In my January 27 post, I mentioned that I was considering Bikram Yoga as one of possible solutions for my growing waist problem. I tested it this past weekend, and have to report that I have doubts.
I should first update you on my progress over this past weekend:
1. I was fairly disciplined during Howard's welcome dinner (Bill, Joe and Tom were in attendance as well, although Bill does not want to be mentioned in this blog) at El Parador, where I had only a couple of sips of their delicious margarita, a countable amount of chips, and fairly conservative servings of beef fajitas and paella. Of course, I had to have their peanut butter stuffed jalapenos! They are out of this world good, very low in bad fat if you avoid pieces of pork skins that garnish the plate, and remember to put some toilet paper in the freezer for the morning-after bathroom visit.
2. Saturday I worked out with Brad at Definitons and met Paul, Joe and Howard for lunch at Daddy's Diner. I had a salad. Which was giant, but completely utterly forgettable. There was nothing good about that salad, and its mare size cannot qualify as a plus. I wanted to go to Gramercy Tavern, but found myself in a minority, a clear case against democracy and in favor of benevolent dictatiorship.
3. After a nap attempt, we were ready to go for a failing economy-conscious meal at Great New York Noodle Town in Chinatown. Not a place for a dieter. Enough sad. (FN4)
4. Sunday morning, after a suitable serving of light cereal, I followed Howard for our Bikram class. For those unenlightened, Bikram attempts to recreate the conditions found in Calcutta, India during the Monsoon season right here in New York, and with a generous use of space heaters and humidifiers manages to create a steamy environment where half naked practitioners put themselves into some fairly difficult positions. The class is planned so that, in no time, your heart is pounding, you start feeling dizzy and concerned you may pass out while gracefully balancing in a position best suited for Michelle Kwan. It was unpleasant. But I was sweating and losing weight! Or so I thought. Now, let me observe that the men who attended the noon class were not, how can I describe it... Inspirational? A grave injustice became apparent:
The Great Injustice: Paul and I both have weightlifter shoulder, but neither of us, at the moment at least, has a weightlifter body. A hot, lean, weightlifter to be precise. Yet, after my first Bikram class, and with no yoga-specific injury to report, I realized I had a yoga body! Not the slim kind, but rather the type with that jelly-like quality to it. Would it be too much to ask, require even, that if one has a sport-specific injury, one should have the sport-specific body. What's good having a tennis elbow without being 6.4" and 195 lbs?
5. Shattered by this injustice, overheated from my Bikram class, and with piercing headache, I attended a Super Ball party and had more than one pig in the blanket.
This morning I woke up feeling weak and unwell. The scale revealed that it was not because I suddenly lost weight. No. 231. Was the week one wasted?? At least I have the cookbooks...
P.s My dear and insanely talented friend Roman suggested that this beautiful undergear number would be much more appropriate for my South Beach vacation... Alas, although marvelously crafted, this great creation is of wrong color.
FN1: To balance this poor judgment, I purchased two (cook)books that are certain to give me an edge in my growing struggle. I considered purchasing one more which recommended eating practically nothing for 21 days, promising the willing sufferer an incredible weight loss totaling, you guessed right, 21 pounds. Which sounds great, and I may even go for it if I am at 221 pounds 21 day before June 19.