The Daily Bitcher

Hello, Ms. Baby, you'll be leaving, along with your buddy Mr. Bathwater.

2011-07-15T12:04:00.000-04:00

First, take a look (if you like) at Brian McGory's screed on the plague that is the Boston cyclist. I'll be here when you get back.

Read it? Okay.

I have a better solution. If we expect cyclists to obey Boston traffic laws, let's treat them more like motorists. To wit: every bike that hits a Boston street needs to have a smallish license plate. Make it a one-time fee of $20. The money goes to educating cyclists, drivers and pedestrians about coexisting on the roads (pedestrians can be as much of a scourge on the roads as anyone else). Every cyclist gets a manual: here are Boston's traffic laws. Here's what you can do. Here's what you can't do. Every time you do something illegal, it's a $100 fine. Second offense, $200. Your license plate is tied to your personal info, so you can be tracked down for failure to pay.

Cops would have latitude to dispense a warning, but the 40 for 40 citations-to-warning ratio cited in McGory's piece is pathetic. (Adding a 20% bike coupon and a helmet for the first hundred people reduces a warning from a slap on the wrist to a joke. What's next, milk and cookies?) For every person who gets a warning and becomes a better commuter, there's someone who ignores it or backslides after awhile. A warning is fleeting, but a $100 fine lingers in the memory, and not fondly.

Banning bicycles is as dumb a solution as you can ask for, and it's made worse by the broad strokes McGory paints cyclists with. Sure, let's discourage people from commuting in a manner that's healthier for them and the environment (discounting for a moment the unhealthy stresses cyclists endure by riding alongside cars, trucks and buses, and the much smaller stresses drivers endure sharing the road with bikes). And while we're at it, let's assume all cyclists are arrogant and entitled. After all, I assume all Op-Ed columnists are opinionated blowhards, so we're even.

Maybe I'm biased--to paraphrase Kid Koala, some of my best friends are cyclists. But if the situation is addressed properly, more bicycles on the road would be better in the long run for the daily commute, not to mention the environment and the health of the people who saddle up. It might even get some of us off our lazy asses and onto a two-wheeler, instead of riding in to work every day in a car, bus or train.

Part 3: How Many Cabs Will You Be Needing?

2010-12-01T19:46:00.007-05:00

Apologies for the incredible shrinking text. Blogspot seems to be having a problem with it at the moment.
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People forget how rarely teams have been able to begin a season by teaming up three Hall-of-Fame caliber players at or near the peak of their careers. The ’69 Lakers tried it with Wilt, West and Baylor; by the time that team won a title in 1972, Baylor was gone. The next time was the 2007-08, when the Celtics traded for Garnett and Ray Allen. (Other teams accumulated three greats, but I can’t recall anyone other than these two teams uniting all three at the outset of one season.)

This summer marked the third time in the NBA’s 64 year history a team has been able to bring three elite players together; at this point it’s questionable whether you can put Bosh in the elite category, but let that pass. With just a third test case, this is still largely unknown territory, more so because in this case all of these players are young and at their peaks.

What are the Heat missing? Size, a point guard, and players who can do the dirty work. Roster issues, essentially, which a wily GM like Pat Riley can sort out over time. But the primary reason the ’69 Lakers and the ’08 Celtics came together is because of something the Heat don’t yet have: desperation. How much desperation can a 25, 27 and 28 year old muster, especially when the oldest of that group already has a ring?

Pierce, Garnett and Allen had played a combined 33 seasons without a Finals appearance, much less a championship. It’s pretty easy to see how three veterans on the wrong side of 30 could sublimate their games in order to raise a banner. Throw in the fact that Garnett’s ego fed off defense and rebounding; that two offensive-minded All-Stars bought into playing in your face defense; and that the relatively small overlap in the skills of those three players allowed them to blend more easily, and no wonder the Celtics took the league by storm. But they did that through defense, the ultimate barometer of effort. At every juncture, they played like a team that needed to prove something.

Will the Heat become that team? The more I think about it, the more I believe they won’t. Not because Pat Riley won’t be able to solve their roster issues; not because their coach (be it Spoelstra, Riley or someone else) will be unable to eventually get through to them; not because of any of the main guys involved is allergic to work; not because every non-Heat fan wants them to fail.

The 2008 Celtics came together as a blank slate. The players were open to adjusting their games and playing in a different style, because the manner in which they’d competed for more than ten years had netted them nothing but individual acclaim. The fans knew the team’s window of opportunity was short, but didn’t expect a championship in the first season.

The Heat entered the season welcoming lofty expectations, only to find that early failures have turned those expectations into albatrosses or worse, sources of derision and mockery. They have two of the five best players on the planet, only they don’t play well together; yet neither of them currently believes they can or should change their games. The path they’re following could lead to championship—even multiple championship—glory, but I think it’s more likely they’re headed towards disillusionment. In 2007, Paul Pierce was happy to get any kind of quality help the Celtics could provide him, and what he got were two very different players as hungry and desperate as he was to get to the promised land. In 2010, three young men got together looking for a good time, and only a short time into the trip find only conflict, angst and scorn. Something tells me that at the end of the ride, they’ll be taking separate cabs home.
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PS: Tony Massarotti of the Globe wrote about this in a different form today. I think his central idea--that Pat Riley should make it clear that it's the players who are responsible for getting out of this mess--is sound. But I'd be surprised if Riles makes that statement. I'll let you read it and draw your own conclusion.

Part 2: An Alternate Universe

2010-11-30T19:07:00.000-05:00

There’s a reason why I think back on that vintage Converse commercial with Bird and Magic. You couldn’t have asked for two more outwardly different personalities to become rivals on the NBA’s marquee franchises, nor could you ask for those teams to play any differently from each other than they already did. You had Bird, the surly introvert vs. Magic, the smiling showman; you had the lunch pail Celtics vs. the Showtime Lakers.

You also had two players and two teams that worked their way towards the joy of playing basketball. We’re well aware of Magic’s ability to put on a show, and one of the great things about the Bird/Magic rivalry is that time and reflection has given us a much better appreciation of how much work Magic put into his game. Exhibit A is the “junior junior Sky Hook” he used to beat the Celts in Game 4 of the ’87 Finals. Exhibit B is the significantly more accurate outside set shot he developed by that same point in his career. He possessed neither of these weapons when he entered the NBA at 19—just a year older than LeBron when he made his debut.

Bird had an unparalleled work ethic, and yes, the most fun thing was winning, but Bird could put on a show, too. And he enjoyed it--enjoyed inventing shots or passes on the fly. In fact, his work ethic gave him the space to create something new, just as Magic’s time in the gym allowed him to do the same. Sort of like a guitarist who spends countless hours practicing scales, and then in concert whips off amazing solos that seem to come out of nowhere. Of the many things Bird and Magic had in common, one of the most prominent was the sense that on any given night, either of them might do something you’d never seen anyone do before—an off-balance shot from a crazy angle, or a flashy pass that was on its way to being an assist before a gap had even opened up to let it through. The most entertaining plays Bird and Magic made ultimately sprung from all the private work they undertook to become the best possible players.

Maybe Bird and Magic would have possessed very different attitudes if they had become pros in the last 15 years. Neither player made the cover of Sports Illustrated before he left high school. Neither player grew up in the AAU world, where talent is spotted and cultivated obscenely early. And can you imagine a modern college coach losing sight of Bird now, the way Bobby Knight lost sight of him at Indiana in 1974?

There’s no telling how either player would have developed, athletically or mentally, under those conditions. Run Magic and Bird through the AAU framework and imagine a career path that leads them to 2010 free agency. Would they, too, have wanted to join up instead of trying to beat each other? If they had signed with the same team, would they have pranced on a catwalk in front of adoring thousands in their new city? Would they have expected the regular season to be a party and the playoffs a coronation?

Tomorrow: How Many Cabs Will You Be Needing?

Part 1: Show Me Whatcha Got

2010-11-29T21:00:00.004-05:00

I’m picturing Dwyane Wade on a beautifully built outdoor court. It’s a pleasant but slightly humid Miami night. All the lights are on. He’s wearing his Miami practice gear and swishing jumpers, one after another, from 18 feet.

A limousine pulls up. Some dust kicks across the sidewalk. Two very large men emerge from the back in slow motion, clad Miami Heat warm ups. One wears a shooting shirt bearing a number 1, the other a number 6. It’s Bosh and LeBron. They look fierce, determined.

LeBron speaks: “Hey, I heard they made new Nikes for last year’s Miami Heat.” Wade looks down at his sneakers, then glowers back at LeBron. “Yeah?”

Bosh says, “Well, Nike made some sneakers for this year’s Miami Heat.” Lebron and Bosh rip off their warm up pants to reveal fabulous new Nikes, in the Heat’s trademark black, red, and white colors.

Wade’s glower switches to a beaming smile as he exclaims, “Nice kicks! I gotta get me some of those.” At which point, Bosh grins, hands him a box and says, “We brought you a pair.”

Cut to: Wade, Bosh, and LeBron, wearing their flashy new sneakers and Heat uniforms, throwing alley oops to each other, burying jumpers, smiling and high fiving. Good times! They look absolutely ecstatic. And unbeatable.

Tomorrow: An Alternate Universe

Tale of the Tape/Thank you

2010-11-24T09:02:00.000-05:00

The tale of the tape of the 30 Days of Hot:

30 classes, 30 consecutive days, no doubles
45 hours of class time in the hot room
10 hours of pre- and post-class time in the hot room (20 minutes per class)
Cumulative 2.3 days spent in the hot room
150 liters of water consumed—go to your local grocery store, hit the water aisle, and count the gallon jugs until you reach 40. That should paint the picture quite nicely. This is a conservative estimate, by the way. And I needed very drop of it.
90 towels used—60 from the studio, 30 from home
30,000 calories burned (1,000 per day)
10 pounds of calories burned (3,000 per pound)
Estimated 30 miles of walking to get to the studio (1.5 miles per weekday; the weekends were the van or the T or a combination of the two)
Roughly 1,400 reps of poses—each rep generally being one iteration of the pose, or two iterations if it needs to be done for each side of the body
13 different teachers
3 teachers I’d never had before
24 classes at Back Bay (15 in the big room upstairs, 9 in the small room); 4 classes at Harvard Square; 2 classes at Lincoln Street
“Lock the knee” spoken by teachers an estimated 1,800 times (60 per class)
Beginning weight: 176.5
End weight: 170.5
Blog posts: 35
Estimated word count: 9,500

The numbers aren’t the whole story, but they say a lot.

Let’s end with some overdue thank yous:

First and foremost, extreme gratitude, thanks and love to my wife, Margo. She was hitting the hot room for two years before I tried it. She’s still the toughest cookie in the hot box. I aspire to her toughness and determination every day. Thanks, little missy.

Thanks to the excellent teachers at the Boston studios, encompassing Back Bay, Chinatown, and Harvard Square, in order of appearance: Dan, Meredith, Reba (from Tempe AZ), Danielle, Tomo, Courtney, Jackie, Michelle, Elizabeth, Rich, Brad, Jill and Derek. My job was to show up every day; their job was to push us beyond our limitations. They knew when to open a window, close a door, or lighten the mood with a quick quip. A more kind, knowledgeable and compassionate group you’d be hard pressed to find.

