Clean Eatin'

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

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Dear Split Peas,

Where have you been all my life?  Sure, maybe we rendez vous'ed on my high chair tray long ago, but since then, I've been missing out.  It has been my loss.  Completely.

This recipe is clean--no processed anything-- hearty, vegetarian (vegan, even), and absolutely flavorful!!  I'm adding it to my Little Black Book of Soups.

**I had to substitute apples for carrots as the carrots I had ... ?

Recipe Here (Thanks CPK)
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Triangle . . . Really?

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

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I've been a pretty inflexible girl since the day I punk'd out of gymnastics when I was four.  I've blamed myself.  Thanks to Shaun T., my backup yoga instructor,I finally got down into a touch-the-floor pose today!  Yes!  I was hoping the pose had a fantastic name like Giraffe Painting House, but according to the experts, it's simply "triangle."  Que soso!

It felt so good to push myself that I started batting around all the different ways/reasons we push.

Sky Diving
finish line

Now, I will push my head into my pillow pile and sleep.  ;)

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Wake Up!

Monday, May 28, 2012

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Absolutely love this song, but is anyone else wondering why the lambkins needed a tin foil astronaut helmet?  Esplain yourself.  :o)

Needtobreathe, The Reckoning
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Yoga fail. fail. fail.

Monday, May 7, 2012

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His name rhymes with Shmamian, and he teaches the Monday night yoga class at my local fitness crossroads.  He has an "om" tat on the top of his foot, maybe both.  He looks like a dialed-down version of Jack Black with curly hair and barely blinking eyes.

He started class by asking us to form a goal we had for this class.  He told the class we were going to get serious, and then he said we should all crack a smile because we're not doing serious yoga.  He paced up and down the rows of pastel mats and downward-facing-doggies, and he repositioned people's stances as he went.  I prayed my leg was 90-degrees.  He breezed past me, then backed up.  He showed me how to get lower by twisting my thigh, and then he said I should take my socks off.  While I (and the rest of the class, now barefoot warriors) pondered his advice, he walked back to the front, looked at me and said, "You'll never do yoga." 

Essscuse me? 

Essssssscuuuse me?  Because I didn't do an instant-toe-touch-sock-throw-off at the sound of his voice?

What do you think I did?  The moment is strange to me it seems almost supernatural.  Did Shmamian really just look at me in the middle of class and say I would never do yoga?  On a normal day, I might have blown him off as a self-important wannabe sensei and gone on with my business, but on this night, I didn't want to.  So I thought carefully while reaching into my Warrior I.  Breathe.  Think.  Breathe.  Think.  Clear my mind.  No.  Think.  Then, I rolled into Plank, rolled up my mat and headed out the door.

You see, my goal for the class was to stretch myself, and I thought I was talking about my hamstrings. I've been trying to be more deliberate about the way I spend my time--planning fun new ways to spend my what-do-I-do-now-that-grad-school-is-almost-over time.  I planned this yoga class, I actually showed up 15-minutes early to be sure I had a good spot, and I was looking forward to some sweaty stretching--some calming, theraputic deep breathing, and some flexibility. 

So, I'll get it, but I won't get it with Shmamian.  Time for Yoga Plan B. 
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