Death by Yoga

Yesterday changed me.

I’m humbled and thankful for fresh, cool Edmonton air.

A friend asked if I wanted to try hot yoga.

Being open-minded, I decided to attend.

New experiences, right?

Women at front desk: Your goal should be to just stay in the room for the full 90 minutes

HA…no problem.

Right? I think I’ll be fine.

Maybe I was a bit over confident.

Maybe, because I thought because I like saunas, doing yoga in one would be fairly rudimentary.

Maybe I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

As we entered the magma chamber, I initially thought it as very bearable. The lights were off, and people were silently lying around the room on their backs.

We joined the cult.

I waited.

It was relaxing, just lying there, and I was beginning to get a little complacent.

When the instructor walked in she reached for the thermostat. I felt like saying “Oh, it’s already warm enough. Thanks though.”

After the first pose, my body started producing copious amounts of sweat, and I realized what I was getting myself into.

Sweat on top of sweat was pouring off me like an uncontrollable faucet.

I quickly realized I didn’t bring enough water. Within the first 30 minutes, I had less than half my rations remaining.

This is the point I realized I was fucked.

I was in the midst of getting my ass kicked by 50+ year old, postmenopausal women when the instructor made the halfway announcement.

Halfway…Ju…Just Half?

HALFWAY DONE? This can’t be.

I didn’t believe it. I was preparing to die. This was it.

Part 2 consisted of a lot of mat work, and also, my transition from being uncomfortable to being in distress.

Water rations were low. The original goal of attempting all the poses, switched to a fight for survival. A fight to remain in the room.

My towel and mat were drenched, and nausea was setting in. The cascading sweat waterfall was making my mat incredibly slippery, and the force of friction approached zero, but bigger problems were developing.

This is about the point when I scoped out possible puke zones.

Best Case Scenario: do not puke
Worst Case Scenario: puke on fellow human being

I thought maybe a corner would be okay, or if I could somehow slip ‘n slide out of the room and into the nearest bathroom, I might be okay.

20 minutes still remained. I felt so utterly useless, almost like a giant, sweaty, beached whale with a sinus infection.

Doomed. Doomed. Doomed.

The middle aged women beside me must have been secretly gloating – she was kicking the ass of someone half her age.

Hell, if I was in her shoes I’d be secretly gloating as well.

My circulatory system was also beginning to show signs of weakness and fatigue.  Pins and needles formed on my extremities, and I was still desperate for water.

I asked my friend for water, and thankfully he obliged. He saved my life.

Sweat was stinging my eyes. I was lying on the mat, doing some sort of improvisational, quasi-yoga.

New frontier yoga. Real progressive shit.

My own ‘yoga positions’  and maneuvers were lacking in finesse and grace, and they vaguely resembled what the instructor was conveying.

Leave the room wasn’t going to be an option. I wasn’t going to be that person. It was either faint in the magma chamber or remain conscious.

I must not blackout. It took every ounce of strength to stay in the room, and finally, it was over.

…

I wandered out of the studio, in a semi-delirious state.

I was severely exhausted, but proud I stuck it out and lasted the full 90.

I have a new found respect for people who practice hot yoga, because it’s not a walk in the park, or a relaxing time in a sauna.

Remind me, next time I go, I’ll swing by the local ER before and request a bag or two of Sodium Bicarbonate, administered intravenously.

I’d consider cheating at hot yoga.

Haters gonna hate.

Sleep Paralysis: A Living Nightmare

Today, a mundane, short afternoon nap turned into something I soon won’t forget.

I didn’t have a nightmare. Nightmares occur primarily during the REM cycle, with a lack of consciousness and a period of rapid eye movements.

I fell asleep with my iPod on shuffle, playing out of my speaker.

Upon awaking, I began to hear the music that I had left on for the duration of my nap.

So far so good, until I ran into my first major problem, specifically when I tried to move.

The sleep paralysis that was supposed to keep me safe during my dream was still in full swing, so my body was rigid, except for my eyes. I could blink, and hear my music playing in my room, but nothing else.

I was petrified. Literally.

I had felt like a had been drugged. I tried to free myself from this frozen state, but to no avail.