Thanks to my fellow practitioners, and especially my fellow 30 day challengers. Some days we rode the wave, some days the wave rode us. Thanks for your energy and your company in the face of extreme heat and borderline masochism.

Big thanks to the many people who urged me on, gave encouragement, or shook their heads in disbelief. It’s good to know that people were rooting for me. For those who shook your heads, trust me when I tell you: there were times when I questioned my own sanity.

Last but not least, many thanks to everyone who contributed to the Franciscan Food Bank as a result of my doing the challenge. I can only guess how much your generosity benefited the Food Bank. Because of your donations, my 30 days in the hot room had a greater purpose than achieving some vaguely defined notion of progress or accomplishment. For those who haven’t contributed but would like to, please do so and support the Friars’ fine work, particularly during a difficult economic time. I had the privilege of practicing with one of the Friars during many days of the challenge and getting to know him a little, so for me, the cause moved from an abstract act of charity to something a little more tangible by being in his company.

It was real, it was fun. It wasn’t always real fun, but I feel relieved, proud, and humbled by the experience. Namaste.

Day 30: Final Savasana

2010-11-23T20:30:00.001-05:00

Courtesy Yoga Spy.

Last night a group of us were chatting in the Back Bay Bikram lobby after doing the 7:30 class. One fellow doing the 30 Day Challenge had just done a double--4:30 class, break for an hour or so, then the 7:30. He had to do a double tonight to finish with 30 classes in 30 days.

A lady friend of his said, "So you just have tomorrow? You did it!" She meant well, but no one on the verge of accomplishing something wants to hear that it's already done. Not until it's really, truly over.

A few moments later, I mentioned that I was also doing the 30 Days. And the lady said, again, "You did it!" And I replied, "Please don't say that. I haven't done it yet. I've got one more day."

It brought me back to day 1 of the challenge, a month ago. Same lobby, only this time before class. Dan, the teacher for that first class, was telling the young lady who just signed in, "Why don't you check off today before you go in? You know you're going to do it."

Sure, we know we're going to do it, just like last night I knew I would do tonight's class and finish the challenge. But I didn't want to check out mentally a day early; I didn't want to mark this one in the W column until the clock read 0:00. Not for any one class, and certainly not for the very last one. But at 7:30 tonight, the clock expired, the last knee locked, the last breath exhaled, and now I can say it: I did it.

What does that mean, exactly? I don't know. I can see the physical changes--hey, where's the beer gut? Did I actually have abdominal muscles hiding in there all this time?--and measure the obvious progress I made in many of the postures. I can applaud having the wherewithal to show up every day, including a five day stretch where I hovered between "not exactly sick" and "not exactly well," and consequently felt a little weird during much of those classes. But what will I end up carrying out of the hot room? I'll have to wait and see on that.

It’ll be nice to have my evenings back; even with two early departures each week to grab the 4:30 class, and a pair of days off in the middle, I felt like I was getting home late every night. Maybe the expenditure of effort created that feeling, or maybe the fact Daylight Savings kicked in and brought night down early; whether I was at home at 7 or at 9, I often didn’t feel like doing much. Maybe I felt I only had the energy to concentrate on one project at a time, and the 30 Day Challenge was it. I was rarely creative over the last month, and felt like a partial friend and husband. I’ll be happy returning to life as a fully committed, creative human being.

I think of this time after the challenge as a sort of Savasana. I’ll take at least a couple of weeks away, absorb the benefits of what I just did, and figure out what else I may have gained, and what I could do better. But for a little while, I’m just going to lie back and be happy that I’ve finished. Day 30 and the challenge are in the books.

Connect to the purring, y’all.

Namaste,

Scott

Day 29: Blowing in Firm (Kapalbhati in Vajrasana)

2010-11-22T21:30:00.001-05:00

The 30 Day Challenge is like taking a daily commute through your body and mind. You’re driving the same car; the route never changes; the trip is always the same length. From day to day the car may purr along or it may cough and heave. You may get stuck in traffic. Once in a while, a usually congested intersection is completely clear, and you blow right through it, wishing it could be that clear every day. The radio station in your mind, might be turned off, but some days all you can hear are the obnoxious windbags on talk radio, ranting about the socialist bent of the temperature or the reactionary bias of the humidity. Could we get a nice, moderate breeze in here?

But some days, you notice new details in familiar places. A repaired sidewalk. New awnings over the shops. More greenery. You suddenly sink deeper and more comfortably in your seat. You’re able to shift gears just a little more easily. You realize that these places you’re traveling through are being renovated, opened up, modernized. Everything needs more work, but you realize things are changing almost imperceptibly. But those small details are adding up.

Does the commute sometimes feeling like I’m living through Groundhog’s Day? Sure. There have been times where the trip has been a slog. The first week was interesting—lots of up and downs. The second week was like driving through a ghost town where the lights were green at every intersection. Week three, there was ongoing construction at every corner, and the traffic snarled for miles. At various times in the last ten days, it’s been all of that.

Every day, the same route. Every day, a different journey. At the end, will I take a vacation? Come straight back for more? I have no idea. I’m about to park the car. I’ve arrived, but at what destination I’m not sure.

Day 28: Spine-Twist (Ardha-Matsyendrasana)

2010-11-21T19:00:00.001-05:00

The hot room has a knack for redefining things—your body, your attitudes, your sense of discipline—provided you go consistently. One unanticipated consequence of continuous practice: a revision of my definition of a three letter word.

There was hot before Bikram Yoga. A bad summer day in the city—low 90s, high humidity—that was hot. A third floor apartment with no AC during that same day—unbearably hot.

Hot after yoga: definitely not that sweltering day in July. And not that same day with no AC. “Shit, I’ve done yoga in way, way worse heat. This ain’t so bad.”

I’ve said it before: I hate being hot. Me and Bikram Yoga are as unlikely a couple as Flava Flav and Brigitte Nielsen. And I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I suddenly love the heat. But 18 months in and out of the hot room has recalibrated my sense of what’s brutally hot and what’s tolerably hot. Trust me, the ideal Bikram room is 105 degrees, but there are days where it’s 115. Suddenly, a humid 95 doesn’t seem like such a big deal.

Day 27: Stretching Pose (Paschimotthanasana)

2010-11-20T17:25:00.000-05:00

It’s almost the end of class. I psych myself into this posture by believing I’m climbing the L’Alpe D'Huez in the Tour de France, one of the toughest climbs imaginable. Forget that I learned how to ride a bike at age 40. I’m winning this stage, the toughest of the entire Tour. My toes are the handlebars. I’m pulling like a maniac. As I pull, my torso curves aerodynamically. My hamstrings are screaming. I duck in further. I’m pulling a Jens Voigt. Shut up, legs! I pass Alberto Contador—I give him the finger. This one’s for Andy Schleck, cheater! I know somewhere Phil Leggett is telling a worldwide audience, “Bishop is really dishing out the suffering today! He’s left the peloton in his dust!” I hear the cries of pull, pull, last chance, pull! I see the yellow line in front of me.

Some days, I’m gassed, and I just need that bastard Kloden to drag me up the mountain. (Andreas Kloden, whose last name became a verb for me and my friends Mike and Sean in 2004, when he openly challenged his team leader, Jan Ullrich, for squad supremacy during the Tour de France. Actually, he became a verb and a noun, as in, “I can’t believe he Klodened you when he start chatting up that girl you were hitting on,” and “What a complete Kloden.” I think of Kloden because he actually did guide a teammate up the mountain—Lance Armstrong in 2009. So maybe we were a bit hard on him. He’s still in our dictionary, though.)

Day 26: Head to Knee (Janushirasana)

2010-11-19T19:37:00.000-05:00

Bikram classes have the air of ritual. I find this comforting. It’s sort of like going to the hottest possible church. (Enter a hot room and you might think: Church of Lucifer.) The teacher is a sort of high priest, exhorting you to kill yourself in every pose. The words, even silly phrases like “Japanese Ham Sandwich,” have an air of incantation about them.

The hot room has certain rules. The heat and the humidity, of course. The black lines that run through the carpet, demarcating where to place your yoga mat (halfway, so you can line your toes on the line, the better for the teacher to see you). The sequence of postures and the reassurance brought by the routine it creates. The clothing—with a definite emphasis on less-is-more. There isn’t a rule against ogling, but only because you’ll be suffering to much to stare at anyone. The regimen is amazingly self-policing.

The front row is for the best students. They’re modeling for the rest of class. If you think you’ll need a break, the front row isn’t for you. The back row is for beginners. The back row is more likely to get cool air from a door or window, and if anyone needs it, it’s the beginning practitioner. The rows between cover the rest of the practicing spectrum. You get a water break 20 minutes into class, almost always with the cheer invocation of "Party time." You're welcome to take water anytime you need it after that--just don't do it while people are in a posture.

The poses don’t just build one on top of another, but often echo each other. You do Standing Head to Knee 20 minutes into class; with 15 minutes left to go, there you are, putting a head on your knee again, with a bit of Half-Moon’s sideways stretch. You twist your spine in each direction during Triangle; a half-hour later, you’ll be doing it even more drastically on the floor. The thing you did before, you’ll do again, only farther, deeper.

You would think the ritual would get boring. Boredom isn’t my enemy. Fatigue—mostly mental—is. The fatigue that comes from no days off, from every evening being occupied, from putting much my private life on hiatus. But within the room, the ritual, the repetition, carry me through. All I have to do is show up. The command comes to step into the middle of the mat. I do it. We all do it. We all do whatever’s next.

Day 25: Rabbit (Sasagasana)

2010-11-18T20:30:00.001-05:00

Ah, silly wabbit. The only pose where you get to use a prop—the sweat-soaked towel you just spent the first three-quarters of class raining perspiration on. Good times!

That’s one of the two towels you keep on the mat. You bring in a third from home or rent one from the studio—you’ll probably want to shower, right? Well, not so fast. Since Margo and I often go to class together, I can tell you the ratio of women to men is probably two-to-one. Some nights it’s three-to-one. One night, it was me, another guy, and 30 women. Those numbers would certainly appeal to single straight men, but it translates into a long line for women waiting for the shower. Most nights, we just towel off, change back into our regular clothes, and take a real shower back home.

What that extra towel is good for is insulating your water. Like 90 degree water? Leave your towel in the locker room. Like reasonably cold water when you’re in a sweatbox? Thought so. (And yes, it only took me a year to realize I should do this.)

Usually I’d lean on one of three towels—some cheap ones Margo picked up somewhere along the way. But with the 30 Day Challenge, I need at least five, and I’m loathe to use our nice white towels from home, because that towel is going into a plastic bag with a nasty pair of shorts. Those other two towels I use? Spider-Man beach towels.

