When does a holiday become not-a-holiday?
I have been receiving messages from my fans about maybe writing part two of my Surf Holiday blog 2018 and have been inundated with PMs asking me what happened to puppy Linda… So here it is! Part Deux.
I would just like to say one thing about the flight on Arabica Air. You start off your journey with a televised prayer, which I quite enjoyed however, the voice of the prayer came across as quite sinister, the type of voice that would be in the intro to a film about a plane crash… #justsayin.
After hugging and kissing everyone on my arrival to Taghazout thanking the Lord Jesus for this interesting and diverse cultural hot spot, I couldn’t wait for my surf adventure to begin.
Day two: The married men folk surfed ‘Mysteries’ (the beach round the corner from the house where we stayed) and they went out first thing in the morning. The house where we resided for the week was on Anchor Point peninsula. I was told when the tide was high the water came right up to the front step and the only way out was to go over the neighbour’s side wall! I was saving myself for the afternoon surf. We loaded all the boards up on two motors and went up the coast looking for waves. Where we were staying was surrounded by amazing surf beaches. We passed ‘Killers’ (a Surf point where Killer Whales come to mate) and then went on to Budha beach. We stopped at the top of the beach to look at the amazing/not amazing waves. Decided to surf anyways…got dragged, rolled and washed down the beach.
Got out before anyone else and met a man selling Morocco mint tea sweetened with loads of white sugar. He stopped to chat to me.
“Do you have child?”
“No.” says I.
“Next time” says he, smiling. “Are you married?” He goes.
“No.” says I.
“Next time” grins he.
I was thinking ‘next time’ I would be trying to surf better for longer, be with Henry the XIII and have my own baby camel, rather than being married or getting ‘up the cream puff’.
The lads finally came out of the water. I had dried myself off with my huge T-towel (which I used all week!) Yes I know, I am SUCH high maintenance) and got changed. That evening one of the surfing ladies who I was sharing a room with got sick and was in bed all the next day, the following day the other lady in the room got sick and took to her bed too. The married menfolk in the next room jested at me for sleeping in the hospital room and said I would be the next to become ill. I never get ill and there is no way I would become sick, no drugs, no insurance, I am invincible!!
But then…That night I woke with stomach cramps at about 2 in the morning, and then proceeded to throw up 5 times in a row. Excellent. One bathroom, five people, and three of them sick as dogs! And the lady who looked after the house told us to mind our usage of water as when the tank ran out we would have to wait for the truck to come into the village to fill it up.
“When will that be??” I asked. She just shrugged her shoulders, laughed, smiled threw her arms in the air and shook her head! Insert shocked emoji here…
Next day I woke up (thank God). My face was full of fluid under my skin and I wasn’t able to open my eyes properly because of my swollen eyelids. I then threw up again. Nice.
A storm was coming in and all the guys went out to surf. I got up and showered, ‘mind over matter’ I thought to myself and read my book. The water from the high tide and storm started to lap around the house steps and continued to rise. At the same time it was raining and the roof started to leak. Rain was coming in through the ceiling and rising up towards the front door…
I started to feel sick and scared at the same time. Then I thought to myself, if I started to clean, everything would be okay! As cleaning is calming. After a while, I started to feel even worse so decided that I wasn’t bovvered. If I wasn’t drowned or got barricaded in by the rising water I was just going to go to bed. So I trudged up the water-soaked and soggy landing to bed.
Spent the next few days being obsessed with the open sewage system that was Taghazout and Anchor Point. Where we live we had to go through an alleyway in between houses to get to the cars. The alleyway always smelt of raw sewage and made me gag. I am so not hard. I looked up and tried to work out the plumbing system of the three storey buildings in the stench of the morning light. I am not a plumber but I could clearly see what looked like the plumbing from the toilets being linked up to a downpipe which stopped at the pavement to flow into the alleyway which ran into the sea. Insert green gag emoji here.
The beaches around Anchor Point had amazing, fun and exotic names. Paradise Beach was one that stood out. For its idealistic name however, when we got there it was a swirling mess of rock, sand, glass, plastic and shite. With dilapidated buildings adjacent to it and no sick peeps facilities. The surf was big and messy. It was all too much for my stomach I had to go home and lay down whilst the others surfed.
