Girls Weekend In Denver

So you want to go to Denver? Excellent Choice.

My two friends and I had been on the hunt for a girls weekend excursion and while we were craving a beach getaway, the threat of Zika had me gently nudging them to places to the el norte. When we discovered that you can take a yoga class at the hipster mecca of Red Rocks Amphitheater for the low price of $12, we knew we had found our destination.

It was endlessly delightful to respond to the standard query of "what brought you to Denver?" with, "oh we came for a yoga class." Like, one class. Flying half way across the country for one hour of exercise. But it was totally worth it. I frickin' love Denver. I can't wait to go back.

What we did:

Yoga at Red Rocks - they have eight classes a summer and there is a very, very real chance I'll go again because it was an out of (white girl) body experience. An awesome flow, perfect weather, incredible music, free granola bars. If Heaven has yoga classes, they're all at Red Rocks.

(more) Yoga in the Civic Center Conservancy - if I was going to haul my yoga mat on an airplane, I wanted to make it worth my while. So I scoped out free yoga classes. Most cities have them (this is now my second free-yoga-while-traveling class, and I'm making it a habit) and it is a fun way to do something that isn't eating, walking, or napping.

The Flatirons (1 and 2) - we wanted a hike that was only going to take a morning but not make us feel like we hadn't accomplished anything. Flatirons was perfect. We ended up with a 30 minute detour (the trail marking is not great) and still made it up to the end of the trail within a few hours. There was some rock scrambling and it required a little Beyonce motivation, but we did it and it was totally worth it for the views, the sense of accomplishment, and the cheeseburgers we got at the end.

The Trading Post Trail at Red Rocks - after the yoga class we were not feeling particularly go-getter-y. This trail was perfect for some instagramable rocks and a leisurely "let's talk about our feelings" pace.

The first .3 miles of the Dino Ridge Trail - I demanded this because I love me some dinos. We parked right at the end of the road and took the 10 minute walk up, learned things, had a moment of awe over these being Actual Dinosaur Foot Prints, and walked back down. Skipped the crowd and the tours.

Improv at Voodoo Comedy - Improv and Podcast Superstar Mel Evans has relocated to the Denver area (much to the devastation of Chicago) and we saw her crush it so hard in some improv musical comedy.

What we ate and drank:

Lunch at Mountain Sun - If you're going to climb a flat iron, you deserve a cheese burger slathered in blue cheese. These were perfect. With delicious beers to boot.

Dinner at Work and Class/Working Class/Work and Release - (we could not ever actually remember the name of this restaurant) was exactly what these snobby-ass Chicago foodies wanted. Good cocktails, killer small plates, and no wait for a table. Everything was delicious but the mac and cheese, corn, and house salad were particularly scrumptious.

Ice Cream at Sweet Action - TWICE. No regrets.

Potions at Shine Restaurant - on the recommendation of a colleague we had some post-hiking potions. Good for an introspective giggle (do you need a restarter or a firestarter?) bad for being not particularly delicious. Though I'm sure they were good for our souls in a tetanus shot kind of way. 

Brunch at Rioja - This was the best possible last meal of the trip, but it also could have been the last meal of my life and I would have been okay. We picked it because of my companion's aversion to eggs (making brunch a challenge) - almost everything on their menu did not require a pair of sunny-side-ups to complete it which was perfect. The service was kind of garbage but you can redeem all manner of sins with free goat cheese biscuits and honey butter.

Where we stayed:

An absurd little Airbnb that stank to high heaven of the whacky tabacky (Welcome to Denver, I suppose). It was perfectly located next to a Whole Foods that provided the many, many kombucha varieties we needed for four days.

How we got around:

Frontier got us there. If you're 5'2", can pack light, and always have your own snacks, Frontier is not as bad as everyone says and was $150 cheaper than even Southwest. A tiny little Chevy Spark rental got us around. It was like a Harry Potter car, it fit into every parallel parking space we found and used like 6 ounces of gas the whole trip.