That’s right. I’m rocking the Web-slinger at yoga. At first, I felt sheepish about it. I love Spider-Man. Don’t get me wrong. He was my favorite superhero growing up. I still look back fondly on the John Romita Sr. era of the comic book, and the all-too brief run of Gil Kane that followed. (It wasn’t until I grew up that I started to like Steve Ditko.) Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends was must-see TV on my Saturday mornings, and as goofy and poorly done as it was, I always watched CBS’ Spider-Man live action show whenever it was on, which I’m surprised to discover now wasn’t often—just 11 one hour episodes bookended by a pair of two-hour broadcasts. Which isn’t surprising, because I can’t remember any actual super-villains, and Nicholas Hammond was an awful Peter Parker. You can imagine how bad it was if I hated it as a ten year old. But that didn’t stop me from watching it.

The thing that baffles me: how did we end up with two Spider-Man beach towels? I know we got the first one—Spidey swinging right into your kisser, in the style of Romita—in Savannah on vacation, because we planned to go to one of the beaches and hadn’t packed accordingly. But the second towel, which cops the image from the Spider-Man 3 poster? I have no idea when, where or why we bought it. We must have forgotten we were going to a beach that time too. I didn’t even bother seeing the third Spider-Man movie. My fanboy days are long behind me. But I still have a soft spot for the ol' web slinger.

Day 24: Camel (Ustrasana)

2010-11-17T20:30:00.003-05:00

There’s a pet phrase of Bikram’s, which is that there’s always a deeper and farther in every posture. The wall you pushed back today will still be there tomorrow, only it’s a quarter inch further away when you get to it.

The phrase has a bit more resonance now, with a week to go, because—while I try to set aside expectations—I thought I’d be further along in certain respects now than I actually am. In effect, I thought this would get easier. It’s done the exact opposite. It’s gotten harder.

It makes sense when I think about it. I expected a progression like this: at a certain point, I wouldn’t crack and need to take a rest. I’d reach a certain point of fitness and discipline, and as a result I’d do every posture, every day. What’s actually happened is that I’ve gotten better at the first three postures—even my nemesis, Half-Moon—and start tiring out around Standing Bow, a third of the way through class.

Which reminds me of what my man Bob Mould once said: “Expectations mean you really think you know what’s coming next, and you don’t.” And as I find myself going deeper and farther in the first 20 minutes of class, the wall I thought I was pushing back—the one I often ran into halfway through class—is getting closer. That’s not a complaint, just an observation—I’ll take progress where I can get it. I think the progression in this one area more than outweighs the regression in another. It just goes to show what happens when you expect a particular outcome. You often get a completely different one, and you’re left going, “Huh.”

Day 23: Half-Tortoise

2010-11-16T20:30:00.006-05:00

True story. One Saturday morning six months ago, Margo and I take a Bikram class at the Harvard studio. It’s being taught by one of the studio’s co-owners, Brad.

We kill ourselves for the first two-thirds of class, then hit the floor for our two minute break, aka Savasana, aka the very appropriately named Dead Body Pose. Everyone’s head is pointing towards the small dais where Brad and all the instructors operate.

Someone has dropped in from Manchester, NH. She’s doing a 60 day challenge. 60 days! Great Caesar’s Ghost! Our friend Caroline later did a 60 day challenge, and I joked, “Hey, I’ve done a three day challenge.” Anything in double digits, much less encompassing a whole month, was unthinkable.

Brad starts chatting during Savasana. “So, you’re here from New Hampshire. Nice work, doing the 60 day challenge. I remember when I lived in Keene, New Hampshire. I had to drive two hours to take a Bikram class.”

Wait wait wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute. Keene? You’re kidding me, right?

I shift my head to look up at Brad. Keep in mind: I’m covered in sweat, red-faced, and wearing only running shorts. (I know, I know: not while I’m eating dinner. I’m just trying to paint the picture.) And while I’m a noted loud-mouth, I almost never say anything during class. It's a cardinal rule of the room, that you take a vow of silence the moment the teacher starts talking. In eighteen months, I might have spoken the equivalent of an average-sized paragraph. So it takes a lot to get me to speak up in the hot room.

I manage to haltingly spit out, “Brad… that’s… my hometown.” And Brad replies, “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Scott.”

It turns out he moved from Michigan to Keene in the 70s. His folks still live there, only a few miles from where my mom has lived for almost 40 years. I’m guessing he graduated sometime between when my brother Dale went to Keene High (class of 1980) and when I attended (class of 1987). He took copious grief when he landed in Keene for being what the locals called “a goddamn flatlandah.” In fact, we now greet each other in cod-New Hampshire accents, saying “Jesum Crow” and “Were you born in a bahn?” Seriously—of all the hot rooms in all the towns in the entire U.S., and I end up in the one being run by someone I probably walked by once in a blue moon in my little hometown 30 years ago? Unbelievable.

Day 22: Fixed Firm (Supta-Vajrasana)

2010-11-15T19:40:00.000-05:00

Courtesy Oh My Bikram. Originally from the now defunct Bikram Yoga on the Hill in Boulder, Colorado.

He's not Yogi Berra, but Bikram Choudhury definitely has a few interesting turns of phrase. Try slipping one of these Bikramisms into your conversation today.

“No room for light or air… you’re a 1) Japanese ham sandwich… 2) a Foreman Grill… 3) a Panini Press… 4) a fruit roll-up… 5) a grilled cheese sandwich.” In fact, just tell people you’re having a Japanese ham sandwich for lunch and see what happens.

“Pulling is the object of stretching.”

“Slowly, gently, push the knees back as hard as you can.” (Um, okay.)

“Lock the knee! Lock the knee! Lock the knee!” (Most effective when spoken three times in row. In fact, I had an odd experience on the Orange Line last week when the train operator intoned, “Watch the doors! Watch the doors! Watch the doors!” I thought my class was starting. On the train. Yes, I need this to be over soon.)

“Stomach stomach stomach!” (Apparently it’s not just celebrity deaths that come in threes.)

“If the knee isn’t locked, the posture hasn’t started yet.”

“Identify right from left. Don’t get them mixed up.”

“Kick up kick up kick up! The harder you kick, you can balance forever.”

“T as in Tom, not a broken umbrella!”

“English Bulldog determination. Bengal Tiger strength.”

And just because it’s the year 2010, Bikramisms has its own Twitter account. No, really.

And since I mentioned Yogi at the start, I'll leave you with my favorite Yogi quote: "When you come to a fork in the road, take it."

Day 21: Bow (Dhanurasana)

2010-11-14T19:00:00.001-05:00

There is hot yoga, and then there is Hot Yoga, and Bikram’s regimen is clearly the latter. The extreme heat (really, the combinations of extreme heat and high humidity) is the fulcrum of the practice, but also its most divisive point. There are people who feel 105 degrees veers from the hot into the potentially dangerous.

I’ve been felled by the heat. Frequently. I’ve seen extremely fit looking people knocked flat by it. (I'm not talking about passing out, but being stopped in your tracks.) The hot room imposes conditions that the fittest athletes would struggle with. But as Wee Willie Shakespeare said those many moons ago, “Though this be madness, yet there be method in it.”

Bikram describes the process as akin to shaping a sword. You don’t take a cold piece of metal and start hammering it. You heat the metal up until it’s malleable, then you take the hammer to it. In this case, your body is the metal, the hot room is the forge, and the dialogue and your ability to act on it is the hammer.

Could you potentially pull or tear something by going too far? No—provided you do the postures the right way.

And there’s the catch. The right way is essentially, “buyer beware.” Bikram thrusts the responsibility on you, the practitioner. You better be listening with all three ears and doing exactly what the teacher tells you to do. If you get hurt, it means you weren’t following along closely enough. None of this reflects on the expert guidance and teaching of the Boston Bikram instructors. It’s simply the Bikram way. But it’s good to know that before you walk into the torture chamber.

Because of the extreme conditions and the fact I’m not what you’d call a natural athlete, I probably entered the hot room the first time in a state of extreme caution. Likewise, every teacher will tell you when you start to do what you can, take breaks when you need to, and watch what the experienced students are doing.

Trust me, there have been days where I thought the hot room was a Mac truck, and I was a fly on its windshield. During the 30 day challenge, I’ve had a rotating set of aches and pains. One days, it was a little soreness in my Achilles; for two days, a rib cage muscle that didn’t seem to be quite in its normal place; and off and on, little aches in the back, knees, shoulders and ankles.

In every case, I do what I can with what I have that day. I strive to follow the dialogue as closely as I can and come as close to doing the poses the right way as I’m able. Ultimately, responsibility for my practice and well-being fall on me, and that’s a good thing. But keep that caveat emptor in the back of your mind should you ever decide to try out Bikram’s yoga. When you enter the hot room, you’re taking your body for a test run in an extreme environment. Drive carefully.

Day 20: Full Locust Pose (Poorna-Salabhasana)

2010-11-13T17:30:00.001-05:00

The hot room is a shared experience, like riding the bus. You see many of the same people there each day, and you suffer through the circumstances, be it high humidity or a traffic snarl at the BU bridge. And, like a crowded bus, when the hot room is full, there are little negotiations of space that need to happen from time to time.

Full locust is the most pronounced of these negotiations, because the pose calls for you to initially spread your arms out straight from the shoulder across the floor. That's not possible when it's a full room and there's a student within six inches on either side of you. The teachers tell you, "Hey, it's a chance to get to know your neighbor," but the truth is, most of us don't want to touch strangers, much less extremely sweaty strangers.

As I've gotten further into the 30 Day Challenge, I've taken a more casual attitude. Yes, I'll try to give my neighbors a respectful space, but you know what? I've been doing this for nearly three weeks straight. I don't have cooties, and neither do you. So if my arm touches your arm, I'm not going to freak out about it.

The funniest case of this was earlier this year, when Margo and I were visiting friends in New York. I went to a studio in Harlem, and when we did this pose, our teacher basically ordered us to get our arms out straight, despite the three inch gaps between students. "Pretend you're flying, like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing," he said. My arms were at my fellow students' throats. I felt more like Swayze in Road House.

Day 19: Locust (Salabhasana)

2010-11-12T20:30:00.000-05:00

File under: Yoga Pose or Unfortunate Accident? Either young Bikram is demonstrating the Locust, or he's missed the pool by a few feet.

Day 18: Cobra (Bhujangasana)

2010-11-11T20:55:00.000-05:00

There are streaks, and then there are streaks. 30 consecutive days in the hot room? Not bad, but not unique either. My rough count is that at least 75 people are attempting the 30 Day Challenge.

60 days? A good deal more impressive. 100 days? Dan, one of the teachers at the studio did it last year—twice. Then again, teacher training involves nine weeks of taking two classes a day, five days a week, and a Saturday morning class before getting Sunday off. That’s 99 classes in 63 days. Not that it’s less of an achievement, but if you’ve been through the training, I’m guessing 100 days will probably not intimidate you.

When we think of streaks, certainly there’s Dimaggio’s 57. There’s Cal Ripken and Brett Favre’s iron man streaks in baseball and football. But the most impressive individual streak I know of: Ed Hamell’s Song-a-Day in 2010.

