The power of one

Waiting for my fish and chips, sipping on a chocolate big M, I found myself browsing the local shop windows down the road on a Saturday arvo.

I came accross a news article posted on one of the shop windows. It was an article on a local pro surfer Julian Wilson describing his new training techniques for surfing on the world tour. He explained that different methods of 'power yoga' helped him to perform at his peak and generally surf better. There was much emphasis that 'power yoga' wasn't just yoga, but yoga with the word power in front of it. Basically it sounded like it wasn't for pansy's. I then realised the article was stuck to the window of a small 'power yoga' studio.

It was beginning to look like a pretty good excuse to try my hand at yoga. Sorry, 'power yoga'.

The studio was just down the road from my house, Local pro surfer Julian Wilson did it and local pro surfer Julian Wilson wasn't a female. Lets face it, when we think yoga we think middle aged women in leotards - and because of that fact I still wasn't totally convinced to give it a go.

Then on a lazy Sunday arvo after a surf I found myself back down at the local shops. This time I noticed a bloke standing at the doorway of the power yoga studio chatting to a fellow 'yogarian'. I decided to wander over and inquire about the classes.

I got chatting with the bloke and he dispelled many of the myths and stereo types about yoga. He insisted that many local surfers and sportsman alike come along to the classes and it's not just middle aged women in leotards. Ok - thats enough reccomendation for me, at least one class can't hurt - Wednesday morning 6am see you there pal.



Wednesday morning 6am:

Here I am super psyched with my towel and water bottle (the power yoga flyer I picked up reccomended you bring those saying 'you will sweat'.)
As I approached the studio the first thing I noticed was a middle aged woman in a leotard at the front desk - the instructor.

Where the frig is that dude I was talking to, and where the frig are all the other dudes.

I started to fear the worst.

The instructor looked me up and down a little and asked politely "So is this your first time?"
"Uh oh this is weird" I thought standing there in my footy shorts and bintang bali singlet as middle aged women passed me in there leotards and loose tracky pants with draw strings.

I was directed to grab my yoga mat and grab a place on the floor to limber up.
Yep the nightmare stereotype situation had come true. There I was stretching my hammy's in the middle of the class surrounded by middle aged women in weird positions.

When it said "you will sweat" on the flyer they weren't kidding. half-way through the session I was drenched, whilst I noticed the instructer at the front of the class didn't have a bead of sweat on her. She was a freak. I remember at one point seeing her with her legs straight and her head on the ground.

I must admit though it was a good feeling. It was like an extreme lingering pain for an hour. Mm that doesn't sound that good - but it's good when you stop. You feel really relaxed and can breath really slowly and easily.

I don't regret going to 'power yoga' but I haven't been back yet.
I will but I'd rather have a wing man - I'll ask some boys at footy training...
"hey knackers do you wanna do some yoga tommorow morning? Bring a towel, a water bottle and your leotard."

Good surf'n and bye for now...

Eggscellent Easter (see what I did there)

well Easter has come and gone and whilst the majority of people had Easter Monday off - I was set to go back to the daily grind. Usually I'm not one to complain but due to a long list of booze filled events that began pre-easter weekend (just to warm up) I was in a whole world of pain by Monday morning.

It all started Thursday night @ about 6pm. I was to have the first of many beers.

In retrospect that night was close to becoming the pinacle of the weekend... I had a great night. The first stop was Uni night. Under normal circumstances uni night is big - but the night before the Easter weekend transformed it into huge. So huge we couldn't get in.

Now usually that would mean the night would slide into dissaray and arguments between friends would break out with "I told you we should of got here earlier" or "we should of gone to that bar"...

But there was to much excitement in the air - in fact there were more people outside the pub than there was inside. So a sub-party to uni night was created outside the pub which boosted morale and layed the foundations to an epic night.

My memory becomes slightly blurred from what happend next but I can assure you fun times were had by all. Daylight arrived and begged for me to go for a surf. It was a good move.

It looked like there were a few other hungover campaigners who decided to stay in bed a little longer as there were only a few blokes out. It was well worth while and after it I felt a million bucks.

Friday night was fairly tame although it did involve a taxi ride to McDonalds and the order of 30 cheeseburgers.

yep 30. It's a disgrace.

A friend of ours by the name of 'Dokes' had just moved into a new house so by Saturday night it was time for that house to be warmed! Homemade punch, a funnel and a dice made for a good night.

By Sunday it was family time - a trip to Noosa to catch up with the rello's. More beer, prawns and my first taste of chocolate for the weekend. The Sunshine Surf Club put on a good show that night followed by some pizza's at zachary's on hastings st. Attempts were made to go into night clubs but due to an underage patron that was with us our luck had run out. home sweet home.

6.am Monday morning and the alarm on the mobile is blaring. ouch. You all know the feeling.

Well to next time folks. Good Surf'n and bye for now.