It was as if the anesthesiologist during a surgery made a critical error, and I was a patient on the operating table about to be cut into with a scalpel, in a conscious state.

Now, from the literature I have read about this today, this is usually the extent of sleep paralysis for the average individual; consequently, the event rarely lasts longer than a couple minutes, with no other symptoms present.

But, for approximately 1 in 5 individuals who suffer from such paralysis, it is also accompanied by hallucinations.

I.E A LIVING NIGHTMARE

I’ll essentially give you a condensed version of what I saw, not because I want to remain mysterious or for some other neat literary effect, but rather, I think I have a right to a certain level of privacy about this unusual experience.

With my eyes open, the only movement I could manage included blinking. That was it.

As my music played softly in the background, I hallucinated two individuals on my bed. One blonde, older female, and another male at the foot of my bed, both lying intertwined within my comforter. I did not recognize them.

[I just deleted the paragraph that was supposed to take up this space, just for the fact the hallucinations sound far-fetched; this medium does not do them justice. I'm sorry for leaving this out. Just know they were utterly terrifying.]

I tried yelling out.

Instead, I heard popping/static noises. My voice sounded very muffled and distorted, and a distinct pressure was felt in my ears and on my chest – almost as if a weight was placed on them both.

I felt a noticeable increase in my heart rate, and in the minute or two that followed I struggled to free myself from the paralysis, and eventually (and thankfully), I regained motor function of my body.

The hallucination ended abruptly.

Here’s a quick Wikipedia snippet about sleep paralysis and the hallucinations occasional involved:

I’ve highlighted the symptoms I experienced in orange

In addition, the paralysis may be accompanied by terrifying hallucinations (hypnopompic or hypnagogic) and an acute sense of danger.^[9] Sleep paralysis is particularly frightening to the individual because of the vividness of such hallucinations.^[8] The hallucinatory element to sleep paralysis makes it even more likely that someone will interpret the experience as a dream, since completely fanciful or dream-like objects may appear in the room alongside one’s normal vision.

Humming, roaring, hissing, rushing, zapping, and buzzing noises are frequent in conjunction with sleep paralysis (SP). This happens when the REM atonia sets in sooner than usual, before the person is fully asleep, or persists longer than usual, after the person has (in other respects) fully awoken.^[18] Sleep paralysis is reportedly very frequent among narcoleptics. It occurs frequently in about 6% of the rest of the population, and occurs occasionally in 60%.^[30]

So, have you ever experienced such a phenomenon before? Sleep Paralysis, or the hallucinations associated with it? Feel free to write about your experience below as a comment.

Should Cancer be a Fight?

I think Lance Armstrong has it all wrong, which is really tough for me to say because he’s a hero of mine.

Armstrong successfully won arguably what is the most grueling and physically demanding race in the world, the Tour de France 7 straight years in the 2000′s, after ‘battling’ testicular cancer.

Lance Armstrong is such an inspirational human being, and the level of awareness he has brought to cancer and the funds he has raised through the LIVEstrong campaign and Lance Armstrong Foundation is nothing short of admirable.

I just have a problem with the ‘fight’.

More often than not, people diagnosed with cancer are preparing for battle. The fight for their lives.

Call in the fucking army.

The tactics used vary, but for now, we’re left with the staple weapons – radiation treatment and chemotherapy.

The big guns, so to speak.

The most effective treatment still remains powerful radiation and a poisonous concoction of drugs, with its main aim to seek-out, kill, and disarm the malfunctioning cells in a bold attempt to stop the internal mutiny.

Because right now, that’s all we have. There’s no miracle cure, yet.

Usually, it’s an emotionally draining war against the disease, propagated by the media, where the outcome can often lead to death – once your cells begin to betray your own body and replicate without some sort of order and control, there’s a problem. A life and death kind of one.

And, once these cells begin spreading throughout the vital organs in your system, the ‘battle’ is over. The war is lost.

A Fight. A war. Against ourselves?

Fundamentally it doesn’t feel right. The more I think about this, the more I wholeheartedly believe it shouldn’t be all about the battle.

Several years ago I stumbled upon a blog by the late Derek K. Miller, an avid blogger and musician, who resided in Vancouver. He left his mark on the social media world, as he continued to blog for several years with his illness. He gave major insights into what it’s like to live with cancer.