Hamell, best known by his nom-de-guerre of Hamell on Trial, is a punk-folk dynamo, what you’d likely get if you dropped Howlin’ Wolf, Woody Guthrie and Bill Hicks in a super-collider. His guitar should read, “This Machine Kills Assholes.” He’s a must-see live performer; he gives you 90 minutes of high energy punk on a beat-up 1937 Gibson acoustic, broken up by hilariously coarse jokes and stories. He’s the complete package. Of course, I’ve never seen him play for a crowd bigger than 30 people—a shame for him, because he’s great and ought to be heard by many more people, but a good deal for those of us who can actually enjoy him up close and personal, and even occasionally get heckled him for going to the bathroom—which is exactly what he did to me at the Tin Angel in Philly in 2006.

His Song-a-Day actually started as 30 songs in 30 days. He decided to present about fifteen more polished songs he’d been working on before going back to his one-a-day routine. He explains the whole concept more lucidly and humorously than I can. Go ahead, click the link—Hamell always gets the final word anyway. If he comes to your town, make time to go see him. You might think I’m using hyperbole, but when you see him, you’ll probably think it was more like understatement.

Day 17: The Sit-Up

2010-11-10T20:30:00.001-05:00

Courtesy Bikram Yoga at the Sweatbox in Seattle.

A sit-up? Yes, indeed. But not just any sit-up. A yoga sit-up.

Cue Mo Rocca: “Little did I know I had walked into a firestorm of controversy. Should I sit up slowly or quickly? When should I exhale? Should I keep my back straight? Should I touch my forehead to my knees—assuming I was even capable of such a thing? Is it possible the man they call Bikram is teaching a sit-up that could endanger the well-being of his students?!?”

Okay—it’s not a firestorm of controversy. It’s a half-dozen people on the Hot Yoga Doctor forum, a page I stumbled across while looking for a picture of the sit-up. And it's an excuse to a) make a Mo Rocca reference and b) post a vintage R.E.M. live clip. Enjoy.

Day 16: Wind-Removing Pose (Pavanamuktasana)

2010-11-09T20:30:00.001-05:00

You have to love a yoga pose that actually promises to curtail your farting. As Spinal Tap would say, "Is this a promise we keep/Or one we Break Like The Wind?"

Day 15: Dead Body (Savasana)

2010-11-08T20:30:00.004-05:00

We’ve hit the halfway point of the 30 Day Challenge. If this were a Bikram class, we’d actually be roughly two-thirds of the way home. Of course, if this were a Bikram class, I’d also get to rest.

They do not call it the Torture Chamber for nothing. In my lifetime, I’ve only heard one other thing referred to in such a manner, and that’s the utterly unique and devastating low post game of Celtics great Kevin McHale.

It’s strange now, nearly 25 years after McHale’s peak, to realize that the Kevin McHale on Glee is more famous than the Hall of Fame basketball player. But in a way, it’s appropriate. McHale spent his career in the shadow of one of the all-time greats, Larry Bird. He had a Hall of Fame game—a devastating slate of low post moves on one end, and a totally disruptive defensive ability at the other—but the demeanor of a second banana. Bird always felt McHale could be the best player in the league, and it killed him that McHale didn’t care enough to accomplish. But that’s exactly why Bird was Bird—he had to be the best. McHale loved the game, but for him it was fun. He was as quick with a post-game quip as he was with an up-and-under scoop shot at the rim.

McHale may have finally found his post-career stride as an insightful and funny commentator on TNT’s NBA broadcasts. No one would have foreseen that in 2004, when the skinny project McHale drafted in 1995, Kevin Garnett, won the MVP and sparked a veteran Timberwolves to a conference finals appearance. But that was as good as it got for McHale in Minnesota, and contract disputes, mediocre draft picks, and the eventual trade of Garnett to Boston sealed his fate.

Watching the clip below of McHale’s vintage moves—head and shoulder fakes, dip-ins, duck-unders and fadeaway pumpkins—one thing is clear. If you game me NBA size, All-Star ability, and a time machine, I would rather still spend three hours each day for a month in Bikram’s torture chamber than to spend half that time in McHale’s torture chamber.

Day 14: Toe Stand (Padangustasana)

2010-11-07T19:20:00.000-05:00

With an eye towards the most difficult and advanced pose in the series, I have to confide what the toughest part of this challenge is: writing every day.

It’s not that the yoga isn’t difficult. It’s just that the first and main thing I have to do each day is show up. Once I’m at the studio, what else am I going to do? Play pinochle? Besides, the 30 Day Challenge is about spending the 90 minutes in the hot room every day. Your success is measured by showing up and putting in your time. No one’s getting a medal for doing every single posture in every single class. Nobody’s keeping score. Make it to 30 classes in 30 days and your teachers and peers will acknowledge your consistency, discipline and perseverance. No one will say, “But Scott, you really only did Camel pose about a third of the time. Tsk tsk.” Spend the time and put forth your best, most honest effort over the 30 days. That’s all anyone can ask.

The blog? That’s the toughest part. (Yes, I know, world’s smallest violin and all that jazz. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. Or Arlington, for that matter.) I find having to write something new every day to be a bigger mental challenge than talking myself into the next posture in an especially difficult room. Part of the problem is that if I wrote about the actual classes, the resulting posts would all look like this:

“See Scott. See Scott do Eagle pose. See Scott fall out of Eagle pose. See Scott sweat like a Peruvian rainforest.”

So that’s why the yoga talk gets mixed with Bill Shatner and the metaphysical and Neil Young. That’s why you may yet hear an MP3 of me demonstrating what a Bikram class would be like if Sean Connery taught it. “Push your hipsh forward, Goldfingah. That’sh what your mother did lasht night when I ‘ad her.”

So in a way, getting a post up every day is a bigger challenge than entering the hot room. For 90 minutes each class, I’m encouraged to banish all thought, bringing me closer to much of the American electorate. When I sit down at the keyboard, it’s all blank screen and what the hell am I going to say?

In the end, I think of this blog as Mentalmucil. I’m trying to get regular in my writing and thinking. Of course, it would be nice if the end product doesn't resemble the normal byproduct of what we call regularity.

____________________________________________________________
Today marks the conclusion of the first two weeks of the challenge. A little Grizzly Bear to celebrate?

Day 13: Tree (Tadasana)

2010-11-06T13:33:00.000-04:00

Dear reader, I’m about to explain a part of the Bikram Yoga 30 Day Challenge that may require you to first sit down, hold the nearest hat, and wear a disposable diaper. Feel free to do those things in whatever order makes most sense for you. The thing I’m about to explain is the double.

No, not a two-base hit. Not two shots of Jamesons. Not even a doppelganger. The double is something you do when you miss (or expect to miss) a day during the 30 Day Challenge.

You’ve probably guessed it. It’s two classes in the same day.

That’s right. Three hours of 105 degrees, 40% humidity, and a 100% chance of suffering. Three hours of stretching, compressing, balancing, bending, twisting, grunting, groaning, inhaling, exhaling, and sweating like you’re a perspiration waterfall.

But wait, there’s more! Based on what I’ve heard and seen in the last week, the majority of people who have to do a double—and I’m pretty sure none of them do a double for the hell of it—the consensus is: do your double in back-to-back classes. This really surprised me. I thought most people would want to take a rest and come back again.

On a weekend you could do back-to-back classes, but depending on the time of day you could catch an hour’s break between the end of Class #1 and Class #2. It’s not something that appeals to me, and I’ve always felt if I had to do a double to keep pace, I’d do the earliest possible class on a weekend, and then come back for the latest possible class that day. But it’s the Bikram version of “do I peel the band-aid off slowly, or just rip it off?” Granted, doing back-to-back classes means you spend four hours (including the break) ripping off the bandage, but maybe people feel like it’s more painful to make two trips when you could do it in one prolonged sitting.

Then there was what happened on Monday: a handful of people fled the room at the end of the 4:30 session to run to the upstairs studio to do the 6 o’clock class. They did three straight hours of 105 degree yoga without a break. Holy humidity, Batman.

I’m sure everyone survived their three straight hours in the torture chamber. I would guess almost all the people who went immediately from one class to the next had done a double before, and likely had done it with back-to-back classes. So we’re not talking about rookies here, but experienced practitioners.

All I know is, there were only two ways I could stare down 30 straight days of Bikram Yoga: the second is something I’ll write about later, but the first was to plan my life around it. That meant occasionally leaving work a little early to catch the 4:30 class instead of the 6, so I wouldn’t get home at 9 o’clock every weeknight. It also meant taking a couple of days off of work in the middle of the challenge, so I could have a long weekend where my only commitment each day was the 90 minutes in the hot room, and the time spent getting to and returning from there. They key to that plan: one, and only one, class per day.

I have nothing but admiration for anyone who does a double. Perhaps the impressive double I know of was accomplished by our friend Caroline: not because she did back-to-back classes (which she did), but because she did her double a week and a half before she knew she was going to miss a day. She wasn’t doing a make-good; she was paying that double forward. To her and anyone who has the wherewithal to do that,or the double in any form or configuration, I can offer only an awe-induced “Namaste.”

Day 12: Standing Separate Leg Stretching (Dandayamana-Bibhaktapada-Janushirasana)

2010-11-05T20:30:00.000-04:00

Courtesy Bikram Yoga Tempe.

When I mention that I do this yoga in a really hot, humid room, and especially when I say I’m doing a class a day every day for 30 days, I get funny looks. Double-takes. Even head shaking. Which I understand. 105 degrees, 40% humidity, 90 minutes… sounds crazy.

People fixate on the heat. Oh my God, 105 degrees! I’m here to tell you, the heat will not get you. You have nothing to fear from the heat. At least, not by itself.

No, you need to fear the humidity.

I realize that doesn’t exactly jump out as a catchy movie poster tag line. “On August 6^th… Fear… the humidity.” (The film: Dead Sweat. Bruckheimer and Bay will be all over this, trust me.) It’s easy to look at the 105 and say, “Sweet Mother of God. It almost never hits 105 in the summer in Boston. And you walk into that every day for an hour and a half?” But 40% humidity is an abstraction. In fact, 40% humidity in your home is fine, if you like to keep your home at a sane temperature like 70 degrees. At 105, it’s another story. The air feels thick, and after a while you may feel like you’re inhaling cotton instead of oxygen. But people focus on the heat—not just people who hear about Bikram Yoga, but people who practice it.

As Bill Clinton might say, “It’s the humidity, stupid.”

It’s really when the air gets thick that you’re likely to crack. I’ve been practicing for 18 months, and it’s only very recently—like the last week—that I’ve started to consistently power through when it gets a little suffocating.

The timing is no coincidence. During class #10, I hit one of those moments on the floor, where I’m on my back and I don’t feel like getting up. It’s humid, I’m breathing ash, I could just lie here and wait out the last 20 minutes of class. A week before, I’d have thought, “Screw it, I don’t feel like doing it.” Wednesday night I thought, “I don’t feel like doing this. Screw it, I’ll do it,” and got up and did it and finished the class.