Evening meals (when everyone was well) was an experience in itself. You would sit on tables on the main street in the balmy, dusky evening. The road and paths had been dug up in Taghazout to allow pipes to be laid but they hadn’t got round to put the tarmac back so the street was made of sand, dust, rubble, and pipes. Insurance companies ‘where there’s a blame there’s a claim’ would have had a field day here. Always eat hot food, no salads, no ice. The food was actually very tasty (my stomach is churning just thinking about it and writing it). Tagines were the main dishes, which were super hot and came with no germs or alcohol FYI. Or alternatively, you could sit by the water’s edge and watch the waves. Hash Point was a stunning location to watch the sun set and to see amazing surfers wading out through raw sewage outlets…
“Every now and then a waft of ploppsies would rise up from the sea and lodge in one’s nostril hair.”
You would sit there mesmerised by the surf, the waves and the skill of the surfers whilst ordering food and every now and then a waft of ploppsies would rise up from the sea and lodge in one’s nostril hair (of which I don’t have). The smell would get too much and one would have to retract to an inside location to eat one’s food. Which by now consisted of anything which had been burnt to f*ck or in a sealed jar. All served to you and prepared by men.
Where are the women? Ummmm…not sure how I am feeling about this diverse culture.
Last day of ‘holiday’ whhhhhoopooopppppiiiieeeee…
The last night the ‘duirty’ ladies myself included decided to go to a Hamman this was situated in Banana village along from Banana Beach, where they sold bananas near a beach which also was covered in shite, plastic, glass and more human waste as the river had been high the night before. The Hammam was an amazing OCD, clean, cleaning dream! Take all your clothes off apart from you bikini bottoms, and you are given a big bucket and inside that is a small bucket.
I asked the sensible, normal, factual question.
‘Will my contact lenses steam up?’
You go through a door and end up in two big, white tiled, hot steamy rooms filled with ladies laying about, sitting down and washing. You can purchase a mitten and exfoliation products along with what only can be described as fabric softener for the skin. All the ladies washed themselves, each other and small children. There was also a massive squidgy to clean your area (I mean where you sat down not the lady garden). I was in cleanliness heaven. Why didn’t we go here at the beginning of the holiday and every night? The entrance fee was only 12 dirham €1.2. We came out smelling and looking amazing like clean, soft, slightly paler (scrubbed off some of my tan/dirt) ladies.
Went to bed happy then had to be up at 2 am to (hopefully) get flight back home. Thank Alluh Akbar flight was the first flight into Dubbers after a massive snow storm. And another thing!! I so want the call to prayer as a ringtone for my phone.
The lessons to be learned from this experience are:
Don’t try and self-cure with Diet Coke.
Sometimes you need to get over a ‘holiday’ by booking another holiday.
That I am truly grateful for covered sewage systems.
My stomach is still gurgling but every drink, yoghurt and live good bacteria tablet is now my new bestie. Back to teaching yoga…sitting in swatstikasana (cross leg) and jumping back into (chaturanga) plank; you trying doing that with diarrhoea
NB Linda the puppy was fine she didn’t get left on the shelf and her owner appeared to be minding her well.
How important is it to have a towel/correct towel on holidays/in life.
Given it took me SIX YEARS to memorise my own mobile phone number there was no chance of me trying to remember any of these, obvs.
Eventually, the rest of the lads came back with stories of lockbox codes which involved their ages and a blow job (69) and ages of women they would like to be with! Totes sense! I cannot believe I didn’t think of that!
I am bad at getting out of bed.
It’s not that I am not a morning person (my husband is not a morning person, his whole family are not morning people. Makes me fell like I am super duper good at getting up!) Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, it’s not that I am not a morning person, it’s just so hard. Hard to move and greet the day when my bed is so lovely and warm and so very very safe. But it means every morning I hit the snooze button one too many times and then I am rushing around to get into work, which is only a 3 minute cycle so that will tell you how close I cut it!
I don’t like this. I want to use my mornings more. I want a morning routine that has a purpose other than get into to work without being noticeably tardy. I want to do some light yoga, read my book, do a crossword in bed, have a relaxing cup of tea maybe get some laundry sorted before the bustling begins.
And since the new year I have tried to make this happen by downloading apps for activities in the morning, by setting a bajillion alarms, by actually going to bed a little bit earlier. But nooooooooooooooooooooooo. I’m still motherfuppin’ sleeping till I need to get gone! I mean, I’m sort of awake but there is this little voice that says ‘sssssh, no, stay here,” or better yet comes up with really good reasons for staying in bed longer. Like, “I don’t neeeeeeed to wash my hair, it’s better for my hair if I don’t,” or another classic “I don’t want to disturb Cormac too much with my moving around, best stay in bed.” This morning I convinced myself (very easily) that 20 minutes of light yoga was simply too much in the morning if one isn’t used to it. That I best snooze for another 15 before getting up to do an nice introductory 5 minutes of stretching and yoga. Did I get up for the 5 minutes of stretching and yoga? Of course not! And I would love to say this is because it’s all dark and wintery but I am just as useless in the summer time!
