Tag Archives: Practice

Everything


Now that I have my dumbbells and E-Z Bar put off to the corner of the apartment, I’ve been focusing on other things like cardio (biking), twerking, walking with nature, flexibility and mobility work.  My physical therapist has even whispered restorative yoga and has recommended some DVD’s specifically for pelvic floor dysfunction that involves yoga.  So, you know where that’s taking me.

Now I’m not the biggest fan of cardio, but I’m a fan of being healthy enough.  To make biking for miles fun at the apartment, I blast tunes on my S1-Pro Bose!  The music gives me goosebumps and sometimes I can feel the bass deep in my heart as I drown out everyone else’s music in the building.  Sometimes I like multiple sessions spreading them from morning, afternoon or night.  And when I’m in a carefree mood, I’ll ride the bike without undies because that’s something I could never do at the gym!

Some people underestimate the work it takes to twerk.  It’s a hell of a workout!  Plus, it’s something that gets my heart racing quicker than I can shake my ass, probably.  I’m not supposed to squat, lunge or do crunches, according to my physical therapist, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, even though it may hurt me.  The main move of the twerk is a squat!  Still though, there are so many damn drills from standing, to bending over, to squatting on your toes, to performing movements on the wall or floor.  It’s great!

I remember when I first started twerking my body didn’t have the best muscle memory.  It felt like the first time I tried to dumbbell chest press; massively awkward and almost impossible.  I remember being self-conscious trying to chest press, more so than twerking.  Now, my ass has graduated!  It has a mind of its own and moves on its own freewill.  The only thing I need is a nickname for my twerking persona.

So, it took me a long time to be more flexible, but I got somewhere.  I stretched more of my lower body than I do my upper body because one day I want to be able to do the split.  Flexibility always reminds me of mobility work, so I do them both.  I used to think warmups, flexibility and mobility stuff were a waste of time, but that’s only because 1.  I can be kind of idiotic and 2.  because I was young and could get away without doing those things, so I thought.  I’m older now and my body is not having that shit anymore.  I must warm up and get all my juices flowing before I can dive into any kind of training just like foreplay before the climax.

Well, I’m new to restorative yoga.  I hope to practice it to the point where I turn into an airplane and levitate above the masses and hope to write about the journey of my new elevation.  So far, it’s weird to me.  At least, the process of being gentle as well as the process of consciously relaxing.  It’s eye-opening.  For the longest time, I lifted aggressively at the gym.  And to my amazement, I’ve never considered myself to be aggressive, even when others pointed and RAWR at me.  But by doing restorative yoga, I can see now how hostile, and often, how destructive I was.  Shit!  I have the injuries as proof.

Learning how to relax is something I needed in my life but didn’t know I needed in my life.  Isn’t that how it often is?  You never know what you need because you’re usually fixated on wanting something else that it overshadows what you actually NEED!  Anyhow, it’s taken me a long time to come around and relax for my overall well-being.  To be honest, the idea of being gentle to myself is/was pretty darn foreign, but I’m less guarded to being tender now with newfound appreciation.  This sums up everything!

Here’s an article to the introduction of restorative yoga if you’re curious.

Try it sometime.

Pennington

Rump Fun


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My body’s thumping.
My heart’s pumping.
My rump is shaking.
My skin is baking.

*

The verge of a coughing fit is near, but good women like me enjoy revolving around naughty actions.  I rise above my upper respiratory tragedy and decide to sweat the illness away by twerking out to rhythmic music.  This evening I wear a form-fitting black blouse with light gray harem pants.  The loose fabric puts me in the mind state of free flow.  Also, strangely, I know this now, but never focused on it then, if I want to form a better connection with my glutes they mustn’t be shielded with an undergarment.

So the warm up begins, body temperature is busy with total body dynamic stretches and a various amount of hip circles in every direction.  I thrive in the sensation of my muscles and blood heating up and swirling with flaming passion.  Already I can sense the beloved charming playfulness and my fierce sexual energy intertwine as one.  I throw my hands high in the sky, shuffle my feet to the beat and lose myself to the experience of my heart being musically inclined to the coolness of a down tempo.

My hair is loose, happy-go-lucky and fun just like my attitude.  And I can feel the music about to change and lead on it’s up tempo journey and this is where open joy takes place and I forget about the meddling of my chest congestion and need of an asthma pump push.  I grin in beautiful amusement and shake my tush like a hypnotic waterbed.  I shake it in the vein of wanting an imaginary world to stand at my peppery interest.  I shake it with the intent to make the fabric of my blouse stick with sweat to the small of my back and my harem pants dance against its own resolve.  Proudly I wiggle my rump like a basic bellydance shimmy.  I continue vibrating my bum to turbo achievement without letting any other body part assist.

Except, my body has a habit of working as a unit, so my core tightens on it’s own accord like a watchful warrior as well as my conscious thighs flex because they’re always ready to slay with action.  And I continue in a light trance bending over forward similar to a hamstring stretch as I come back up and bend over again and come back up continuously wobbling my bum with a blissful smile on my face.  I keep this stance happily for minutes on end before stepping out with a leg and creating a mini circle with my ass still quivering in its womanly flamboyance.