You get acclimated to that environment. And when I say “acclimated,” I’m not talking about your body. It’s your mind that’s saying, “Screw it.” Where your mind goes, your body will follow. Your mind says, “I like it here on the floor,” that’s where you’re body is saying. “You’re body says, “Sit up and do this pose,” your body does that.

It’s the opposite of what the great cyclist Jens Voigt says, but it’s really the same thing at the end of the day:

In that spirit, let's end this with a look at the back of this Jens-themed T-shirt:

Courtesy Stomach of Anger, which also sells this T.

Day 11: Triangle (Trikanasana)

2010-11-04T20:30:00.003-04:00

Triangle is like Neil Young’s Cortez: “What a killer, what a killer.” And like the very many versions of that song, it seems like it goes on for a very long time. The difference: “Cortez the Killer” really does go on for a long time, and that’s a good thing; Triangle just feels that way. It’s the peak of the standing series, because it makes tremendous demands on your heart and lungs (not to mention your legs).It does not come dancing across the water; it comes right up to you and kicks your ass.

Day 10: Separate Leg Stretching (Dandayamana-Bibhaktapada-Paschimotthanasana)

2010-11-03T20:30:00.239-04:00

One of the joys of music-making is getting lost in sound. With digital recording, even the hobbyist has access to an amazing palette of sonic possibilities. As someone who isn't a pro but probably cares a bit too much to be described as a hobbyist, it's been an exhilarating experience for me to travel through strange new sounds, seeking out new songs, foolishly going where many have gone before.

The best parts are the "Aha!" moments--times where you dial in a sound and realize you're creating something new, at least in relation to what you've done before. When I started the piece below, I played around with a riff in my favorite plug-in--IK Multimedia's Amplitube--dropping the pitch a full octave and layering all kinds of nasty distortion on it. The different sections are all very simple chord progressions--something about that deep, crunchy guitar called for really basic chords--and for some reason the combination of the sound and the chords resulted in me creating a structure that was eight minutes long.

Good lord. I hope I can make something out of this.

I started piling on guitars. This is my solution for many things when I'm recording: addition by addition. Pretty soon it was clear I was building a guitar symphony. In the spirit of experimentation, I added the foundation--the bass and programmed drums--last. (Actually, it was in the spirit of laziness. I left the grunt work for later.) Eventually I decided this mini-symphony needed an actual orchestra section--brass--and bought IK's Miroslav Philharmonik for that purpose. For the time being, I nicknamed the song"Bloody Spill"--a nod to the cool connecting pieces between the songs on My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, and the beautifully layered guitar parts of Built to Spill, especially on the transcendent "Carry the Zero."

Before I wrote what I eventually called "Why Only Six?" (no special meaning--I just liked how it sounded), creating something that sounded borderline epic, that could sustain its length and not overstay its welcome, wasn't in my eye-line. Not that I hadn't written songs as long (or almost) or that I hadn't tried to write something epic. I just hadn't gotten all the way there before. The target was too far off in the distance. "Why Only Six?" put the target right in front of my face, close enough to head butt.

Separate Leg Stretching was my Bikram Yoga "Aha!" pose. The picture above? It's not a quick little pop song you bang out in fifteen minutes. It's a mini-symphony. When you get into the pose, the Bikram dialogue goes something like: "First, your legs will stretch. Then your hips will stretch. Then your back will stretch. then your neck will stretch." Your arms don't stretch, but that's just because your fingers are under your feet, and you're pulling like hell on them. During my first classes, I would see people touch their heads to their mats and think, "I'm never going to do that. No way."

Six months later, I did it.

Like "Why Only Six?", it was a process of discovery, only it went in the proper order. First, the foundation: the legs. It was a long time before I could take separate my feet far enough to do the posture adequately. I had my hands under my feet, but it was weeks before I realized that the teacher's command to "pull on your heels" meant I should, you know, actually pull on my heels. From there, my back started extending, and I realized I could stretch my neck a little, and suddenly, holy crap! That's the floor! Two inches from my eyeballs!

And just like that, after hearing what my teachers were saying, after making incremental gains--a quarter inch here, a half inch there--I brushed my forehead against the mat. And at that precise moment, the brass section kicked in and carried me through to the end.

Why Only Six? by scottbishop

Day 9: Balancing Stick (Tuladandasana)

2010-11-03T15:35:00.001-04:00

This posture is only ten seconds. If you're too late, it's over. In other news, I can now only talk in Bikram-speak.

There's only one letter... between "short pose" and "short post."

Bitter Getting Better by The Black Watch by scottbishop

Thanks to my dear friend Mike McNulty, who turned me on to The Black Watch, just one of many bands he's hipped me to over the years.

Day 8: Standing Bow Pulling (Dandayamana-Dhanurasana)

2010-11-01T20:30:00.000-04:00

Back to Bikram Yoga Tempe for this one. Let's just say the picture on Bikram doing this posture didn't communicate how the posture should look.

I didn’t know where I’d be at this juncture, or any other, in the 30 Day Challenge. I certainly didn’t think I’d be feeling refreshed and invigorated like I do now. It’s really kind of embarrassing, because I feel like I’m schilling for Bikram: “I feel more confident, more energized… and my hair is fuller.” (Apologies to my friend Danny for riffing an old joke of his.)

You see, Bikram likes his bling. He likes his money, his Rolls Royces, his Yoga Gangstah suits. He likes his big mansion. He clearly likes adulation and attention. He’s a name dropper of the highest order. (His favorites: Richard Nixon, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and John McEnroe.) And if you thought Bono had a messiah complex, you need to read one of Bikram’s books or see him in action. To hear Bikram speak of it, his yoga is the one and only way to health, well-being and happiness. His ego is monumental. Try this quote from the now-defunct Business 2.0 magazine: "I have balls like atom bombs, two of them, 201 megatons each. Nobody fucks with me." Is this a yogi, or Muhammad Ali?

At this point you have two choices: drop the program because you find its creator's persona and behavior unctuous; or accept that there's a clear distinction between the man and his work. For example, Kobe Bryant doesn’t cut a likeable figure. Many feel he’s arrogant; he’s childish; he plays for himself and only infrequently for the good of his team; he drove Shaq out of town; and then there was that incident in a Colorado hotel room you may have heard about. The reality is, Lakers fans (and people who simply admire the way Kobe plays) will ignore any and all of those issues, if they even agree that they’re issues, because Kobe is an all-time great player, an assassin on the court, and the owner of five championship rings, including the last two NBA titles. In the realm of athletics, it’s usually not about who are you are, but about what you can do.

So it often is with art, literature, film, music, and now, even yoga. Whether you subscribe to Mr. Choudhury’s regimen—and there are many who argue that it’s too extreme, too rigid in its consistency and control over the practicing environment, and that it lacks the component of spirituality that’s supposed to be essential to yoga—it’s benefited countless people, my wife and me among them. Often, criticisms of the practice yield to more personal objections to Bikram as a guru and public figure—to his ego, his materialism, and the forceful way he enforces his rights to the intellectual property he’s created in his sequence of 24 postures and two breathing exercises. The fact that “copyright” and “yoga” can exist in agreement with one another in a sentence is a truly abhorrent thing to many in the yoga community. But as of 2003, it has legal standing, at least as it pertains to Bikram's program.

Certainly, I understand and in many cases sympathize with these concerns. But if I had to like everyone who created, molded, or accomplished something that was important to me, I’d be crossing a lot of things I cherish off my list—from the works of Rembrandt (had his mistress committed to an asylum to save his claim on his late wife’s inheritance—and enlisted the woman’s brother to help!) to Dylan (his poor treatment of Phil Ochs and many others) to Curt Schilling’s stint with the Red Sox (let’s just say that his political and religious views don’t gibe with mine).

Yes, there may be artists, musicians and athletes I’m a little more predisposed to like because they actually seem, well, nice. But unless we’re looking at utterly unforgivable and irredeemable behavior, I savor the work, and try as best I can to separate it from the person who made it. (In the case of Rembrandt, having his mistress sent to an asylum qualifies as “utterly unforgivable and irredeemable,” and it still doesn’t knock him off my list.) We often hope creator and creation will embody the same ideals, only to discover the work possesses virtues that otherwise seem absent in its originator.

Perhaps the best approach would be to follow the words of the baseball writer Roger Angell, and say, "They are what they do." In an age of incessant media coverage, where we know more about Brett Favre's texting habits than anyone not named Brett Favre reasonably should, that's easier said than done.

Day 7: Standing Head to Knee (Dandayamana-Janushirasana)

2010-10-31T18:00:00.008-04:00

I'm ready
I'm ready for the laughing gas
I'm ready
I'm ready for what's next

--U2, "Zoo Station"

My friend Rod is a Buddhist who runs a web site called The Worst Horse. It deals with the intersection where pop-culture and Buddhism meet. It’s a very cool site, very much worth some of your time each day.

Rod explains the idea of The Worst Horse, which comes from Shunryu Suzuki’s Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind:

[Suzuki Roshi writes,] "The best horse will run slow and fast, right and left, at the driver's will, before it sees the shadow of the whip; the second best will run as well as the first one does, just before the whip reaches its skin; the third one will run when it feels pain on its body; the fourth will run after the pain penetrates to the marrow of its bones. You can imagine how difficult it is for the fourth one to learn how to run!"

Suzuki Roshi goes on to say that, when it comes to Buddhist practice, it may not be such a bad thing to be "the worst horse." After all, the best horses have the least to gain: they're already the best. The so-called worst horses, on the other hand, will undergo the most transformation, the most improvement, if they stick with it: "In your very imperfections you will find the basis for your firm, way-seeking mind… So I think that sometimes the best horse may be the worst horse, and the worst horse can be the best one."

Rod continues, “Buddhism emphasizes that there's only NOW, that the way to more complete living is to earnestly face our reality.” It’s a point our Bikram teachers make in their own way. Let go of what just happened. Don’t look to what’s ahead. Just perform the task in front of you. Your breath and this moment are all you have.

When I started Bikram Yoga 18 months ago, I was usually the worst horse in class. In Standing Head to Knee, I would reach down, briefly grab my foot, hopscotch a bit, lose my balance and have to start over again. In those early days, the idea of keeping the standing leg locked, much less kicking out my free leg, seemed like a fantasy more than a goal that I could realistically attain.

This is where I'm at most days. Courtesy Bikram Yoga Portsmouth.

But as I moved into my practice, listened to my teachers and concentrated on the now, I found myself less and less thinking about that. It wasn’t important that I kick my leg out, or that I get my standing leg locked. It was important to simply try and do the thing in front of me, whatever it was—not to do the posture, but the first piece of the posture. Then the second, and so on. To worry about locking my leg before I had a grip on my foot was to remove myself from the moment and place myself in the future.

Beyond allowing me to concentrate on what I needed to do right then, being in the now meant letting go of the frustration of what I wasn’t yet able to do. It meant letting going of the elation of what I just accomplished. That’s over; there’s no time to exult in it. There’s another moment in front of me right now.