Other shout outs:

Golden Farmer's Market (and Izzybelle Chocolate Sauce), Union Station's new make-over, and Dirt Coffee.

Nama-sand

I'm in the midst of one of those first-world, nearing-30, existential white-girl problems.

The struggle is real with me and beach yoga right now.

As you four dedicated readers (who are my family) know, I'm big into yoga and big into it being summer right now. Naturally these forces eventually had to combine to make some sort of lululemon-induced dream come true.

So my yoga dealer roots & [then] wings got me to do a beach yoga with her on Sunday morning. In theory, this sounded like a perfect Instagram picture- except real. In actuality, it was a sandy disaster.

As an oblivious child, sand never really bothered me. It wasn't until we started vacationing with my extra-old-lady-neurotic grandmother who Cannot Abide by sand that I got weird about it. Why she vacations on an island covered in sand is still a mystery- but she passed on her neurosis and now having sand on my towel, my seat, my swim suit is unacceptable.

I am not quite sure what I thought beach yoga was going to be... were they going to just, like, remove the sand to make way for yoga mats? Nope. We just laid our mats down right on top of North Avenue Beach's mess of cigarette butts, bottle caps, and hypodermic needles and set our intentions. 

Mine quickly became to just get through one flow before having to brush off my mat. It did not help that the wind off the lake wind would occasionally flip my yoga mat (and the mats of all my companions) over exposing us to more.sand. Tree Pose with a wily mat was really not the zen experience it is supposed to be.  The deal was really dealt when I watch a number of my fellow yogis take giant handfuls of sand and plop them like little hillocks on the corners of their mats to weigh the mats down.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? You are exacerbating the mat/sand problem!"

At the end of class, I had a long ponder about turning 30 and if this meant that I should step away from my comfort zone, and become one with the sand, or if it was finally time to just accept the fact that I am a crotchety-sand-hater. I never came up with an answer.

I feel like every couple of weeks I come to one of these moments where I feel as though I have met up with a bridge troll who is yelling at me that I'm getting old and it is time to make some gd. decisions about my life. As with many of the other times this has happened, I kind of shrugged and side stepped the question - this time by buying a 10-pack of beach yoga classes on groupon (instead of the unlimited one) - and figuring that by the end of the summer, I'll have decided one way or another. Until then, I'm just going to talk to invest in some "yoga rocks" (which are just regular rocks, but spiritual and more expensive).

Be Happy 2014: Binge and Purge

Summer makes me want to hug everyone.

I spent so much time outside in May. It was full of cartwheels and glorious.

In June I plan to keep enjoying sunshine as much as humanly possible. The trick to bonus outside time is eating dinner out there. And then just watching people go by and be grateful for these moments of warm weather.

June will also be a month of doing everything. All the yoga, all the meals, all the opportunities to stay out late and regret it the next morning, all the patios and getting tan.

June will also be a month of getting rid of stuff. We're purging closets and unpacked boxes and pieces of furniture we will never use again (adios papasan chair!).  Of course, this means new things will come into replace them eventually (bonjour new living room armchair!) but for now we are enjoying shedding things and fitting just perfectly into our home.

Happy summer!

Namaste. Bless You.

I think that yoga might be the one form of exercise I can do constantly without getting sick of while still deriving some sort of athletic benefit, but my current house of yoga costs way more than I can justify spending on anything these days. So I recently canceled my membership.

I think of yoga as a workout, it is how I justify eating all the snacks (and yes, I know we don't actually need to justify snacks, but unless you are going to buy me new pants - justify) but I know that for most people yoga has some deeper meaning. 

For the longest time, when I was told (asked?) to set an intention at the beginning of class, it was always, "let's just get through this." Then, when Boyfriend's mom got sick, the idea of dedicating my practice became a habit.  Occasionally it was for someone else, sometimes it was for me.

Today, I had an epiphany in class. Maybe it was because I was the sweatiest I had ever been. So sweaty, I thought I would dissolve into a swampy pile of yoga sweat goo. I just realized that this is as close to prayer I will ever get.

