcards later and almost an hour after I had originally sat down I thought, "Okay, there is no foam on earth luxurious enough to merit this wait", so I popped in to cancel my order. My servers eyes doubled in size when I told her I was still waiting for my coffee. She shot daggers at server #2 (who said, "Here it is!" and pulled my cappuccino out of the refrigerator???). I told them not to worry about it and took off laughing a little to myself and in hopes of finding some speedier service...
So, there I was, installing me and my bag-lady-like assortment of gear at cafe #2. I ordered and enjoyed a cappuccino. Brilliant. The bill came and forty-five minutes later I finally came to terms with the fact that no one was coming back to pick up my money and bring change (since I didn't have the exact amount). Oh man. Here we go again. Ha (by now I was laughing a little less enthusiastically)! I jumped up and loaded my shoulders with luggage and brought my tab with the money inside. Server #2 accepted the bill with incorrect change and quickly brought it to server #1, who was casually flipping through the morning paper, and didn't even turn around, but instead burped out a "Merci!" as if to accept my incorrect change as a tip for ignoring me for an hour. I literally stood and stared in disbelief, mouth agape, in the direction of the back of my server's head. I honestly did not know what to do next. Finally, the barmaid broke the silence - "Are you all settled?" she asked. I replied, "I'm settled, but I haven't received my change yet." Server #2 brought over my change and I rallied my caffeine-calibrated body parts to find this apartment...
Once I had properly explored this neighborhood and deemed it as safe and cheap and a great way to get out of the most touristy parts of Paris, I arrived at the apartment building as-advertised. The ground floor was spiffy with an enclosed courtyard and glass doors and beautiful spiral staircases, but - not unlike many apartment buildings in Paris - as I climbed up six stories the stairs, the walls, the ceilings, the welcome mats appeared less and less storybook... By the time I got to the sixth floor; there was a solid stench, the wall paper was discolored and peeling, and the ceiling was dripping with a questionably dank substance. First, the landlady showed me the working toilet on the floor, equipped with one tiny wrought-iron-barred window. From there she steered me down a narrow hallway, a walk that had me wondering which dingy apartment door was hoarding the toilet seat... Haha! Finally upon unlocking the door to possibly my own place in Paris for the next five nights, I discovered that the "apartment" was the size of my mom's walk-in closet. Oh my gosh - so small! Free wifi, yes, working kitchen, yes, heater, yes, clean sheets and towels, yes... I wondered what was exactly the price of privacy (as that was exactly the opportunity cost here). I left, thanking the landlady for her time and apologetically admitting that I was not prepared to pay 235 euro for four nights in hell (she pounced a last-minute 100 euro deposit on me - huh?). I jumped on the bus back to the Louvre hostel location and happily unloaded my things in my original room (assuring myself that - no matter what the price - clean and safe was an unbeatable combination)...
With little time to spare, I was off to yoga! On my walk to the studio I spotted a - hold up, what?!?! - MEXICAN restaurant. With burrito on the brain, my concentration in class suffered, so much so, in fact, that while the rest of the class conquered the spinal and seated series' I was already settling into cheese enchiladas. I ate and tried to grasp how much like a sitcom my day had been. Not much of anything happened and, at the end of it all, I ended up exactly where I started.
Still, in Paris - here, where the streets are paved with poodle poop - the fun never ends!
After popping my head into the studio (which is also beautiful and fully-equipped with mats and showers), I set out to hunt down the hostel. It was a short five minute walk away, but when I arrived, the thick blue doors were closed and locked and there was no answer when I buzzed the front desk. Hmmmm... I dialed the number for this hostel and who picks up but the guy who just checked me out at the Louvre location! Yep. They told me this location doesn't open until tomorrow, and that I needed to go back and stay one more night at the Louvre location. So, this got me thinking that maybe the apartment was going to be the best course of action since these hostel people were not doing the most stand-out job. Maybe if this apartment really sucks AND if the price is right...