The post that inspired these thoughts is located here, and I’d encourage you to read it at your leisure.

In the meantime, here’s a small snippet in particular that I find very inspiring and thought provoking.

My cancer is a random, unthinking, physiological mistake. Some mutations cause cancer, some lead to new and wonderful forms of life. I got the bad one. For me now, my cancer is no more malevolent than bad weather, or an earthquake, or a rock I stub my toe on, or the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs. There’s no point getting angry at a rock, nor at my cancer, especially now.

I hate that it will kill me, and what that will do to my family. It’s sad and unfair. But there’s no one and nothing to blame. It’s a pure example of “shit happens.” (Oh, does it ever.) Like my correspondent’s brother, my time has come to win the battle by not fighting anymore, by pushing back against the desire to treat the end of my life as a war and myself as a soldier. We all deserve better than war, whether in the mountains of Afghanistan or in the brain of a cancer patient like me.

I’ll live my life, and when it’s time to stop, I hope I can accept that when face-to-face with it. In some ways I have it easy: the hardest part is for everyone else, after I’m dead. By then I’ll be gone, with not a care (or a thought, or a feeling) in the world. Lucky me?

I’ll warn you, some of his other posts can be very emotional as well, and for someone who doesn’t cry very often, some of them had me in tears. Explore at your own risk.

My hope is that this post, if nothing else, made you think about cancer in a slightly different way – not just about the fight, the battle, or a war.

Like Derek Miller said:

We all deserve better than war, whether in the mountains of Afghanistan or in the brain of a cancer patient like me.

I agree.

Can’t Be Unseen: My Face

I have to share this with you. It’s bothering me that I’m the only person in the world who knows this.

This is my blog’s homepage. Looks pretty normal right?

Why don’t we zoom in a bit, on my face…

Still don’t see anything out of the ordinary? Check out my smile.

One more final zoom, and I’ll explain what’s going on.        This is, in fact, a small piece of     processed, white cheddar cheese from Subway.

Last year, I had a friend take a couple photos of myself. I rushed home from class, pounded back a Subway sandwich, and did a mini photo shoot. When I went back inside and looked in the mirror, I was greeted with this dangling particle of white cheese, trying to disguise itself as a tooth.

Least I didn’t choose orange cheddar, right?

First World Problems

Technically, ranting about people’s first world problems could be considered a first world problem, seeing as I have the luxury to type this from a computer with reliable internet, in a warm shelter. But nevertheless, I’ll forge on. That’s not really the point.

Facebook is becoming a breeding ground for people to incessantly complain about every single small ‘developed country’ problem imaginable. To be frank, it’s becoming fucking annoying.

Wait, let’s back up.

You might not be aware of what a First World Problem is, or it’s technical origin…

In 1995, the Matthew Good Band wrote a song titled “Omissions of the Omen.”

The following lyrics have been cited as the source of this first world problem phenomenon:

And somewhere around the world
Someone would love to have my first world problems

Here is an excellent example of some first world problems/first world pains found on Twitter during a recent Christmas:

You see, it’s obvious other people around the world would want our first world problems.

In fact, people in Canada, in your city perhaps, are dying to have your problems.

You don’t have to look any further than any major metropolitan area in Canada to see poverty, anguish, and myriad of distraught individuals.

…

The Downtown Eastside

Every Canadian knows where this is – Beautiful British Columbia.

Vancouver’s dirty secret.

5 blocks of Hell.

Up to 30 percent of the population here is infected with HIV – many other social problems plague the neighbourhood.

Do you think you could look these people in the eye and tell them about your day-to-day first world problems?

Tell them that you had to skip breakfast because your alarm on your iPhone didn’t go off.

Tell them your PVR didn’t tape the last 2 minutes of your favourite show.

Tell them about your essay that’s due in a couple days, that you haven’t started yet.

Don’t be scared. They will probably listen to you, smile and nod politely – because deep down, they know about real problems. You know, the life and death kind.

True, legitimate problems, not the minor inconveniences faced by the most privileged human beings on this planet.

When I walk to school or leave the confines of my home, I don’t have to worry about stepping on a land mine. For this, I am grateful for.