This has got to stop.
How am I meant to conquer the world and succeed in my goals if I can’t even get out of bed?
This isn’t a “how to” blog post. I haven’t figured this out yet. This is a “help me” blog post. I’m reaching out to you, Bitchmitten readers. HELP ME! Any tips would be appreciated. Any sage advice will be taken. Any words of wisdom will be welcomed. Or are ye all the same as me? Struggling to get out of bed, wishing to hold on to those precious warm sheets, those perfect fluffy pillows. Or are you on the flip side and think I’m a crazy wagon for wanting to get out of bed sooner. Maybe I should be grateful with how my mornings go. I’m sure there are people who wish they had no other reason to get up than to just make it in to work on time, but they have a dog to walk, kids to get to school, a 7am train to catch.
And maybe I am mad, but I’d like to get up. I feel if I could get up and control my morning that I can do anything else that day throws at me.
This is a first post from amateur jockey and professional academic Emma Lyons – another remarkable woman we’ve added to the stable of cliché-crunching, stereotype-stomping bloggers in the Princess Pit!
Here she gets the bit between her teeth about the sport of racing, and how women still have many hurdles to face, when it comes to being recognised for the contributions.
International Women’s Day?
Not at Cheltenham it wasn’t.
I’ve been planning on putting pen to paper regarding perspectives on women in sport for too long. While I tend to make an effort when training, unfortunately I do procrastinate when sitting down to put my thoughts on paper.
However, the recent controversy regarding the women’s senior soccer team with the FAI spurred me into doing what I’ve been thinking about for quite some time: blogging about how women in my sport, that of horse racing, are celebrated. (or not!)
I’m an avid horse racing enthusiast and I was lucky enough to achieve one of my life’s goals: getting my amateur jockey’s licence and to ride in Punchestown (as well as many point-to-points). For me, there was absolutely nothing like it: the speed, the thrill and the energy!
So, given my love of the sport, and the ever-increasing involvement, success and recognition of women such as Rachel Blackmore (first female professional jockey in many years) jockeys Nina Carberry and Katie Walsh; trainers Jessica Harrington and Sandra Hughes and Aintree Grand National winning trainer, Lucinda Russell, I was curious to see what racing themed posts would be published online and on Twitter about International Women’s Day.
What did I find?
No reference to Irish Women’s Day, no reference to our sporting heroines, and no reference to the entries in Cheltenham with strong “female” connections – either those trained by, or to be ridden by a female. None of the prominent and widely followed sites, TV channels, reporters or race courses made any mention of International Women’s Day.
Well, not quite nothing.
There was this, from one of the race course Twitter accounts.
A picture of a glammed up “lady” advertising an upcoming race day.
Not quite what I was hoping for.
Another race course did make reference to a female of a different type – the horse equivalent – Benie Des Dieux who won a mares race last year. And that was it! No other references to International Women’s Day or women in the sport.
International Women’s Day occurred in the week before the Cheltenham Festival which is the pinnacle of the jump racing season. During the build up, all sport media channels devote a lot of air time, column inches and social media bytes covering the entries, the favourites and the fancies.
For the 2017 festival, there was a strong contingent of female trainers and jockeys. However, apart from the jaded references to Ladies Day (which include tips and suggestions such as what designer dress and tan to wear while going to the races), there was no celebration or promotion on International Women’s Day of the hopeful female jockeys, trainers and owners.
Lizzie Kelly was the first female entrant in the Gold Cup since 1984 (The Gold Cup is the biggest steeplechase event in the world).
Jessica Harrington became the 3rd women to train a winner of the Gold Cup, She also had two more winners over the festival, and as of 26th April, Jessica is the Irish Grand National, Cheltenham and Punchestown Gold Cups winning trainer for 2017.
Briony Fox won the Foxhunter Hunter Chase, the amateur equivalent of the Gold Cup which makes her the third successive female winner in three years (Another amazing female jockey, Nina Carberry won the 2016 and 2015 races).