By this time, I had been schlepping my bags all over the metro and Montmartre for a few hours and my shoulders were begging me for a break. I found a cute little corner cafe that looked like an appropriate spot to people-watch and bang out some postcards, so I sat down at a tiny outdoor table. After about ten minutes I realized no one had seen me sit down, so I popped my head in and asked if it was okay that I sit "there" indicating the location of my tucked away table. They said no problem and sit down and we'll be right out to take your order. So, five minutes later, server #1 popped out to take my order. Cappuccino?? No problem. I was forewarned that the milk takes at least five good minutes for her to properly froth. I said that was absolutely fine as I was especially fond of a frothy foam. Flash forward five minutes and out comes said server with a cigarette and a friend. I just patiently wrote second-hand-smoked cappuccino-less postcards. I thought for sure she's going to come right out after her cigarette break with this coffee... Nop! Four postcards later and almost an hour after I had originally sat down I thought, "Okay, there is no foam on earth luxurious enough to merit this wait", so I popped in to cancel my order. My servers eyes doubled in size when I told her I was still waiting for my coffee. She shot daggers at server #2 (who said, "Here it is!" and pulled my cappuccino out of the refrigerator???). I told them not to worry about it and took off laughing a little to myself and in hopes of finding some speedier service...
So, there I was, installing me and my bag-lady-like assortment of gear at cafe #2. I ordered and enjoyed a cappuccino. Brilliant. The bill came and forty-five minutes later I finally came to terms with the fact that no one was coming back to pick up my money and bring change (since I didn't have the exact amount). Oh man. Here we go again. Ha (by now I was laughing a little less enthusiastically)! I jumped up and loaded my shoulders with luggage and brought my tab with the money inside. Server #2 accepted the bill with incorrect change and quickly brought it to server #1, who was casually flipping through the morning paper, and didn't even turn around, but instead burped out a "Merci!" as if to accept my incorrect change as a tip for ignoring me for an hour. I literally stood and stared in disbelief, mouth agape, in the direction of the back of my server's head. I honestly did not know what to do next. Finally, the barmaid broke the silence - "Are you all settled?" she asked. I replied, "I'm settled, but I haven't received my change yet." Server #2 brought over my change and I rallied my caffeine-calibrated body parts to find this apartment...
Once I had properly explored this neighborhood and deemed it as safe and cheap and a great way to get out of the most touristy parts of Paris, I arrived at the apartment building as-advertised. The ground floor was spiffy with an enclosed courtyard and glass doors and beautiful spiral staircases, but - not unlike many apartment buildings in Paris - as I climbed up six stories the stairs, the walls, the ceilings, the welcome mats appeared less and less storybook... By the time I got to the sixth floor; there was a solid stench, the wall paper was discolored and peeling, and the ceiling was dripping with a questionably dank substance. First, the landlady showed me the working toilet on the floor, equipped with one tiny wrought-iron-barred window. From there she steered me down a narrow hallway, a walk that had me wondering which dingy apartment door was hoarding the toilet seat... Haha! Finally upon unlocking the door to possibly my own place in Paris for the next five nights, I discovered that the "apartment" was the size of my mom's walk-in closet. Oh my gosh - so small! Free wifi, yes, working kitchen, yes, heater, yes, clean sheets and towels, yes... I wondered what was exactly the price of privacy (as that was exactly the opportunity cost here). I left, thanking the landlady for her time and apologetically admitting that I was not prepared to pay 235 euro for four nights in hell (she pounced a last-minute 100 euro deposit on me - huh?). I jumped on the bus back to the Louvre hostel location and happily unloaded my things in my original room (assuring myself that - no matter what the price - clean and safe was an unbeatable combination)...
With little time to spare, I was off to yoga! On my walk to the studio I spotted a - hold up, what?!?! - MEXICAN restaurant. With burrito on the brain, my concentration in class suffered, so much so, in fact, that while the rest of the class conquered the spinal and seated series' I was already settling into cheese enchiladas. I ate and tried to grasp how much like a sitcom my day had been. Not much of anything happened and, at the end of it all, I ended up exactly where I started.
Still, in Paris - here, where the streets are paved with poodle poop - the fun never ends!
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Ready to Wear
Today I went shopping for warm winter clothes in downtown Tours (Thanks, Meghan!). I bought a pair of boots with fur lining, some (fabulous) bright green fingerless wool gloves with mitten flaps, and navy blue low top Asics (not especially warm, but will *for sure* help me go undetected as a foreigner in far more social situations - that is - until I open my big American mouth to talk or laugh abnormally loudly). Haha!
