Cosmic Prose

Natasha Regehr

Tag: fitness

Greece, Part 1: Taking the Plunge

October 22, 2017 / / 1 Comment

IMG_4731I love water.  I love being in water.  I love being in deep water.  I love being upside down in deep water.  I love gliding through it, feeling its silky caress against my skin.  I love the aquamarine blueness of it, the way the light dances through it, the way I drift and float and submerge and emerge with perfect ease and grace.  I love the serenity of this glowing world to which I can escape and suspend time — until my lungs oblige me to surface for a little bit of oxygen.

You can imagine, then, the appeal of staying in this underwater world indefinitely, unconcerned about the trivialities of inhaling and exhaling — just drifting from one delight to the next in a slow ballet of submarine bliss.

Scuba diving, I thought, is exactly what my life has been missing.  I must go scuba diving.  I will be a natural at manoeuvring through this liquid paradise.  I will feel utterly at ease in my favoured element.

Not so. Continue reading

Errandipity

May 21, 2017 / / 1 Comment

I was warned, when I first moved to Morocco, that I should not expect to accomplish more than one, or maybe two things on any given day. One could, for instance, go to the doctor or to the bank, but not on the same day. Or even the same weekend. You see, businesses close when they’re not supposed to be closed, or the roads to said businesses close, or the parking lots close, or the place you think you need to go turns out to be entirely the wrong place altogether. Street addresses, if they exist at all, are not always chronological (this I learned on a five-hour dermatology expedition). And, if you do manage to a) find, b) access, c) park near, and d) enter your establishment of choice, it’s entirely likely that whoever’s inside won’t be able to help you anyway. You need to go to the other location, they say, or bring some obscure document, or (most commonly) COME BACK TOMORROW.

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The Bavarian Alps

Find Your Blick: An Alpine Adventure

August 28, 2016 / / 2 Comments

When your travel buddy deserts you in the middle of a mountain, you have a choice to make: do you follow her to the local spa to be coddled for the rest of the day, or do you carry on without her?

I chose to carry on.

Poor Jennifer. She didn’t really desert me. She just wasn’t feeling well. We had taken the cable car to the top of Mount Jenner, and halfway down again, hoping to do the last 8.5 km on foot. In her bodily distress, she opted to ride all the way down, but I refused: “No way, not me. I did not come to the Bavarian Alps to do a wussy cable-car descent. I came to hike, and hike I will!”

IMG_8801She waved a cheery good-bye and floated away in her glass carriage, and I confess, I gulped a little. Me – find my way across the mountain and down to Lake Königssee, then catch the boat to Kessel, the bus to Berchtesgaden, and the train to Bad Reichenhall – without my GPS? Or Google maps? Without even my phone to look after me if I get lost? No cell service, no wi-fi, no homing pigeons… just me, a pamphlet, and a series of destinations? Me – the wanderer who can barely get from home to work and back again without an unintentional detour? Without a functioning phone? Not even one?

Yes, me. I can do this. I’m an Adventurous Adult. Continue reading

Morocco Me: Surf’s Up!

August 13, 2015 / / 0 Comments

I am beginning to think that everyone in this world has an analogue somewhere on another continent. And that a great many of them live in Morocco.

I’m sure you know what I mean: that niggling feeling that someone reminds you of (or perhaps is) someone else. In fact, one of the very first people who greeted me in Casablanca has a vocal cadence much like one of my synchronized swimming buddies in Canada. So, in my head, I call her “Morocco Sharon.” In the confines of this small campus, I have also met Morocco Dave, Morocco Catharine, Morocco Sarah; Morocco Tania, Stephanie, Krystal, Vera, Crystal, Paul, and Darlene; and, most curiously, Morocco Snow White and Morocco Barbie.

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Should We Dump the Ice Bucket Challenge?

August 29, 2014 / / 0 Comments

When I said that I was jealous of Cancer, it never occurred to me that someone out there might be jealous of ALS. But apparently, that’s what’s happened.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. There are so many horrible illnesses out there, none of which are receiving the attention that ALS has enjoyed over the last few months. There are many obscure diseases without cures, and many well-known diseases that still claim too many lives each year. So it’s understandable, I guess, that people with strong feelings about other illnesses would be annoyed with the glut of icy videos cluttering their newsfeeds. Maybe I should have been more sensitive to that in my last post.

I came across one comment, however, that I just can’t overlook. The level-headed peace-lover in me advises me not to engage in a debate about a post that is so clearly riddled with inaccuracies and spurious reasoning. But posts such as these continue to receive nods of approval from readers I otherwise admire, and I have strong (and admittedly personal) feelings on the matter; and so I can’t help but address the points raised by this passionate commenter.

Facebook comments

Comments following August 26 meme post on Facebook

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Yoga Prose II: A Hoop-Dee-Doo!

August 18, 2014 / / 2 Comments

A revealing exposé of my secret grad school romance with a hoop:

I am a yoga experimentalist. Or perhaps merely the subject of a greater mega-yoga conspiracy, designed explicitly to stretch my tendons and my temperament in various hypothetically-possible ways. It’s okay. You needn’t worry. Yoga and I have a history.

It began at a weekend synchronized swimming meet in the late eighties, when, as a virgin yoga-attemptee, I worried that I might be doing something dangerously evil by lying on my back and thinking about my breathing when I should have been in church. My spirit emerged intact, however, until my next wobbly attempt, a decade and a half later, in the much safer environs of my local gym. I’ve tried power yoga, yoga fit, hatha yoga, and, in a more audacious experiment, Tai Chi (which I realize is not yoga at all, but I include to convince you of the scope of my yoga-quest). I like to think I have become rather good at it. I can twist myself in all sorts of unprecedented directions. I am beginning to think that Yoga and I are becoming too familiar with each other.

It was with a sort of giddy delight, therefore, that I discovered Hoop Yoga. “What can it be?” I wondered. “What does one do?” I rubbed my palms together in greedy anticipation. There’s nothing I like better than an adventure.

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Yoga Prose

August 16, 2014 / / 0 Comments

 Yoga, I am convinced, has rescued me from a lifetime of back pain and immobility; but my first few sun salutations were more laughable than laudable.  Here’s a story from many years back; I won’t say how many, to protect the identity of my esteemed yogi. . .

I went to yoga tonight because I had nothing better to do, and because I have a policy of forcing myself to see at least one human face each day besides my own. If I manage to leave my property in the process, I have done well.

I have been to a few yoga classes before, and a few million pseudo-yoga classes – those would be the ones with instructors who are athletes, not weirded-out hippies. In my last real yoga class, I was apparently unable to feel the earth’s energy sufficiently to have correct elbow-wrist alignment in my downward dog (a pose I had perfected in pseudo-yoga, or so I thought).  In my previous class, the instructor had required different poses for women whose uteri were in different states. “That,” I had thought, “is none of your business, lady.” Then she had chastised me for choosing the wrong pose. I didn’t go back for three years.

But tonight I was in that annoying frame of mind that is characterized by both lethargy and restlessnesss, and since the neighbour and the paper boy don’t count as human faces in my anti-isolation policy, off I went.

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