Horse Racing is a sport that receives great public attention, and provides employment and enjoyment for the public, owners, trainers, jockeys, stable-staff and breeders (both male and female). The increased role of women in racing was really noticeable in the 2017 festival.
Given that horse racing is one of the few sports where men and women compete equally, it would have been nice to see, in the floods of of media coverage and commentary during Cheltenham, some reference to International Women’s Day. It would have been a lovely way to recognise the significant contribution women have made in the drama, interest and and success of the sport I love.
No Holding Back…
On being self-conscious
Finding a Sport That Works
Making Better Food Choices – Naturally
My 3.5 year old proudly says “my Mummy is going to do exercise!”
Don’t let anything, or anyone hold you back – especially if that someone is yourself.
Here are my top tips for making it work:
- Sharing babysitters with other people on your team to reduce costs.
- Find reputable clubs with qualified coaches, go to open days to get a feel of what is required and see if you can make it work for you and your commitments.
- To relieve boredom try circuit classes every once in a while and to keep your body guessing.
- Keep your fridge and freezer well stocked with healthy prepped snacks and meals.
- On days i cant get away from the house i set up little circuit courses in our sitting room and myself and my little one do reps like jumping jacks, the plank, mountain climbers and running on the spot.. She loves this.
Notes from the Ed
Helen is a busy mum, baker and blogger. You can follow her foodie posts over on http://hungrybabaworkingmama.blogspot.ie/ or drool over her fab foodie pics on @keoghhelen!
I’m tired. Tired of wanting to be thinner, tired of training and then feeling like I can’t have that big hunk of Toblerone, tired of counting calories, watching everything I eat, pouring litres of water into me, trying to eat less carbs, more protein, no sugar! Tired of being bombarded with weightloss stories, “best 5 tips for busting belly fat” bullshit and articles on people who now lift weights and are looking better than ever. And I’m tired of wanting to read them. Tired of trying to find an answer to my weightloss plateau, tired of not seeing results, tired of being told that ergs don’t actually help weightloss but still having to go on them, tired of reading articles on my metabolic rate and under-eating, over-eating, training at the wrong time of the day, not having enough good fats. Tired of macros!
Tired of punishing myself for not being smaller. Tired of looking at my friends and wondering how I’m not their size, we do the same training, we eat the same food. It’s their fucking height, woman! Tired of having to remind myself that I still look good. Tired of not feeling like an athlete because I don’t look like an athlete. Tired of having unsweetened tea and not having a biscuit at 3pm. Tired of counting my steps everyday to make sure I take enough, regardless of my actual training. Tired of hearing about a new diet, a new book, a new way of thinking. Tired of detoxes, juice cleanses. Tired of “resetting” my body, my metabolism, my anything! Tired of making smoothies that look like pond scum (though they do taste alright!)
Tired of cutting calories more and more, tired of not being able to enjoy my food. Tired of being controlled by numbers; kilos, inches, minutes. Tired of being afraid I won’t fit into my clothes, fit into my wedding dress. Tired of watching the scales yo-yo and not understanding why, grand if I binged but what if i didn’t, what if I was good as gold! Tired of working out what I can eat tomorrow to stay on calorie target. Tired of hearing “fail to prepare and prepare to fail.” Tired of feeling lazy, tired of feeling weak, tired of feeling judged if I do and judged if I don’t.
You are fed this notion that being thinner will make you happy. And it’s true… for awhile. But then you start to feel normal and new flaws emerge, new insecurities, new problems. I don’t think I need to “reset my body” I think I need to reset my mind, shut my negative thoughts down, their exhausting! I just want to live my life, be with the people I love, enjoy the food I like and be part of the sport I adore. I want to eat and train, not diet and exercise. I want to understand and truly believe in my heart that my body is stronger, fitter and healthier than it ever has been before. I don’t want to be a prisoner to my weight anymore, I thought I broke free from those shackles a long time ago.
But I haven’t.
Every woman I know is on a diet, cutting back, training more, “being good”. And I’m so tired of it. Where is the self love, where is the body positivity? Food is not taboo, food is not the enemy. Your mind is. Yes, be healthy. Yes, be fit. And course eat well. But I can’t hate my body anymore.
I’m just too tired.
So it’s the Sunday before I go back to work and I am here on my couch, enjoying the last of the Christmas biscuits (which are delicious by the way) and I feel both proud and ashamed. Before the break I had high hopes of keeping up with my training programme while back at my folks. I had time to rest and train. I would really improve in the two week window I had off from the office. But on my last day of work I got sick. Not much at first, just a little niggle in the throat. But that hectic lifestyle one has over Christmas of meeting old friends and enjoying a glass or two or seven… teen, well, that caught up with me and before you know it I was sick, proper sick. Too ill to train.