I have never been religious, and it has always felt pretty douchey to pray when things get bad, when I have never once prayed when things are good. Plus, if there is a man upstairs, he is probably actually a lady and thusly hates hypocrites. Lady Gods cannot abide by hypocrites.

When I dedicate a practice to someone it feels like an opportunity to try to take some of their pain or sadness or confusion away. As I sweat and strain I reach out into the universe, find one person and say, "I'm already working hard, give me some of your weariness because I can take it."

It feels stupidly wonderful (and very cliche-y) to have a workout with bonus substance. To not only feel like I've earned that extra beer but that I have stepped out of me and all of my goofy first world problems and given an hour and fifteen minutes of my breath and self to someone else.

Being the dick pragmatist I have always been, thoughts and breath come up short when what people need are medicine and cures, but as I have gotten older and life has gotten more real I have realized that thoughts (and prayers, if that is what you are cooking) are pretty valuable too.

I have about a month of yoga left in my membership before I move into other things and I try to find other ways to devote myself to others but until then, I will celebrate these opportunities to sweat it out for others.

And please, someone remind Boyfriend when I come home just smelling like a hockey locker room that sometimes, I do this for him.

Nameste

"eff you in the mouth, crow pose."

This thought came into my head in yoga class after a pretty bad crow-pose related tumble and it stayed there, right up until final nap-time pose.

Inversion poses (ie - poses where my head is below my heart) make me incredibly dizzy, and combining slight vertigo with a suckerpunch to the pride was enough to make me the most vulgar yogi.

My goal this year is to do 100 yoga practices (so far, I'm at 4. Trucking right along). If I make it, I get to buy myself overpriced yoga pants. This is pretty much all the motivation I need to do anything - excuses to spend money I don't have.

We'll see how I feel later in the year, but right now - yoga makes me frustrated and sweaty. I hate being bad at things, but being bad at things while teeny-tiny women tell me that its not about being good or bad, its about being at peace (or whatever) is WAY, WAY worse.

(so why are you doing it, dummy?)

Because, I cannot get myself to run and gym memberships are dumb expensive. Its too cold to bike and I'm out of options. Also, because despite how it turns my inner-monologue into that of a sailor - it's the only thing I can make myself keep going to. Maybe it's because of the free nap at the end - but when class is over, I want to do it again.

Anyway, 100 yoga practices in 365 days is resolution two for 2013. Let's do it for the pants.

These 7 days

I should have known on Monday at noon,  when the 7-month-pregnant woman next to me kicked my ass in headed yoga...

... And there were two pigeons in my train car this afternoon...

that this was going to be a really bad week.

It's Tuesday and so far all my premonitions have been right on the money.

If I don't get a Wednesday or Thursday snuggle fest or dance party this week will be the first worst one of 2013.

Sunflower Pose Off

One of the sweet things about one of my jobs (which at the end of the month will become my former job) is that they offer a free yoga class for employees on Wednesday nights. Its one of those things that I try to take advantage of, but because its free I don't put enough intrinsic value in it, so I skip it most weeks.

I managed to go yesterday and it was nice and yoga-like until we were doing "sunflower" where you stand in second position (so with your feet wider apart than your hips) and your feet turned out (so that your toes are facing the corners of the room instead of the front) and then you plie (bend your knees but keep your heels on the ground and chest up) and do a port-a-bras (make outwards semi-circles with your arms meeting at the top and the bottom).

While we were doing it, the yoga teacher, who has the voice of a Splenda packet, keeps telling us that it is okay to stick your butt out a little bit to get a deeper stretch and I rolled my eyes. IN YOGA. Which is like the opposite of everything that Mr. Yoga wanted this to be about.

Here's the thing. After 20 years of thinking about movement in regards to ballet, sticking your butt out while bending your knees is Unacceptable. For SO many reasons. First of all, it looks atrocious and its not good for your back and it goes from being a good stretch and a pose that can almost be flattering to something looking akin to a dog dropping a duece.

So I flat out ignored everything she said and continued to do grand plies in second, knowing that I was right and she was wrong. And that brought me inner peace.