Mr. Zuckerburg, since you’ve already altered Facebook so much the last few years, could I have one small request?

Could you inject ‘third world problems’ into everyone’s News Feed, in the hopes it will awaken some of the more naive, ignorant people in this world.

Because honestly, I think people need to be exposed to this stuff.

The following contains real status updates compiled over several days.

Proposed, Revamped Facebook News Feed:

——————————————————————————————-

4:15 pm: Not leaving school until 11:30 at night…. Please don’t tell me this is my life for the next 4 months!

3:11 pm: Downtown Eastside

2: 16pm: Well that was the first and last time I will ever sit through a 3 hour class about construction drawings while I’m sick. That was brutal!

1:29pm: I love how in a health class we are sitting for an hour and a half in fucking uncomfortable plastic seats, well done UofA

1:18PM: Downtown Eastside:

11:12am: This cold can go away any time now!

10:48am: Getting the unexpected female “monthly gift” the day before Valentines day.    Kill me

9:15am: Downtown Eastside:

8:15am: Vending machine stole my money!

6:30am: Iranian Hospital

——————————————————————————————-

I’ll leave with another song by Matt Good, who eloquently wrote a song describing the everyday struggles felt by individuals in the DTES. I think he does a pretty good job conveying the struggles these individuals face daily and of the tragedy that’s currently in going on in Vancouver, and many other neighbourhoods right in our own backyard.

Sometimes I think people forget about this. Not all people, but some. Let’s not, okay?

Our Canada. With glowing hearts.

A Matthew Good Monday

Today just feels like a Matthew Good Monday.

Occasionally, I’ll make the effort to share a song or two from arguably the greatest Canadian alternative rock musician to ever live.

Firstly, a couple reasons why I like and respect Matthew Good. None of them involve his incredible, emphatic voice.

1) Mr. Good speaks his mind. The three-time Juno Award winner has not accepted any of his awards in person – Some people might see this as being selfish or arrogant, but Good has other reasons:

“When it … isn’t kind of this weekend when the Canadian music industry pretends that it’s … not just marketing warehouses for the United States, then sure, I’ll be a part of it.”

He’s also never been too fond of the record company industry, and after the production of the album Audio of Being in 2001, Good gave some insight into the development of the album, specifically the addition of the song Anti-Pop.

There an interesting story behind that song actually. The record company, I had already delivered that entire record to the record company. They use this whole back-channeling system cause the Matthew Good Band was a very political band. We actually weren’t all friends to begin with. It was a super political situation, everyone was always trying to basically fuck everyone else over at the exact same time, and I would just puke all day. And my record company called my management who called Dave Genn who said “oh you have to write a hit for the record”. So I tried to write the worst song I could possibly come up with. And then you know, in true fucking major record company fashion, they put it on the record. That’s how stupid record companies are.

As it would turn out, this was the final album by the Matthew Good Band. I think it was for the better.

During one of his shows in November, while promoting his new album, Lights of Endangered Species, Matt Good wasn’t about to sit back and watch two punks go at it from afar. No, as you’ll see in the video below Matt Good calls them out like no other, stopping mid song.

This is a must watch. Jump to 1:10.

2) Matthew Good has done a lot of work with improving mental health in Canada, and has raised awareness of bipolar disorder and other mental health issues. Working with the Canadian Mental Health Association, he has advocated for people suffering from mental illness. If you have six minutes, you can hear a bit about Matthew’s story and his battle with the illness.

In closing, the song I would like to share to you is ‘A Single Explosion’ off Good’s 2007 album, Hospital Music. This song never fails to tug and wrench on my emotions, especially the following lyrics:

“I can’t write love songs when I’m on these things. I’m affable, responsible, but hard to be around”

These lyrics in particular give major insight into his bipolarity. I’ve never felt such raw, honest emotion like this from a musician.

This song, like so many others in his discography evoke a wide range of feeling. If you have the time, dive in and discover the daunting discography that is Matthew Good- You’ll never look back.

10:15 – This Can’t Be Unseen

I’ll warn you, once you see this, you’ll never look at the Vancouver Canucks vintage logo the same way.

Yesterday, one of my international students on the floor was wondering why I was wearing a hat with a clock showing the time 10:15.

I took off my hat and had a look.

He has a point.