I don't mean to talk smack on Bikram, but this is how it's really done.

I also had to try and let go of expectations. I expected a linear progression in my practice: if I go to class three days in a row, I should be better on the third day than I was on the first day. But learning often doesn’t yield a steady improvement. It can be a series of fits and starts. Lessons may take days, weeks, months, even years to stick. The thing you did well yesterday may be a weakness today, and vice versa.

There have been days in Standing Head to Knee where I could not only lock the standing knee, but kick out out my other leg for a few brief moments; and there have been days when the only battle I could fight was to stay balanced for a few seconds. Some days I'm the worst horse; some days I'm better than that; some days I'm closer to being a good horse than I ever thought I'd be. But when I leave the room, I hit the reset button. I'm just another horse, not best, not worst, not middling.

I enter the hot room as free of expectation, as empty of thought as possible, ready to hear the next instruction, to do the next thing in front of me. I try to bring that state of mind out of my practice and into the world, where I don’t have a teacher’s voice in my ear. I try to wait. I try to see the thing in front of me, not what it was the moment before, not what I hope it will be after. I try to do whatever is next.

Day 6: Party Time

2010-10-30T18:00:00.001-04:00

Awright, it’s Saturday! Time to party! Time to get wasted! Time to—have a quick sip of water? And hope the teacher opens the doors? And stop killing yourself for 30 seconds before… going back to killing yourself?

Welcome to Party Time, Bikram-style. No disco balls, no loud music, no bar staff, no beers, no shots. You’re semi-naked, sweating, in a room full of people who are also semi-naked. You will not chat anyone up, offeri to buy them a drink, or hoping to score a phone number or an e-mail (or better). You will drink your water and return to your standing position (feet on the black line, toes and heels touching nicely, standing up straight with your arms hanging by your side, your shoulders relaxed, your gaze straight ahead into the mirror). You will wait for instructions on the next posture, Standing Head to Knee. You will spend the next hour plus killing yourself some more.

At 30 seconds, maybe a minute, it’s the shortest party you’ll ever go to.

Day 5: Eagle (Garurasana)

2010-10-29T20:30:00.008-04:00

My legs are bent. I’m hunched over, my stomach pulled in. I’m pulling my arms downward, tensing my shoulders. I’m looking ahead, my eyes widened.

What am I doing? Eagle pose?

No. Close. I’m doing Dandayamana Shatnerana Phaserasana—Standing Shatner Shot by Phaser Pose.

Now, if you haven’t watched the original Star Trek in a while, it may take some time for this image to come back to you. After all, the first Trek ended 40 years ago. Personally, it’s been ages since I watched an episode of the original series, but the things I remember best about Shatner from that era: his unique line readings (of course); his fight scenes (always hilariously overplayed); and Kirk getting blasted with a phaser. The best part: Shatner didn’t look like he’d been stunned so much as he realized he’d eaten a bad burrito.

Shatneresque. But what's your motivation? Courtesy Bikram Yoga Geelong.

If those early years—when Shatner had matinee good looks and a relatively trim figure—represent Act 1, then the Star Trek movies and--to a lesser degree, T.J. Hooker--were Act 2. (Don’t laugh—T.J. Hooker lasted longer than the original Trek.) It’s really in the movies that you see Shatner moving from merely hammy into self-parody, as his waistline expands, his hairline moves back and forth, while Kirk’s ability to outfight someone who’s bigger, younger and stronger remains undiminished. This period reached its peak in Star Trek: Generations, which brought Kirk and Picard together, and resulted in Shatner and Malcolm MacDowell chewing the scenery (and Shatner having an especially good time while doing it) while the entire Next Generation crew stood around, looking like they’d all just cut a solemn fart.

From there, Shatner moved to Act 3: still self-parody, but now in on the joke, and letting you know it. His guest shots on 3rd Rock from the Sun, his role as Denny Crane on The Practice, and now in his first starring sitcom role on $#*! My Dad Says all play into our conception of Shatner—he prickly, arrogant, full of himself, and he’ll say or do anything to get your attention. And we love him for it.

With his remarkable energy, it’s hard to accept that Shatner is 79. He suffered through fallow periods in the years between the end of the original Star Trek and the beginning of the Trek movies; he kept working wherever he could, even driving from town to town and sleeping his camper after a divorce left him with nothing. When supporting cast members from Star Trek derided him as self-centered, egotistical, and insensitive to their needs as performers, Shatner gave each of them a chance to state his or her case in his Star Trek Memories book; only Nichelle Nichols (Uhura) took him up on it.

Somehow, he’s become the beloved curmudgeon. He’s the man who never stops. I would bet anything that if he took a Bikram class, he would plow through it and say, “That. Was. Interesting” and try it again.

In fact, I would pay good money to hear Shatner recite the Bikram dialogue. “Now. If. The-standing-leg-isn’t-locked. The posture. Has not. Started yet.” William Shatner, Bikram Yoga teacher? It wouldn’t be the oddest role he’s played.

Kirk's reaction at Bikram Yoga: Enterprise upon being told to "breathe normal."

Day 4: Awkward Pose (Utkatasana)

2010-10-28T20:30:00.013-04:00

One of the drawbacks of doing a 30 Day Challenge and simultaneously committing to blogging about it every day is that most weeknights I'm getting home around 8:30. It's not likely I'll want to write anything at that point--not because I'm spent, because I usually leave the hot room feeling very good, but because writing and revising takes time. I don't care of two people or two hundred see this--I don't want to put up any old slop just to fill my quota.

So nearly all of these posts are prepared in advance, with perhaps a slight tweak before they go live. That was the case with last night's post, which is the first one so far to feature a picture that wasn't Bikram Choudhury. I pulled the best looking picture of Hands to Feet I could find. It just happened to be from Bikram Yoga Tempe's site.

When I walked into the studio last night, there was Brad, one of the studio's co-owner's and the person I thought would be teaching. Next to him was Reba, who explained would actually be teaching the evening class. I thought, "Well, bit of a bummer, I was looking forward to having Brad teach. But hey, someone new means a new voice, new vibe, something different. Let's do it."

So Reba walks in at the start of class, and gives her opening opening spiel: "Hi, I'm Reba, I'll be taking you through class today. I teach in Phoenix, at Bikram Yoga Tempe."

Wait a minute. I pull a picture from the Bikram Tempe site early Wednesday, and the same night our teacher is someone from that studio? There are 300 Bikram studios in the U.S., and six in Metro Boston alone. In eighteen months only once have I had a teacher at one of the Boston studio who wasn't one of the regular teachers, and he was brought in to substitute for an instructor who was gone for a month. I mean, of all the hot rooms in all the towns in all the country, I end up with a teacher from Tempe?

And it was a great class. Reba not only knows her stuff, but she's funny as hell. So are many of the Boston teachers. I assumed yoga in any form would be taught with all the solemnity of a funeral. At the least, I thought you'd be too hot and irritated and tired to laugh even if Louis C.K. was your teacher. I was wrong.

Here's how Awkward pose went: "Alright, take a deep breath, sit down like your sitting in a chair. Ladies, pretend you're using a public toilet. You're doing the hovercraft, know what I mean? Okay, now, up on your tip-top-toes. You're wearing high heels. You too, buys. You just don't want to admit it. Last one: roll forward on your knows, squeeze your knees together. You've really gotta go bad now."

And the thing is, you'd think all this wisecracking would be distracting. It's exactly the opposite. Why do athletes joke and goof off a little before a game? To release tension. The only way you're going to perform your best is by being relaxed. It's the same in the hot room. A teacher can tell you to relax your face, and you'll do it. A teacher making a funny comment or analogy will get you to relax without asking you.

And remember what I said about hearing a new voice, getting a new vibe? Before last night I was scrambling for something to write about today. One crazy coincidence, an excellent class and one very good and funny teacher later, I had everything I needed.

A little bit of housecleaning to close out day 4:

Thanks to everyone who's contributed to the Franciscan Food Center. You're helping the Friars do good work and the 300-400 people they serve every week. You're also giving me extra motivation to keep going.

If you haven't contributed and would like to, you can find out how to do so here.

And tomorrow: Eagle Pose and Bill Shatner.

Day 3: Hands to Feet (Pada-Hasthasana)

2010-10-27T21:08:00.008-04:00

Picture courtesy Bikram Yoga Tempe

Well, that’s not Bikram Choudhury.

Yep, it’s Day 3, and I don’t have a picture of Bikram doing this pose. His official web site has a picture next to Hands to Feet. Just one problem: it’s not Hands to Feet. You can see from the above that you have to be standing to do Hands to Feet. But on Bikram’s web site, he’s clearly sitting on his ass.

Lazy bastard.

There's a very simple explanation for this: somebody managing Bikram's web site dropped the ball. The photo next to Hands to Feet pose is of the very similar (but seated) Stretching pose, which is the next to last posture in the class. It could be that there's no good picture of Bikram himself doing the posture, so they subbed in the next best thing. I certainly hope that's the case.

This is a good time to mention one of the idiosyncrasies of the Bikram dialogue--the many, shall we say, interesting and colorful phrases that crop up during the class. In Half Moon you are commanded to open your chest "like flower petal blooming." In Awkward pose, you're asked to get on your tip-toes, "max-i-mum, like a ballerina." (A teacher at the Harlem said, "like your wearing stilettos--you too, boys!" Yes, there can be humor in the hot room, in case you thought it was all suffering and serious gazes.) In the balancing postures, you will be told, "Knee is like the lampost. Lock the knee. You have no knee." (As you can tell, dropped or oddly placed articles are also a mainstay of the Bikram patter.)

But the most baffling of these commands occurs during Hands to Feet, when you are told to "wrap your forearms behind your calves... press your stomach to the thighs... chest to the knees... face to the shins... [You may be getting the impression of heard this a few times.] No room for light or air, like a Japanese ham sandwich."

To this day, I am convinced it's a rite of passage for every new Bikram student to get into Hands to Feet, here that phrase, and bob their head towards the teacher ever so slightly, thinking, "What the hell is a Japanse ham sandwich?

The answer? It's something Bikram says. You know how Bikram says, "You have no knee?" Well, Mr. Choudhury, you have no sandwich. The first eight Google results are for blogs and sites related to Bikram yoga; so is the ninth, a message board that posits the idea that a Japanse ham sandwich is all ham, no bread, no cheese. Which sounds suspiciously like Scott Ian's famous baloney-in-hand sandwich--the lunch every young, poor touring band has to eat because all they can afford is the meat.

And speaking of lunch, try not to have yours within two or three hours of class. With your stomach pressed against your legs, and your torso pitched towards the floor, Hands-to-Feet can very easily turn into Lunch-to-Floor. If you think it's odd that you would undertake a regimen that routinely burns a thousand calories per session, but would restrict you from eating within a couple of hours of class, well, that's just one of Bikram Yoga's many quirks.

Day 2: Half Moon (Ardha-Chandrasana)

2010-10-26T20:30:00.007-04:00

Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!