Since today was the first day of real winter weather (ie in the negative numbers, fyi -1°C = 30°F, ex see breath, check, frost doesn't melt, check, need visible confirmation that fingertips still exist, check), this cash gift from my beloved sister arrived just in the nick of time. And guess what?!? I only paid... drum roll please.......................................................... 75 euros! Ah yes, because today I was welcomed into French hand-me-down heaven. Here they call it Prêt à Porter (Ready to Wear). One step inside this particular thrift shop and I knew immediately that I had struck second hand store gold. In fifteen minutes flat I found three completely unique (basically new) items that fit like a charm. The price was right, but - being the huge cheapskate that I am - that didn't stop me from haggling anyway and getting everything marked down another 15 euros. Sold! I wore the boots and the gloves out of the store and a huge dumb smile on my face for the rest of the day.
I'm so warm! ...and, I tell ya, it's getting harder and harder for peeps to pin me as 'not from around here'! Double score!
Since today was the first day of real winter weather (ie in the negative numbers, fyi -1°C = 30°F, ex see breath, check, frost doesn't melt, check, need visible confirmation that fingertips still exist, check), this cash gift from my beloved sister arrived just in the nick of time. And guess what?!? I only paid... drum roll please.......................................................... 75 euros! Ah yes, because today I was welcomed into French hand-me-down heaven. Here they call it Prêt à Porter (Ready to Wear). One step inside this particular thrift shop and I knew immediately that I had struck second hand store gold. In fifteen minutes flat I found three completely unique (basically new) items that fit like a charm. The price was right, but - being the huge cheapskate that I am - that didn't stop me from haggling anyway and getting everything marked down another 15 euros. Sold! I wore the boots and the gloves out of the store and a huge dumb smile on my face for the rest of the day.
I'm so warm! ...and, I tell ya, it's getting harder and harder for peeps to pin me as 'not from around here'! Double score!
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Slowly Into Winter
This morning, like every Wednesday morning, I rode down to the Les Halles Farmer's Market. Most of the leaves are fallen now. The bare trees revealed a low haze over the Loire river valley, rendering the morning sunlight cold and wintry. Since we've been working on blocking this week and I don't have gloves, my Wednesday morning ride turned into a (much needed!) cold air ice bath for my hands and fingers. Haha!
I'm getting to know my way around here pretty well and now I can't even remember the last time I was lost. I'm also finally building up a rapport with the local farmer's market merchants. They recognize me now and greet me with a more familiar generosity in their eyes. Today, two of my favorite people - mushroom lady and artisan tomato man - weren't there and I almost cried because I look forward to our exchanges so much. I've become quite appreciative of their tiny acts of kindness and their willingness to engage a lonely stranger.
All romance aside, though, the farmer's market is just a great place to practice my french and increase my food vocabulary. I've become quite adventurous lately, asking random people questions about the different vegetables and their favorite preparations. For example, just today I took a chance and bought a quarter of a huge warty looking pumpkin with instructions that involve peeling, boiling, draining, and mashing with milk, cinnamon, and sugar. Doesn't that sound delicious?!?
I'm getting to know my way around here pretty well and now I can't even remember the last time I was lost. I'm also finally building up a rapport with the local farmer's market merchants. They recognize me now and greet me with a more familiar generosity in their eyes. Today, two of my favorite people - mushroom lady and artisan tomato man - weren't there and I almost cried because I look forward to our exchanges so much. I've become quite appreciative of their tiny acts of kindness and their willingness to engage a lonely stranger.
All romance aside, though, the farmer's market is just a great place to practice my french and increase my food vocabulary. I've become quite adventurous lately, asking random people questions about the different vegetables and their favorite preparations. For example, just today I took a chance and bought a quarter of a huge warty looking pumpkin with instructions that involve peeling, boiling, draining, and mashing with milk, cinnamon, and sugar. Doesn't that sound delicious?!?
Friday, September 20, 2013
Roundabouts
Today,I rode my bike for an hour and a half to Hopital Trousseau and back. For some reason, I couldn't get this song out of my head!