So I sat back and I rested… I rested hard. I slept in late, I ate cheese, and chocolate and eggy bread and waffles. I watched so much telly and took brief strolls when the sun shone which as we know was extremely rare. I stayed up late to laugh with family, I went taking photos with my dad on our snazzy cameras, I roasted my first chicken, I baked my 163rd batch of brownies, I chased my nephews and giggled with my sisters, I played board games that stressed me out (seriously! how am I supposed to know where port originated from?!?!!?!) I went for a pint with my fiance and his family, I lounged on couches with my best friend under blankets chitchatting, I laughed so hard at my other bestie’s recent work issues, I got told over and over again that I had gotten really hot since I lost weight (it was sweeter than it sounds). I watched my aunt really struggle at dominoes and resort to cheating, I bowled badly and bitched when a seven year old kept hogging the ball I wanted (how small are my hands?!)
I finally watched Jurassic World and fell asleep during Mad Max.
Honestly, I could go on.
But I won’t. I think I’ve made my point. I was sick so I couldn’t train and I’m glad I couldn’t. Sure I feel a little guilty, and getting back up to form will be tough but it was worth the wonderful Christmas I spent trying to get better. I had time to really spend with my loved ones. I don’t regret that for a second. So if you’re like me and are facing that envitable moment when you have to squish back into that sports bra and kick ass after a good long break during Christmas, just remember, it’s called the holidays for a reason. Sometimes you have to take a break, sometimes missing the gym or skipping that bootcamp is ok. Afterall, it’s not all the time, it’s only for a little while.
And there ain’t nothing wrong with that…
This is a post I wrote about 8 months ago on my old blog. I’m reposting it because a) it’s a topic close to my heart and b) weightloss and changing one’s fitness has not been addressed yet and I feel it’s important. So on that note I hope you enjoy this post 🙂
PS: Image was taken by the super talented Coriel O’Brien.
I was sort of sporty as a teenager. Sure that’s how I met my boyfriend. I was a rower then and fitness came easy to me. But the Leaving Cert came around and I felt I needed to “sort out my priorities.” Really, I think I just got sick of daily exercise and pushing myself physically (there is indeed a lazy bone in my body!) and I used my portfolio and the looming Leaving Cert as an excuse to quit. When I stopped, I stopped completely, I mean COMPLETELY. Looking back, I can see now how lazy I became. This must have annoyed the boyfriend no end as he was super fit and loved to be active. All I did was watch telly, hang out and eat. I ate a lot, like an athlete. No one mentioned calories to me, I had no idea what I was doing to myself. And it wasn’t until half way through my first year of college that my poor mum felt she had to tell me that I had lost my way. She was so upset when she was telling me, she felt like she was the worst person in the world. But she was right…
So I decided to make a change. But only with food. My diet changed but my activity level was still really low. This carried on for years. Trying to be healthy through food alone and completely half-assing any exercise I attempted. Starting off with great potential but getting bored and giving up again. I was sluggish, I was slow and I was deeply unhappy. It all came to a head one day when I just burst into tears because another dress in my wardrobe was too tight, was suffocating me. My weight was suffocating me. I wanted to run away from it, rip it off me and be free. My boyfriend simply said if I hate how I look and how I felt that much then change. It was only myself holding me back. My fear of the effort. This thought that I’m not really going to change, not like the people do in the magazines, not like those weightloss spokes-people. This stuck with me. But I started to run (with help and a wee bit of coaching from himself). Admittedly, my main goal was to lose weight but I started to have a little bit of energy, then a load of energy, soon there was an obvious spring in my step. I loved how agile, how nimble, how quick I was becoming.
So nearly two years passed and I got really into running, doing weekly 10k’s as if they were nothing! But I started to feel the niggle of that lazy bone again. I didn’t stop exercising but I began shortening my runs, I ran less frequently, no longer feeling guilty if I missed a run or two. I had the mindset that I had already achieved my goal. I had lost over 3 stone, I was a healthy, active person now, I didn’t need to kill myself on a 10k anymore. This was dangerous, but I fought this mindset and I managed to stay active, not letting long workdays and lazy Sundays to be the end of my new lifestyle. I was determined to not go back to that unhappy girl I used to be.