-Shakespeare, Hamlet

If I could actually move my mouth during Half Moon pose, I’m pretty sure these words, or something like them, would crawl out of it.

I have a love-hate relationship with Half Moon Pose. I love it when I’m not doing it, and hate it when I am. Every second of it, I’m fighting to keep my arms and legs locked out, my hands together, my hips pushing out to the side, and my chin unglued from my chest (a problem even young Bikram had to deal with, judging from the picture above). Because it’s the first proper pose, designed to start warming you up, and because the form is so demanding, you’re being taxed every second.

This is not to say I’m unaware of its benefits. You get a deep stretch along the outside of your body. You demand a lot of your hear and lungs. You work your core muscles. You ask your legs to deliver a lot of power from a standing position. And you tighten and push you hips forward, which is good for, well, things where you might have to push your hips forward.

And the truth is, it’s only the side-to-side parts of Half Moon I hate. Weirdly enough, I look forward to the backward bend. Who looks forward to the backward bend? Every teacher tells you, “Your back is gonna hurt like hell. Don’t be afraid.” And I’m looking forward to it?

Yes, this is the part I look forward to. In case you were still wondering if I was crazy.

Probably because the first two parts of Half Moon are Robitussin. It’s the medicine you take at the beginning that lets you start working your way through the nooks and crannies of your body. The backward bend is at least designed to offset all the hunching over you do at your desk each day, and it makes demands on my weakest point, balance, which I very much want to improve.

Or maybe Half Moon is like Kobe Bryant; I don’t like it, but I know how good it is, and I have grudging respect for it. But like Kobe, I’m not sad to see the back of it. (Though, come to think of it, I have to say I like Half Moon pose a lot more than ol’ #24. Posture #2 and I may yet warm to each other.)

Day 1: Pranayama (Standing Deep Breathing)

2010-10-25T20:02:00.006-04:00

Let’s begin the proper blogging of the 30 Day Challenge with a little ditty, shall we? This song (by the fictitious Fixed Firm Five) was a going away present for one of our teachers, Shannon, who has moved on to a Bikram studio in (no joke) New Zealand.

During one of the last classes Margo and I took with Shannon, we were all resting on our mats between floor poses, recovering in the face down version of Savasana, Dead Body Pose. Shannon said, “I was watching Little Shop of Horrors the other night, and I thought to myself, ‘I really should have been a doo wop girl. Hey, maybe I’ll sing my last class as a doo wop song.’ At which point, I lifted my head off the towel and shot her a “Whatchew talkin’ ‘bout, Shannon?” look, and she started laughing. “Scott just gave me a funny look! Ha ha ha!”

After class, I said, “Watch out. I’m writing that doo wop song. I know who’s going to sing it, too. Johnny Shirasana.”

(For the uninitiated, Janushirasana is the Sanskrit name for Head to Knee pose. But the moment I heard a teacher say it, I thought, “Johnny Shirasana. Sounds like a singer. That’s gotta be a fake band name.” The fake band name—and subsequent matching song title—was a tradition that started between me and my dear friend Erich Groat in 2004, and while it’s abated, we exchange the occasional fake band e-mail, sending each other a dozen or so band names and song titles. The list is nearing 2,500 names. And yes—there are actually some real written and recorded songs as further evidence of how bent we are. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.)

On the way back to our van I told Margo, “I’ve got an idea,” opened up my iPhone recording app, and sung, “Pranayama… mama… doopeedoopeedoo…” There was no way I was losing a song idea. And I had a deadline, too—Shannon’s last class was two weeks away.

Over the next few days, I hashed over chords, dropped the song into a key I could reasonably sing it in—the original key would have been great for a doo wop tenor, but not much for my “good half octave,” as Richard Thompson once described his own vocal range—and scribbled out a few words. I’d been out late the night before, and any time I find myself in a bar, drinking beer and yakking hard for a few hours, my voice the next day resembles a croaking toad. That was the voice I had to work with while recording this. It took a few hours to get my voice to the point where I could belt out the lyrics, so the result is less of a croon and more of a shout, but it gets the song across.

And just because I’m anal-retentive, the backing vocals are singing the Sanskrit names of all the postures, save the two breathing exercises named in the first and last verses. I present to you that great lost Yoga Doo Wop vocal group of the Fifties, The Fixed Firm Five.

Pranayama Mama by scottbishop

Feel free to download this MP3 at http://scottbishop.us/PranayamaMama.mp3

A Quick Note Before the 30 Day Challenge

2010-10-25T12:54:00.003-04:00

First and most importantly: the Bikram Yoga Boston studios will be making a donation to the Franciscan Food Center in Boston for each person who completes the challenge. At least one of the Friars is a regular member of the studio, which explains the connection. If you'd like to make a donation, please go here. More info on their fine work is here.

The next 30 days of blogging will follow the course of a Bikram class, with some liberties taking to take a 26 posture regimen and ask it to cover 30 days. Each post will start with a picture of the regimen's creator, Bikram Choudhury, performing the posture (with one notable exception, which I'll deal with when we get to it). All pictures are copyright © 2010 bikramyoga.com except as noted.

More information on Bikram Yoga can be found here. Since most of the people I've mentioned the blog to live in or around Boston, it behooves me to include a link to the Bikram Yoga Boston studios. While my goal in writing these posts isn't to proselytize about the yoga or the places I practice it, I'm a fan of the regimen, and a very big fan of the friendly, charismatic and kind (and frequently funny-as-hell) teachers at the Boston and Cambridge studios.

And with that, let the stretching, grunting, groaning and blogging begin.

Cheers,

Scott

Totem

2010-10-24T11:12:00.017-04:00

All through the time that Margo and I have gone to the Boston Bikram studios, there’s been a tradition of snapping a Polaroid of each person who signs up for the 30 Day Challenge and attaching it to their check off sheet.

That is, until this 30 Day Challenge.

That’s right—Margo’s been going to the studios for four years, I’ve been going for 18 months, and the first time one of us signs up for the 30 Day Challenge, poof—gone go the Polaroids. Damn, double-damn, and a side order of hell.

In fairness, Polaroid instant film (specifically the Polaroid 600, the format the studio had been using, and which Polaroid stopped making film for) has gotten prohibitively expensive. One of the studios co-owners, Brad, told me that they thought the money would be better off going to some worthy cause—the food drive I mentioned yesterday. And since a pack of ten exposures goes for between $36 and $100, it’s hard to argue with that.

So I decided to make my own Polaroid totem. Finding a template was exceedingly easy, but I went with the one self-described geek Jon Dyers linked to at his blog. I actually just dropped the photo of our cat Mama over the template and cropped and resized it till it fit. Then I scanned the words of wisdom Mama imparts, which riff off a favored phrase of Rich, one of the studio’s many excellent teachers, who frequently intones, “Connect to the breathing.” This advice has its applications outside the hot room, especially on Memorial Drive at rush hour.

Mama was not my first choice for the totem, but once we had to put her to sleep she was really the only option. (At no point was I actually going to put my own goofy face up.) One more reason to go to the studio every day: giving her picture a little head-to-fist bump after I check off the day’s class.

This was originally going to be my totem. No, seriously.

Next: Pranayama Deep Breathing (with special bonus song)

Why Are You Doing This to Yourself?

2010-10-22T15:55:00.016-04:00

When you tell someone that you pursue a form of exercise whose ideal conditions involve a room that is ideally set to 105 degrees and 40% humidity, and which entails spending 90 minutes exerting yourself in those conditions, you tend to get a look as if they think you’re mentally ill, and that said illness might be communicable.

As Wee Willie Shakespeare said, “Though this be madness, yet there be method in it.” But I’ll talk a little about the method another time. For now, just assume I’m crazy, but that there are actually good reasons I’m doing this.

In general:

It’s something Margo and I can do together, after years of struggling to find something we could do together. The Cambridge YMCA? Margo hated the facilities. (Me? I loved it. Russell’s Celtics practiced in the big gym upstairs in the late 60s. Good enough for Russ, good enough for me.) Jogging? Not a great thing for a couple where one person is a foot taller than the other.
I sleep like a baby after every evening class. Actually, I could sleep like a baby after any class.
I’m getting’ old, Jake. This is really the biggest reason—I need to do something other than play basketball to maintain whatever humble athletic attributes I currently possess. My man Norm sets the bar high, playing basketball at age 71 with no signs of stopping. When I told him I hoped to playing at his age, he replied, “I hope I’m playing when you’re my age too.”
I need to submit myself to an authority figure. I need someone to tell me what to do, how to do it, and for how long. I know—I’m married. I’m already doing that. But not when it comes to my workout regimen.
I used to be a complete stumblebum because I had crappy balance. Now I’m only kind of a stumblebum. That’s saying something when you consider I started going to Bikram Yoga after I turned 40.

But why am I doing a 30 day challenge? A class every single day for a full month?

I want to be more disciplined and tough-minded. And really, if I can develop that, I can take it out of the hot room with me. I think spending the equivalent of two full days in a really hot, humid room over the course of the challenge will probably help build those mental muscles.
The guy who put together (and, to the consternation of many in the yoga community, also copyrighted) the sequence of postures claimed you should do his yoga six days a week for two months to see real changes. So I think at least one time I should try to go the immersive route and see what happens. As long as I don’t have to listen to his music while doing it. I mean, there are challenges, and then there are challenges.
I’m pretty sure they have a party when the whole thing is over. I love parties.
They offer a discount on your next membership if you finish the challenge. I’ll always remember the words of my junior high math teacher, Mr. Smith: “Man is basically lazy and cheap.” In this case, I don't get both option. It’s actually lazy doing battle with cheap. I know—Sloth vs. Stingy is not exactly Lakers-Celtics, but it’s the best I can give you right now.
The Boston Bikram studios will donate a set amount to a local food drive for each person who finishes. So there’s a good cause attached to all this. I’ll post details when the studio has everything finalized.

Tomorrow: Totem

30 Days of Hot

2010-10-22T15:33:00.007-04:00

On Monday begins the Bikram 30 Day Challenge—or, as I like to call it, the “What Was I On When I Signed Up for This?” Nine Circles of Hell Challenge. You know, at the time it seemed like such a good idea—until I realized that my longest stretch of consecutive days in the hot room was four. And that I spent 40% of my Monday class on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

This may come as a shock to you, but that 40% is not part of the Bikram regimen. So what is the Bikram regimen? To summarize:

Ideal conditions: 105 degrees, 40% humidity. Trust me when I tell you: when it’s not ideal, it’s usually not ideal in favor of Lucifer.
Length: 90 minutes.
Regimen: 26 postures.
Teaching: following the patented Bikram script, but with each teacher riffing on it in his or her style. In fact, it’s really part script, part template.
The Challenge: One class a day, each day from 10/25 through 11/24.
Prediction: Prediction? Pain.

In fairness, I’ve been consistently (okay, inconsistently) doing Bikram Yoga for a year and a half now. My wife Margo has been doing it for roughly four years, so I got the introduction gradually: “Okay, so you’re telling me it’s hotter than the worst Boston summer day? That it’s so humid you feel like you’re inhaling ash? That you come home after every third class and say, ‘That was really rough’?” This was not a hard sell. It wasn’t even a soft sell. It was a no-sell. I was in awe of my little lady putting herself through something that sounded epically challenging, but she wasn’t painting a pretty picture.