Haha - YES!!!!!!!!!
I'm not sure why, but in general - and for some unknown reason - I really do feel safer on my bike here. In terms of circulation, there are lots of differences between here and the States... Here's ten off the top of my head:
1. Widespread use of roundabouts in lieu of stop signs (keeps traffic moving albeit a little chaotically) :)
2. Pretty much everyone drives stick shift
3. Traffic signals appear BEFORE the intersection at eye level on the right
4. Corners and intersections are yields because there's maybe like two stop signs in this whole country
5. Roads are narrow and curvy for the most part
6. Street names mostly appear on sides of buildings if they appear at all
7. Signs are results based, so destinations are more prominent than street names
8. Parking on the sidewalk, or halfway on the sidewalk is not only totally acceptable, it's encouraged
9. Bike routes are super well marked (and cyclists observe red lights and traffic laws)
10. There is no turn on red lights. So, if you have a green, it's a sure fire thing you will not be run over!
Today, I had an amazing visit with a cardiologist! I got an EKG (cool) and we talked a little about my diet. I told him I've been crunching some numbers (nutrition post on the way) and it looks like I'm getting more than enough protein, but not nearly enough carbohydrates... He said I should be eating more complex carbs (like pasta and rice) and then specifically recommended (wait for it...) CHOCOLATE! That's right! Not a piece of fruit, not a power bar, or a hard boiled egg, or a bagel! Chocolate. I thanked him and told him that shouldn't be a problem... Haha!
Come to France to play volleyball and get prescribed chocolate and carbohydrates... Life's not too shabby right now! Seriously though, if you know me well, you know that there's no way I'm going to take any recommendation from any one (even a fancy French cardiologist) at face value, so I'm doing some research about diet and nutrition that I'll be sure to post about as soon as I've finalized my findings - wink wink! :)
That's all for now. More later!
Haha - YES!!!!!!!!!
I'm not sure why, but in general - and for some unknown reason - I really do feel safer on my bike here. In terms of circulation, there are lots of differences between here and the States... Here's ten off the top of my head:
1. Widespread use of roundabouts in lieu of stop signs (keeps traffic moving albeit a little chaotically) :)
2. Pretty much everyone drives stick shift
3. Traffic signals appear BEFORE the intersection at eye level on the right
4. Corners and intersections are yields because there's maybe like two stop signs in this whole country
5. Roads are narrow and curvy for the most part
6. Street names mostly appear on sides of buildings if they appear at all
7. Signs are results based, so destinations are more prominent than street names
8. Parking on the sidewalk, or halfway on the sidewalk is not only totally acceptable, it's encouraged
9. Bike routes are super well marked (and cyclists observe red lights and traffic laws)
10. There is no turn on red lights. So, if you have a green, it's a sure fire thing you will not be run over!
Today, I had an amazing visit with a cardiologist! I got an EKG (cool) and we talked a little about my diet. I told him I've been crunching some numbers (nutrition post on the way) and it looks like I'm getting more than enough protein, but not nearly enough carbohydrates... He said I should be eating more complex carbs (like pasta and rice) and then specifically recommended (wait for it...) CHOCOLATE! That's right! Not a piece of fruit, not a power bar, or a hard boiled egg, or a bagel! Chocolate. I thanked him and told him that shouldn't be a problem... Haha!
Come to France to play volleyball and get prescribed chocolate and carbohydrates... Life's not too shabby right now! Seriously though, if you know me well, you know that there's no way I'm going to take any recommendation from any one (even a fancy French cardiologist) at face value, so I'm doing some research about diet and nutrition that I'll be sure to post about as soon as I've finalized my findings - wink wink! :)
That's all for now. More later!
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Joints
So, there's no word for knuckle in French. It's just called a finger joint. You can probably imagine the conversation where I found this out, but here it is anyways:
Me: "Hey cool wow! What's your skin doing on your fingers?"
Nono: "It's paint."
Me: "Haha, not that. I'm talking about the weird peeling thing on your - wait - what do you call that?"
Nono: "What?"
Me: "How do you say that in French?" [points at knuckle and does a weird wiggly finger dance]
Nono: "Joint." [makes movements with elbows]
Me: "No, not 'joint'. What do you call the joint on your finger?"
