The Douchebag In Yoga Class... OM

I finally made it to yoga class today after several weeks of no babysitter.  I was happy. Boy, was I happy!  A guy came in and put his mat way closer to mine than was necessary.  Fine.  All good!  He was a very yogi-looking guy, extremely lean, hipster, and overly serious. Whatever.  I offered to move over to give him more space which put me right up against the wall.  No worries.  I'm happy!  We started class and were instructed to straighten our legs out to the side at 90 degrees about 6 inches off the ground, so he proceeded to place his two bare feet an inch above my nose.  Perhaps it's me, but isn't it common courtesy to be aware of your neighbors in yoga class and make whatever adjustments are necessary to get your "om" on while giving everyone else the inalienable right to breath without your feet in their face?

I gave him the benefit of the doubt - assumed he probably had his eyes closed and wasn't aware - and moved my mat for a second time, this time forward so I was up against both the side wall and the front mirror.  We came out of our first downward facing dog into plank, and I realized that the aforementioned gentleman had placed his PHONE at the front of his mat so that every time he came back into plank, he could CHECK HIS TEXT MESSAGES.  He was lithe enough to suspend himself easily with one arm while reading, typing, and then returning himself to down dog.

I wanted nothing more than to throw his phone and his bony ass out the window, but decided that it was my task to remain focused on my own practice and to let him have his.  I tried to tell myself that he must have a medical condition and an app that he had to update to keep his blood sugar at the correct level, or a family member in the hospital in dire condition and in need of constant monitoring... from yoga class.  But, probably, he was just so super important, so vitally necessary for the world to keep spinning that he had to stay connected.  I established that the latter was likely true when he started cracking his knuckles violently in the middle of savasana (the resting pose at the end of class).

When it was over, he bowed, said "namaste" loudest of all, and stayed meditative and holier-than-thou long past when the rest of us packed up our mats and blocks and got on with our days.  I actually managed to enjoy the class (love that teacher) and got a good workout.  I even learned a little something about how to stay calm and productive with a self-involved douchebag in my face.  His trip, not mine.  But seriously, dude. Seriously?

Real Change Requires Real Food, But I Don't Wanna!

I've come a long way from disaster to pretty-damn-good, a long way from sugar addict to mostly-healthy.  I'm hovering here in pretty good shape, but I wouldn't say I'm glowing with wellness or anything.  I won't be running a marathon any time soon, and my attempt at turning weekly CSA produce deliveries into healthy meals last summer resulted in a lot of rotting root vegetables.

I wish I could be like those snazzy whole food bloggers who make it look so easy:
20 Quick and Easy On-the-go Lunches!  Not so much.  I eat relatively healthy, but a whole hell of a lot of my lunches still come out of a box... an Amy's organic box, but a box nonetheless.

I keep squawking to my Body Baggage group about how I'd feel slammin' if I lost another 5 lbs or so, but with my current regimen, it's not happening. My body is not going to change if my diet remains the same.  I get plenty of exercise.  Those last 5 lbs are all about the food. I need to get real and decide if I'm happy here in mostly-healthy-land or if I want to take a leap into genuinely, deep-down-healthy-land.  If I'm not ready to do it, I should drop the act altogether. There's no point in feeling guilty about it.

If I do want to take that next step, I'm going to have to get better acquainted with my kitchen.  I'm going to have to get good with devoting time and energy to shopping more frequently and cooking every day.  The thought makes me twitch.  It's a lazy luxury to eat organic food that has been prepared, preserved and frozen for me, but I have zero doubt that I would feel a difference if I was eating real, fresh, whole food prepared by yours truly.

I'm not a cook by nature.  I don't have the skills to taste something and say, "Hey, that needs more oregano!"  Even if I had the time, I don't have the attention span to chop and stir for hours each day.  I just don't care that much.  I don't have the nurturing mama/cook-thing in me.  My family gets by with a whole lot of Trader Joe's basics, supplemented with fresh cooked vegetables or salads on the side.  We eat dark chocolate and drink red wine every night.  We have chips and crackers, boxed risottos, jars of sauces, and cans of beans crowded into our pantry.  Our freezer overfloweth with "healthy" pre-prepared foods.

I am finally coming to the conclusion to that I can only go so far putting these canned, jarred, boxed, bagged, and frozen foods into my body.  There is a giant row of cookbooks on my kitchen counter.  Staring at me.  Perhaps I should consider opening one.

For now, it's February.  It's too cold to get out from under my blankets, and I could swear it gets dark at noon... and yes, that is a big, fat excuse. I'm going to give myself a pass during these dark winter days. The produce section pretty much sucks right now anyway. Or that's what I'm telling myself.  The cookbooks will stay where they are for a few more months, but I'm declaring out loud in preparation for the summer...

I need to make a decision.  Am I happy with eating healthy kinda sorta?  Or do I want to actually do it right?  Not sure yet.  Will report back when the sun comes out.

P.S. To the "friend" who introduced me to the vegan, gluten-free dessert bar at The Wild Cow... PTHHHH.