The hips continue side to side during the wobbling effect as I squat down and squat wobbling back up easy like a summer breeze.  And it remains intriguing back then while I practiced as now how my butt jiggles with a mind of its own.  I start to zone out a bit more and hurl my ass back into the groins of an imaginary person circling deliberately at first, but then building it forceful.  In my head, I envision myself a ballerina on a dazzling jewelry box merrily going around and round yet evidently not as graceful, but putting in work as one for I never stop my glute throwback circles until I begin to feel a deep side stitch.

Then I move on and sit in a low squat position, fingers rotated inward so they face and grip the top of my inner thighs.  It is here I feel the twerk within the static creases of my traps, triceps, back, core, erector spinae, tush, quads and hamstrings.  I arch my hypersensitive back like a cat and lift my glutes upwards slow and drop it back down vigorously so they bounce relaxed and free from care.  Gradually I bounce back up and down until the bum makes a synchronized ripple wave effect in all types of speed.

I feel my cough starting to climb and I settle down for a moment with calculated rhythm even as I carry the synchronized effect of the bounce in a smooth slow left and smooth slow right motion.  Then I continue in the low squat to jerk my butt up and down while performing a big circle horizontally known by the terminology as around the world.  And by this point my heart and lungs are beating in powerful fashion because they’re trying to catch up to the constant jumping of my harem pants and derrière.  My legs fatigue under constant tension, but I feel wonderful living for these moments of fitness and body awareness.

I keep at different movements to different rhythmic songs for twenty minutes before I start to head on the floor, arms stretched out, palms on the ground where I brace and arch my lower back and soften my knees in a very high doggie position.  My triceps contract hard, core is engaged, but the arch stays high and I once again allow my ass to go to places where it’s unrestricted.  I let it tremble by popping it up in the air and dropping it low.  I let it quake like someone is behind me letting their engine rev into my behind as I rev mine back at them.  I allow my ass to thunder with additional help when I use momentum from my bent legs and shoot the back and bum upwards in a quick succession.  I create fascinating hops, beautiful bounces, alluring circles and waves whether delicate or dynamic.

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I persist popping the booty until I finally feel like I’m losing the limits of fluidity thirty to sixty minutes later.  In between I take a breather, but then I start to wind down when my form starts to break and my lower back is inflamed like I maxed out on a thousand and one deadlifts.  I slow it down when my thighs are trembling uncontrollably and I can no longer reach a balance of going back and forth between standing, squatting or bending down.  This is where I get on my knees, jiggle extremely and even isolate each cheek separately with muscle control and than together because rather than feel sick and depressed in bed.  I rather undergo contentment in unvarying states of movement while getting my fitness in.  Plus I mustn’t disappoint my imaginary audience in the process.

P.S.

This would be a twerk level I would love to get to.  Watch Lexy Panterra’s Twerk Out.

Happy training!

-Pennington

On Writing


Before the love of writing started I began with reading lots and lots of books – all kinds really.  Then for a few years came book reports.  I enjoyed breaking down a story as well as making drawings for the report cover, particularly as a way to stand out from the rest of the classmates.  After book reports I started to write around the age of 9.

I wrote short stories back then, mostly horror because my family was big on watching horror films and I needed an outlet for my reoccurring nightmares.  So I wrote and wrote and each time I felt my heart become more and more alive.  I remember I enjoyed writing not just because I felt full of life, but because all my teachers said I was good at it.  And whenever someone gave me constructive criticism I was determined to get better.  Eventually I won a writing medal at elementary school because of that attitude.

In Junior High I would go on to write graded screenplays for the entire class to act out on.  By seventh grade I turned my attention to deeper writing like journaling and confessional poetry and during this time short stories were put on hold (and for the most part still is) as my writing began to take on a form of therapy.  With being a loner and feeling like an outcast from family and school, I learned to create friendships with my writing.  Then in later years, I learned about blogging.

So, even though I wouldn’t change a thing, it wasn’t until very recent that I realized I tend to write predominantly when I’m feeling glum (manic), bitter, displeased, enraged or dispirited.  Then of course there are the feelings of when I’m hyped, full of mania (highs) and excitability with huge shots of adrenaline when I train before, during or after.  Once in a blue I write when I’m happy, obsessive or in love too, but my heart lies with writing sorrow first.  So what’s the dilemma?

One dilemma is I believe I’ve limited myself to writing with and/or about certain emotions, so when I’m actually happy I find it difficult to write or get inspired to write.

During the time I was on a mood-stabilizing pill I stopped writing for 3 months completely (which is absurd), not just because it changed my persona to a degree, but because I had less bipolar episodes, less sadness, less excitability, less highs and lows.  I was somewhere in the middle, but not quite.  I wasn’t necessarily happy, but wasn’t necessarily sad.  Maybe neutral? But it made it difficult to find any drive to write.  Now, I’m trying to come up with solutions and creative ways to write about anything and everything to push myself over the boundaries I’ve created.

The second dilemma aside from finding inspiration through negative tone emotions is I started working on a book (a novel).  But, the problem for me is I stopped writing short stories decades ago, so I doubt my abilities since I’ve been out of practice.  Writing in narrative, I find to be more difficult than say, writing a poem, prose or a blog.  This is another challenge I’ve been trying to work on AND I’m open to suggestions from anyone who is kind enough to share.

Thanks for reading.

-Pennington