Then, by chance, an old work colleague needed an extra bum in a new sport she was trying. That new sport was rowing. Went to one session and was nagged to join the team (thanks Emily). And all of a sudden I was out rowing a few times a week, only leisurely at first but then we started to get a taste for it and then, shockingly, we wanted to compete. This changed everything. Suddenly, we realised we had to up our training to five/six sessions a week. Long sessions on the rowing machine, tough intervals, a little bit of weight training and drills after drills after drills. Instead of becoming more sedentary, I was becoming more active, becoming really fit, really fast, really strong. I’m a million miles away from the girl I used to be. I just wish I could tell her that it was all going to be worth it. That not only her body would change, but her health would improve, her attitude to life would change and she’d finally feel good in her skin.
People, if you’ve done what I’ve done, changed your life and became fit and are worried about falling back, find a sport you enjoy and join a team. There is no better motivation than not wanting to let your teammates down. There is no better way to get through a tough session than doing it right next to someone going through the same shit. One goal in mind, motivating each other, being there together.
I am forever thankful to my boyfriend for pushing me to achieve what I wanted and I want to thank my crew for not letting me fall back. Anything is possible with the right people beside you.
Going to class is about more than learning. It’s about connecting with people, something that an online classes just can’t give you.
I was driven to write this article after I read an online article about yoga teaching and how hard it is. It went into the horrible scenario of injured yoga teachers who had to carry on teaching. It talked about the lack of qualifications among many yoga teachers, and it also talked about the competitiveness of studios verses dedicated yoga schools. The article also implied that a lot of persons have switched to on-line yoga.
I firmly believe people should attend a class with a qualified instructor. In fact, this is applicable for almost all sports, for example with my other love – surfing. The real reason I attended my first ever surf lesson was to meet other people. AKA hot men. Well I didn’t meet any! But… I made some great friends, and I still have them four years later.
The same goes for yoga classes.
Mental health issues are at the forefront of today’s society. However, studies have shown that mixing with other people can really impact the effects of depression. Exercise is also great for over all wellness, and the feel good hormones that get released after exercise can make a big difference to those coping with depression.
When you exercise, your body releases chemicals called endorphins. These endorphins interact with the receptors in your brain that reduce your perception of pain. Endorphins also trigger a positive feeling in the body, similar to that of morphine! (Source: WebMD)
I walked into my regular weekly yoga class recently, and thought to myself “how many years have I been coming here?”
I asked a good friend of mine when I got onto my mat. She said – it had been from so before she had her first born child; probably six years!
She also said “and now look at you; you are a yoga teacher!”
Then we spoke about all the things we were able to do now that we couldn’t do when we first started yoga; reverse park etc lolz. I was thinking to myself that it’s crazy to do the same thing for six years!!!
I then rationalise the process as a whole. I love Iyengar yoga, I learn something new, mostly every class that I wasn’t able to “hear” in previous classes (instructions take along time to reach some muscles). I love my teacher in a gushy not normal way, she (and other Iyengar teachers and willing helpful volunteers from my yoga class and circle of friends and family) helped me through my teacher training. I like the other people in the class, many who have been doing the class for the same amount of years as myself. We are like a ” yoga family”. We have a shared experience/passion. We are connected to each other (whether we like it or not!). We go on yoga holidays together! We are – as a group of individuals – a little bit crazy, bonkers, quiet, reflective, flexible, questioning, non-questioning. individuals.
The things I like most are that it makes me feel better and we laugh! I reach a quite place in my yoga practice in my mind through the “asanas”. I am at one with my body, mind and I am in the present.
We are all human beings, and interactions with others is what life is all about. (As well as being kind, friendly, caring and getting your “Ching Chong on”) What I am trying to say is anyone can do online yoga, and go through the motions in front of a screen. But you will probably feel more rewarded by being brave and going to a real class, either by yourself or with friends.
“Just Do it” as the people at Nike say.
My advice? Look for a qualified instructor, enjoy yourself and don’t take yourself too seriously! Always approach a lesson as a beginner, try not to work from the ego. Listen to your body. And remember falling off your mat (or your surf board) is just as fun as doing “it” properly.
Postcards from the Ed:
Ellen Baggs is a qualified Iyengar Yoga teacher. She teaches class in the Engine Room, Portumna, and in the Culture Centre Tulla. She also runs dedicated Yoga classes for GAA players. (Yo-GAA!)
Like her Facebook page for motivation, advice and general bonkers Ellen-ness over at https://www.facebook.com/EllenBaggsYoga.