Five Minute Friday Fragments

Why five minutes?

Because that's all I've got.

*****

My 9 year old's take on the whole Woods' scandal: "He's not a Tiger, he's a Cheetah."

*****

I went to my first book club meeting, and to be honest it felt like more of an excuse to have some wine, cheese, goodies, and get caught up with friends, and make new ones.

We discussed "The Help", which, by the way, I found to be an excellent read. I'd actually purchased it to read on the plane for my last work trip - but I was so engrossed that I ended up getting to the last few chapters before I got to the airport.

The evening was eye-opening in a way that was a little discouraging. Even in my more liberal neck of the modern day woods, the attitudes that were portrayed in the book (which was written about the 60's in Jackson, Mississippi and dealt with the lives of black housekeepers/maids and the white ladies of the house), still seem to persist albeit in much more subtle ways.

I'll leave it at that.

*****

Have you caught "The Marriage Ref" produced by Jerry Seinfeld yet?

It's absolutely hilarious. The premise is that couples present their marital issues to a panel of celebrities (usually including comedians), and the host of the show makes a decision as to which spouse he will side with in the dispute. It's all fun and the issues are quite trivial (last night, a man refused to eat his wife's green bean casserole which she's been trying to get him to try for 10 years ...) and my husband and I are usually howling like hyenas throughout the show.

Ironically it's become our couple's thing to do on Thursday nights. Go figure.

*****

As a quick catch up, I've managed to hit the Bodyjam circuit with a vengeance.

This is my favourite release so far, Bodyjam 50.

I can't wait for my gym time tomorrow morning.

Don't forget to visit lovely Mrs. 4444's.

Have a good one!

The same ... but not

I went back to the gym for the first time in over six months on Tuesday. I'm sure it wasn't the smartest way to dive back in, but I decided to try my beloved Bodyjam class. Yes, the one with all the fab twists, turns, jumps and deep knee grooving to a funky hip hop beat. Go big, or go home with a broken knee, I always say.

But how could I not? I was so passionate about it, and for over two years, the sessions that I looked so forward to three times a week - that had me pushing my over-40 body to the limit - kept me feeling great about myself, and more importantly, kept my mind relatively stress-free.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

The last class I had attended was about six days after my Dad's diagnosis. My knees were intact, and Dad's prognosis, although not wonderful (being an upside of 18 months), was at least something to strive for. I hit the routine hard, throwing my body into the ferocity of Kanye's "Stronger", somehow trying to will the strength to my Dad to fight...or more likely willing myself to find the strength to deal with the enormity of it all. I remember working through it in tears.

Less than four weeks later, he was gone and my will limped in unison with my bum knee.

Aside from the fact that I couldn't physically get much from the gym until my leg got strong enough, there was a big part of me that was reluctant... or even afraid to go back to the gym. Routine, what was that anymore? How could life go on just as it was before, when the world I knew, and especially my mother's world, was shattered?

I suspect this is what made me drag my heels to the physiotherapist - and made it even more difficult to start with my regular classes again.

So here I was this week, tackling Bodyjam Release 49. The same class at the same time, with many of the same friends ('Hey, Karen, where've you been? It's been a long time...') ... but it was not the same. The instructor was new; the routine was new; and my confidence not exactly at a high. Especially when the instructor told me to watch for the advanced options she would be throwing out there, to make sure I wouldn't push myself too far.

Damn, I used to love to jump, twirl, spin, samba... all that fun advanced stuff! This would be more torturous than I thought!

In the end, it turned out not to be too bad, and I managed to complete the class feeling just sweaty enough, with no twisted limbs to show for it. Which was a bonus. It was difficult to hold back, and it certainly wasn't the old me out there on the gym floor.

So it was done. No more excuses. I intend to get back into my regular exercise cycle again (which will have to include some core strengthening workouts).

As I drove home from class, I was stopped at the railway tracks. Unexpectedly, as I'd never had to wait for a train at this time before, not once in the past two years of regular Tuesday night classes. I watched each car pass in front of me, in rhythmic tandem with the piano riffs of Coldplay's "Clocks" playing on the radio.

And I thought of Dad, and how I missed him, how I wished he was still with us ... but also about the inevitability of time, how life must still move forward, and how he'd want me to continue to move forward. Remembering the profound words that my daughter had said to me, just hours earlier when talking about her grandfather...

"Just pretend that he's still here, Mommy, when you get sad. It will make you feel better."

While pretending the odd time isn't quite the same as reality, it'll allow me to take more concrete steps toward the future. I did feel better.

After the last car of the train went by, and the railway crossing arms lifted, I took my foot off the brake.

And headed home.

Thursday Thirteen - What a f?????

Okay, so this is that "wild and crazy" thing that I did on my 43rd birthday. It's probably nowhere near as exciting as I suggested it might be. But I figured I would capture this before my knees (and back, and hips, and ankles) gave out on me one day. And since I've already shared my ass with the blogosphere...

Thirteen reasons why posting the following probably wasn't such a good idea...

1/ My son thought I was joking, and I did it because he didn't think I would. Don't do this sort of thing on a dare. Especially not from an 8 year old.

2/ This is nowhere near as cute as a video of my daughter potty training.

3/ My kids may not speak to me once they're old enough to REALLY know what embarrassment is.

4/ My husband doesn't see me move my hips like that very often. Ahem.

5/ It proves that I'm a nutcase because I did this while sober. Cannot blame the pomtini.

6/ It shows my nice gut, lack-o-rack and my flat butt.

7/ It'll be out there. Forever.

8/ People who know me read this. Oy.

9/ So You Think You Can Dance Suburbia... here I come ?!! Uh, not likely.

10/ Desperate Housewives? Yeah, probably more like it.

11/ Despite my fervent wish, the men of Lipstick Jungle still won't notice me.

12/ Even Jennifer Beals has moved on.

13/ It may turn more people off of Bodyjam than onto it.

But it's a testament of my love for all things Bodyjam.

Hello, my name is Karen and I'm a Bodyjam addict.

Well, it was either this or pole-dancing... which I haven't attempted yet, by the way.

Nor should I.

Let me preface:
a) This was the first bodyjam routine I was exposed to. An oldie but a goodie. Most of the kids in my Saturday class probably weren't even born when the movie came out.
b) This was about the 10th time I did the routine before the video took. Because I am so technically challenged I didn't even realize that I didn't hit the "on" button the first several times. Which also explains the long intro where I'm debating whether I'm really going to do this, and the long pause of exhaustion in between .. and the big "L" in the middle of my forehead.
c) It's probably over a minute too long. I can't edit either. Torturous, I know.
d) The sound is not exactly wonderful, because the only version of the song I could find was on Youtube.
e) At least the lighting is dim; thank goodness for small mercies.
f) I DID have a stiff drink before I hit "publish post". Yeah, it was before noon, so sue me.
g) Those of you who want a live repeat performance at Blogher '09 will have to show me the booze... and then I'll think about it.
h) Okay, I'll friggin' get on with it already...



And I ain't no Hollaback girl either...