Dry July – bye bye booze for a month

On a whim, I signed up for a month of no alcohol and joined Dry July, an Australian outfit that seeks to improve the lives of adults living with cancer. This they do by getting people like me to step up and declare that they will not touch an alcoholic beverage for the month of July, and then get people like you to crack open their wallets and schlep a few dollars (Australian or US) over my way, as you secretly mutter under your breath “well now she’s gone full crazy hasn’t she”.

While I like the idea of raising funds for adults living with cancer, I almost like the idea of stepping away from the sauce for a month even better. It’s a good opportunity for self-study and to continue with brahmacharya. So far, here on Friday July 6th, I haven’t missed it one little bit. However, I can assure you that if I hadn’t taken this pledge, my belly would be at least 3 drinks heavier. I would have had one when I went out for a belated anniversary dinner with the husband, I would have had a beer or two at the 4th of July fireworks, and I probably would have had one when we went out to see a movie the other day.  So that is at least 3 if not 4 glasses full of some vitamin B but mostly empty calories that I managed to abstain from, saving my ass from sagging even further.

I wish that I could report that as a result I was shedding the pounds like magic, but alas, not the case. Scale remains stubbornly stuck at numbers that I never in my life wanted to see. Pants are not sagging and t-shirts are having to work overtime to keep me covered. Having fully tested the theory that wishing away the pounds is not going to work, I’m going to continue into action. I imagine that training for the damn half marathon I signed up will do something, but in my heart I know that until I change some shitty eating habits, I won’t be leaning up any time soon.

So, please raise your glasses to my Dry July, wish me well, donate if you wish and send some loving thoughts to the 2 bottles of Magic Hat #9 stranded in my refrigerator for the next 3 weeks, wondering why nobody loves them.


Barefooting. Propriorecepting.

Being laid off from a soul-eating job a couple of years back has to have been one of the greater blessings of my life, all things considered.  Even if it seemed like a pretty shitty-ass move at the time, it led to some good restructuring of life and work. It enabled me to be barefoot a lot, after years of having to abide by strict OSHA rules on protective footwear.

I’ve come to value barefooting/flip-flopping a lot. And not just because of the awesome tan lines you get from sandals, although I totally dig those. It’s the grounding, the feeling of standing solidly into my own two feet, on the planet.  It’s about proprioception – how your body orients you in space.  How we stand up straight, how we instantly respond to catch a ball or get our feet back under us when we trip or slip.  It’s a sense, just like touch, taste, smell, sight and hearing, but for some reason it didn’t rise to fame with the others.  The majority of our proprioreception is gained from the soles of our feet. As soon as you put anything on there, even the thinnest of soles, you muffle that connection.  I can’t help but think that our sense of being “lost” in the world may partially come from that severed connection.

I have zero science to back that up. I tried a quick Google, but none of the links returned were speaking my language. I guess I’m just operating on a strong hunch or intuition if you will.  Plus from doing yoga. Setting a solid foundation with your hands and feet before moving into the poses.  Proprioreception in action, all the way.

I’d like to suggest more barefoot time.  Allow the body to connect, to sense, to feel that connection to mother earth.  And just maybe, we will all feel a little more in our skin as a result.