The progression went something like this: 1) No way. I am never trying that. 2) I don’t know. It sounds sort of weirdly fascinating. If you’re de Sade, I mean. 3) Wow. Margo’s really into this. Maybe I’ll try it one of these days. 4) Screw it. I’ll try it. 5) Hm. That was interesting. 6) Maybe I’ll buy a ten pack of classes and go once a week. 7) Oh, crap. I haven’t gone in eight months and the last eight classes in the package expire at the end of the month. I have to take these classes, but I’m only doing it because I’m a cheap bastard and I spent too much money not to use them. 8) You know what? I’m starting to get into this. Maybe I’ll get an annual membership. 9) You know, I have to do this 30 day challenge.

It was insidious. That sequence of events took probably three years, but the tipping point was the summer of 2009 (progression stops 7 and 8) when I had just gotten over a serious back strain and realized I needed something more than basketball and my half-hearted cross-trainer and weights at the Cambridge YMCA. Bikram Yoga has turned into that something else.

Tomorrow: Why Are You Doing This to Yourself?

Addendum

2010-10-21T08:40:00.005-04:00

Margo thought I was going to link to this when I mentioned my crying fits. In fact, I'd forgotten about it. It's still damn funny, but I'd like to think the tears I shed over Mama were a good deal manlier than that.

Mama

2010-10-20T12:06:00.009-04:00

I was planning to re-start the blog this weekend, but I’m doing it today in honor of a wonderful little cat that was a part of my life for ten years, and a part of Margo’s for five. Yes, that would be the one, the only, Mama.

If you had told me at any point while I had Mama that my combined crying fits over the last few weeks would rival this, I would have said you were crazy. “I love, Mama, but come on. She’s a cat.” I had completely underestimated the many corners of my life she had crept into. The same is true for Margo, who's much tougher than I am, but shed as many tears along the way. Mama wasn’t just a cat, she was a one-of-a-kind character whose quirks didn’t merely endear her to you, but drew you closer.

For instance, I already miss her not greeting me when I walk in the door after work. Invariably, she’d follow that with flopping on the floor, exposing her belly for a quick rub as she stretched out. Last night I kept waiting for her to walk in the bedroom, walk over to the far side of the bed, jump up, take a few moment to pause on top of Margo while kneading her pajama top, before proceeding on to my chest, blocking the book I was reading, and putting her butt in my face until I turned around. It was a ritual going back more than four years, starting not long after Margo and I moved in together in North Cambridge. Even when we moved to Roslindale, she would take the long way round, even though Margo’s side of the bed was furthest from the door.

And she was the Queen of Head Butts. The head butts are at the top of the list of things I’ll miss about Mama.

Below is a little totem I put together. This weekend I'll write a little more about its purpose beyond remembering Mama.

The Daily Pitcher: You Threw a Sparr

2009-07-14T14:32:00.000-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: It Takes a Train to Laugh

2009-07-14T14:31:00.000-04:00

The (Once and Future) Daily Pitcher

2009-07-14T08:38:00.006-04:00

4th of July:
Windows:
Pac-Man Fever:
Ship in the Harbor:

The Daily Pitcher: Cities on Flame with Rock and Roll

2009-06-06T21:32:00.001-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: She Works Hard for the Kibble

2009-06-06T15:02:00.003-04:00

So you better treat her right. Meet my new guitar tech, Mama. Shedding fur on the delay pedal? Top notch. Plugging in cables and adjusting tone? Um, we're working on that.

The Daily Pitcher: It's Been Awhile

2009-06-03T09:27:00.003-04:00

Things Behind the Sun
Out in the Street
The Devil Inside
Spare Parts

The Daily Pitcher: Radio Gaga

2009-05-05T18:53:00.004-04:00

M & I went to the Grammy Tour show at House of Blues last night. Lady Gaga was impressive. M & I agreed that Kelly Clarkson's songs (at least the first three or four we heard) seem to sound the same, so there was little reason to stick around, especially since it was already a pretty late night. But Gaga rocked. A sampling of pics is the tip of the iceberg lettuce.

The Daily Pitcher: Burn

2009-04-27T14:51:00.000-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Buddy

2009-04-27T14:47:00.001-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Dignity and Shame

2009-04-16T16:17:00.001-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Eight Arms to Hold You

2009-04-16T16:16:00.004-04:00

The Daily Pitcher

2009-04-16T16:16:00.001-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Blue

2009-04-16T16:15:00.000-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Back Street Slide

2009-04-15T15:07:00.003-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Picture This

2009-04-14T09:55:00.003-04:00

Catching up on pictures during the last couple of weeks:

Little Balkan Sea Blue Houses for You and Me
Stuck in the Middle with You
I Can't Drive 55
Big Yellow Taxi
Wrapped Around Your Finger
High as the Ceiling
Livin' in a Box

Catching up on pictures during the last couple of weeks:

The Daily Pitcher: God of Thunder

2009-04-04T21:03:00.014-04:00

In 2004 my dear friend the Snilch and I made a trip out to Portland, Oregon to visit our dear friend Sean. This happened in the middle of the Tour de France, and Sean, as I recall, was disappointed that Mike wouldn't be able to make it out for the big Portland Tour party. Of course, Sean didn't know at the time that Mike and I had schemed to make Mike's appearance in the Great Northwest a secret. Okay, so I'm an anal retentive travel planner, and Sean had to be wondering why in God's name I waited so long to book my flight, but I played it cool.

So imagine how satisfying it was for Mike and me to spring Mike's surprise appearance on Sean. I pretended to call my mom (a notorious worrywart) to let her know I landed safely. I bought enough time for Mike to make his way down on the sly. At just the right moment, Mike sprung up behind us, exclaiming, "Where's that Tour de France party, bitches?!?" Sean, of course, had exactly the response we've come to expect from him. He responded in wide-eyed shock with, "What the fuck are YOU doing here?!?"

Now there are many stories I could tell about this trip: Orld's Best Pretzel, which gave rise to Mike, Sean and I calling each other "Orld," "Njord" (thanks to a nearby Nordic Hall) and "Erik," or mentioning these names as if they were actual people. Crying out "Marblehead represent" at the Lucky Lab brewpub when Tyler Hamilton appeared--he rode gamely with a broke collarbone before bowing out, an event we look back on with sadness after the period of denial we experienced following Hamilton's doping ban. The Seattle excursion, which was a mini-rock opera unto itself. Two heart attack games between the Sox and Mariners at Safeco, with Keith Foulke blowing the night game and almost duplicating the result the next afternoon. Lance Armstrong saying "fuck this" when his teammate Jose Acevedo bonked in the home stretch, and stormed to take a Tour stage at the finish line. And those are just the highlights I can readily sum up in a handful of sentences. There are at least as many other highlights that would play out best at a dark pub over the course of several beers.

One fun trip involved me getting a hair cut. Okay, you don't go on vacation to get a haircut, but Sean hipped me to the fact there was a barbershop bearing my surname. Oh, and they serve you a Pabst Blue Ribbon while you get your mop chopped. And they were kind enough to also provide Mike and Sean with PBRs too. How about that? And it was a flattering cut.

I came home with a few bumper stickers--one each for my bros (The Sex Pistols one to Ed, the KISS one to Dale) and saved myself one, which I had been pondering plastering on one of my guitars. Tonight felt like the time to do that--CD release a week from tonight (don't worry, the shameless plug will follow the picture), the band is sounding good, and I'm looking forward to rocking in my forties. Time to make some devil's horns, crank the amps up, and let the good times roll.

Let me first point you in the direction of my good friends. All Sean has is a notebook, a camera, and the truth. Mike lays down sharp, perceptive rock criticism, spiked with a fantastic ratings system for both CDs and merchandise.

The lads and I will be laying down shimmering slabs of tuneful noise a week from tonight. We'll be at the Burren in Somerville, Saturday night, 4/1/9, 8PM sharp. I'm pumped. The CD is called New Lights; selected tracks are up on Myspace.

It should be noted that my wife, the Amazing Margo, was the one who suggested putting the sticker in between the bridge and the sound hole. Perrrrfect.

Cheers,

Scott

The Daily Pitcher: My Heart Decalres a Holiday

2009-03-30T12:34:00.003-04:00

Actually, my camera declares a holiday (roughly two weeks) to tackle rehearsals for my upcoming CD release April 11th at the Burren in Somerville MA (not to mention being a good son and working on my mom's house and yard). Info on my music, the CD that's issuing forth, and upcoming shows are here. Info on the Burren can be found here. The record will be available shortly through CD Baby, and the digital downloads will be up via the usual suspects a little while after.

The Daily Bitcher: Burning Down the House

2009-03-27T16:25:00.001-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Shake a Tail Feather

2009-03-25T15:59:00.003-04:00

The Daily Bitcher: Twisted

2009-03-24T16:07:00.001-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Such Great Heights

2009-03-23T15:24:00.002-04:00

The Daily Bitcher: The Words of the Prophets Are Written on the Men's Room Walls

2009-03-23T15:16:00.005-04:00

From the men's room at Lucky's in South Boston, Friday night, 9PM. Wet Bandits--now there's a band name.

The Daily Pitcher: Hand in Glove

2009-03-23T15:10:00.003-04:00

M & I saw this at a Somerville open house on Saturday. No, seriously. Why don't you see more weird touches like this when people stage homes? Oh, that's right--because it's weird.

The Daily Pitcher: The Bells of Rhymney

2009-03-23T15:09:00.000-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Eye of the Tiger

2009-03-19T22:21:00.000-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Sample and Hold

2009-03-19T22:19:00.000-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: The Grid

2009-03-17T16:04:00.000-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: What Is the Light?

2009-03-16T16:20:00.001-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: (More) Shadows and Tall Trees

2009-03-13T16:18:00.001-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: Built to Spill

2009-03-11T14:58:00.003-04:00

The Daily Pitcher: How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb

2009-03-11T11:57:00.002-04:00

Scenes from outside Somerville Theatre last night. What, is there a big show there tonight? I hadn't heard a peep about it.

The Daily Pitcher: Mystery and Misery

2009-03-09T20:16:00.003-04:00

Tonight's pic is something of an enigma. M and I found this at Goodwill a year or so ago. It's such an odd print--the girl's gesture, so familiar, could be taken in a variety of ways: horror, revulsion, a stifled laugh, chagrin... of course, what we really want to know is, who created this? No signature, no identifying information... any ideas?

The Weekly Rocker: Dinner 1

2009-03-07T11:23:00.003-05:00

This week we'll be getting the long overdue solo record off to the pressing plant. As Marvin Q. Martian would say, "Delays, delays... nothing but delays..." Even though it's lunchtime, anyone for a spot of dinner?

Dinner 1 - Scott Bishop

The Daily Pitcher: Overground

2009-03-06T11:42:00.000-05:00