Getting in Shape is Easy!

It doesn't look like it but I was actually in shape in
this photo taken during the 20008 Fireweed 200 in
Alaska. I made it, finishing in 11 hours, 35 minutes.
That was then, this is now...

It's been a half-assed effort, but I am slowly getting my whole ass -- and the rest of my bloated form -- back into shape. The good news is that the workouts are easy. It's getting to the workouts that's hard.

Take today for instance…

I rode my bicycle off Plum Island and into Newburyport for the Tuesday evening group ride. I got there about 10 minutes ahead of the ride's scheduled departure and grabbed a spot on the little wall outside the bike shop that hosts the ride. I removed my helmet, pulled off my gloves and reached into the pocket on the back of my shirt for my iPhone.

Only it wasn't there. It was gone, along with my driver's license (ID in case I get smooshed by a truck) and a $20 bill (for emergency rations). @#$#! The only thing I could think of was that it had jumped out of the pocket when I hit a bump. And since I didn't want to lose a second phone in a matter of a couple of months, let alone my driver's license, I hopped on my bike and started back to the island, keeping my eyes peeled on the far side of the road for a small, black rectangle.

As I rode, it occurred to me that the likelihood of me not noticing the phone jumping out of my pocket was pretty slim, and that's when the hopeful thought that I might have left the phone at home crawled into my head. And after a 10-minute ride, there was my phone: right on the stairs by the driveway where I'd left it. Whew!

But hey! It's only 6:01 and that group ride NEVER starts on time, right? Let's go for it…maybe you can cut them off at the town green, about a mile or so into the ride. You can make it, right?

So I hopped back onto the bike and made my third trip in 30 minutes over the causeway linking the island and the mainland, this time really pouring the coals on (for me), hoping to link up with the group. I made it to the town green, pulled out my still-there iPhone and checked the time. 6:11. Hmm, not likely but maybe…

After waiting a few minutes, it was clear I'd missed the group. So I took off on a shorter solo ride. And truth be told: I probably got a better workout than I'd have gotten with the group. For starters, there was no one for me to draft. I had to do all the work. And as those of you who know me are aware, I'm too hardheaded NOT to pedal full-tilt -- especially with no bike computer to tell me my speed -- rather than be smart and pace myself for the long haul. I just go till I fade, cruise for a bit, then go some more. For an enchanting finish, I had a nice seabreeze for a headwind on the return trip home, when I was already pretty tired (oh, and it was snow-covered and uphill both ways, too).

In any case, the half-assed effort continues. When I got home, I installed the bike computer I'd bought a few weeks ago when I last did the group ride so now I can pace myself, right? At least on those days I get to the workout, that is.

Calling Gumby

Some of the other participants in this morning's
yoga class.

I could have stayed in Happy Baby pose the rest of the class. Fortunately, there were only a couple more hip openers to go before my favorite part of any yoga session: Savasana, or Corpse pose.

In Happy Baby, I lay on my back with my legs off the floor above me, knees bent, while my hands grabbed the outside of my feet. I also rolled around a bit on the base of my spine, which felt wonderful after the contortions in which I'd spent the previous 50 or so minutes. Like I said: I could have stayed there for a long time but in short order the instructor had us grab a belt and extend our legs (one at a time) out to the side then over to the other side. That felt good too, and the Savasana that immediately followed was very peaceful. But most of the session had been a torture-fest, a struggle to bend and twist this 47-year-old frame into rejuvenating positions. I did it, but it wasn't easy.

Which is a bummer because I was good at yoga a while back. I did it quite frequently and I have no doubt it was yoga that enabled me to play full-check hockey well into my 40s.

I took up yoga in the fall of 1992. I'd returned home to Park City, Utah, after my first trip to Alaska. On that trip I had several revelations, and they all conspired to get me back into proper form. I went vegetarian and gave up alcohol for almost a year, I started working out in the gym and doing cardio work regularly, and I took up yoga.

Yoga made sense because of a book I'd read by Ram Dass, in which the guru of the '60s pointed out that if you were an active person, seated meditation was going against your nature. Better to try active meditation: whirling, tai chi or yoga, things like that.

My first teacher was an ex-Army guy who taught in the gym in Park City. He was super nice and super laid-back, and he was very helpful to a rank beginner like me. In later years I worked with some pretty high-profile teachers, including one who studied with B.K.S. Iyengar, THE yoga dude in the world. But C.J. remains my favorite, largely because of his cheerful, happy-go-lucky approach to the practice.

And the practice paid off right away. I felt healthier and more capable on the slopes, on the ice, everywhere. Several years later, while playing for the Sun Valley Suns, I'd get shit from younger teammates as I'd go through my 10-minute pre-game routine. The funny thing was: they were the ones getting hurt, not this old-fart yogi. That was what clinched the value of yoga to me: that health and strength and suppleness that practicing yoga gave me.

But as with every healthy discipline in my life, I've wandered off the path in recent years. I haven't vegged since I started eating meat again in '93, and heaven knows I don't lead a teetotaling life. In recent months I at least kept up a gym practice (abandoned since May) and a regular yoga practice? Well, that's been years. So this morning's class -- a slow-flow class, no less -- was humbling.

There weren't any of the Gumby-like rubber-band practitioners in this morning's class, but there were plenty of people -- male and female alike, older and younger than me -- who made me feel like the out-of-shape blob I've become. Poses that were once easy for me are now challenging -- some so challenging I can't do them other than at the complete beginner level. I came out of the class feeling it in every muscle of my body. Which, I suppose, is the point, right?

"Seek freedom and become captive of your desires, seek discipline and find your liberty," wrote Frank Herbert in Dune. I've let that discipline go over the past months and years, but I'm confident that a slow-flow yoga class this morning represents the first step on the road back to where I was not so long ago. "Begin again and again and again and…" was the mantra of an old trainer of mine years ago. Sound wisdom. Maybe I can even get back to Gumby status someday.