Nono: "Finger joint." [articulates at the knuckle]
Me: [digging in purse for dictionary] "Really?! There's not a more specific word in French for knuckle?!"
Nono: "Nop. It's just 'joint'."
Me: [Frantically flipping the pages in dictionary to find knuckle] ABCDEFGH...M?!? Grr... "Ahhhhhh OKAY! 'Joint'! You're right!" [triumphantly... trying to look cute to native French speakers who seem less satisfied with the outcome of this conversation] So, then how would you say knuckle ba...? Shut up, English speaking brain! There's no baseball in France!!!
Me: "So hey cool! I have the same dry skin thing on my finger joints as you do. What is that?"
Nono: "Dry skin."
WAH WAH!
Vocabulary:
Dry: Sec (m), Seche (f)
Finger = la droigt
Joint = l'articulation
Knuckle = l'articulation
Paint = la peinture
Skin = la peau
Weird = bizarre
Me: "Hey cool wow! What's your skin doing on your fingers?"
Nono: "It's paint."
Me: "Haha, not that. I'm talking about the weird peeling thing on your - wait - what do you call that?"
Nono: "What?"
Me: "How do you say that in French?" [points at knuckle and does a weird wiggly finger dance]
Nono: "Joint." [makes movements with elbows]
Me: "No, not 'joint'. What do you call the joint on your finger?"
Nono: "Finger joint." [articulates at the knuckle]
Me: [digging in purse for dictionary] "Really?! There's not a more specific word in French for knuckle?!"
Nono: "Nop. It's just 'joint'."
Me: [Frantically flipping the pages in dictionary to find knuckle] ABCDEFGH...M?!? Grr... "Ahhhhhh OKAY! 'Joint'! You're right!" [triumphantly... trying to look cute to native French speakers who seem less satisfied with the outcome of this conversation] So, then how would you say knuckle ba...? Shut up, English speaking brain! There's no baseball in France!!!
Me: "So hey cool! I have the same dry skin thing on my finger joints as you do. What is that?"
Nono: "Dry skin."
WAH WAH!
Vocabulary:
Dry: Sec (m), Seche (f)
Finger = la droigt
Joint = l'articulation
Knuckle = l'articulation
Paint = la peinture
Skin = la peau
Weird = bizarre
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Yoga In Europe
Maribor, Slovenia
Hotel Habakuk11AM everyday
Language: Italian*
Level of Difficulty: Easy flow, poses, breathing exercises, and meditation. Level was tailored to the group.
Location: Outside of town. Best if you're already nearby (Ex Hotel Arena, Hotel Dras, or Hotel Habakuk).
*Teacher speaks five languages fluently and customizes her instructions based on the group.
Vienna, Austria
Bikram Yoga Wien SchotteringDaily Schedule Online Here
Language: English and German.
Level of Difficulty: It's your basic bikram beginner series. 26 postures, 105 degrees, 45% humidity. So, in other words, it's hell here too. ;)
Location: Downtown Vienna. Easy access to metro and bus lines. 15 minute walk from the center of town.
Tours, France
Ella FitTuesday 9:30AM, Thursday 6:15PM, Friday 6:15PM
Language: French
Level of Difficulty: Advanced, but not cardiovascularly. This class was difficult on a metaphysical level*
Location: Tours proper, but more specifically, Les Halles.
*Can't quite describe it... This teacher was extremely in touch with the intangible. He really encouraged us to LET GO and explore our curiosity and acceptance of the unknown. He kept saying stuff like "sense this, experience it as if it's for the first time and the last time", and we'd be doing something as simple as ankle circles. Ahaha! This was really good for me, but I miss the challenge of Bikram. I'm gonna have to get into Paris very soon...
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Power Animals
This is a weird little video trial run for this blog... An introduction to the puppy (Vance) at the president's house and a little spider (my power animal!!!!!) who weaved a web in my window last night to wish me good luck for today - our first practice!
You might need to turn up the volume... Lemme know about the quality and if you can hear it okay??
To All the Long Shots!
Music Credits: SF based Mahgeetah off their "State" EP "Long Shot", Video Credits: Ryan Ovadia
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