Alabama Man, 42, Dies While Doing "The Crane"

Okay, so it's not a real headline, but it easily could be. Perhaps I should back it up a bit and make some sense here.

Some people say I have something of an extreme personality. I just say I'm a go-getter. For my 40th birthday I wanted to do something different, so I went skydiving (and loved it, by the way). I wanted to get a motorcycle, so I bought a Ducati. I wanted to try snow skiing, so I went to Taos on my first trip. I didn't say all the things I did were intelligent, just ambitious.

Now, getting back to the headline. I've been out of writing commission for the last couple of months because I took on a new exercise regimen. A litany of past injuries had teamed up with some rogue genes and, collectively, they decided to torment me on a daily basis. I made every effort to silence them by burying them in an avalanche of doughnuts, ice cream, colas, cookies and other such calorie intensive but delicious treats. Instead of burying them, though, I merely gave them bullhorns and red hot cattle prods. When it got to the point I couldn't jog the daunting 50 feet to the mailbox without getting winded, my "big boy" pants started squeezing my innards and my spare tire started looking like it came off a Peterbilt, I decided to do something about it.

During a physical therapy session from one of the aforementioned injuries, the masochist that was subjecting me to more pain than the original injury ever caused, commented that my muscles were weak and that I'd have better stability in my joints if I'd exercise. It didn't mean much then, but in light of my newfound self-loathing, it all hit home at once. Exercise. Yes, I must exercise. But what kind of exercise?

I could have started walking, but it's not really my style. I could have started cycling, but I live 15 miles from the Talladega Superspeedway and 19 miles from the Barber Motorsports track. Many of the locals seem to believe they are participants, so cycling didn't seem to be a good answer. I could have taken up Tae Kwon Do with my wife. Ninja, please. No I needed something different. Something intense. P90X. Yes, I needed to exercise and, true to form, I chose the most difficult, nausea inducing, muscle aching, pants kicking workout I could find.

Little did I realize that P90X included a weekly session of Hatha yoga. I had heard of yoga before. It was that thing that tofu munching liberals did when they weren't busy snuggling up to trees or saving whales. Surely it's inclusion in a muscle building, sweat producing, fat burning workout was the exercise equivalent to snoozing in my recliner. The guide recommended a yoga block and a towel. I supposed they were for entertainment when the yoga got too boring. I opted to pass on the extras and besides, a yoga block cost nearly $20.

I'll not step through the entire yoga session, but I wished I had looked up "yoga" before starting the workout. You see, "yoga" translated into english means "twist your body into positions that would make a pretzel maker pucker."

About 43 seconds into the warm-up, beads of sweat began to pop out down the length of my spine and across my forehead. I attributed it to a humid day in the south. After getting into "downward dog", which is essentially getting onto all fours and mooning the ceiling, I felt all the blood rush into my head and the sweat pour into my eyes. When I got out of "downward dog" I found myself translating into a very non-yoga-like position I call "light-headed redneck." Fortunately, I landed on the sofa to the right and not the french doors to the left. Apparently the towel is to wrap around your head to keep the sweat out of your eyes and cushion the fall.

Then came the bending maneuvers. Bending over doesn't seem too difficult until you find out that the yoga rule book states that bending the knees to accomplish touching the floor is a foul. No problem, I'll touch the floor. When my body stopped bending over the floor was still a long way. Ahhhh, yoga block. I paused the CD and ran downstairs to fashion an Alabama yoga block- a hunk of pressure treated 4 x 4 about 4 inches long. When I resumed the workout and reattempted the move I became impressed with my flexibility, or more specifically, the lack thereof. I paused the CD again and ran back downstairs for Alabama yoga block, revision 2- a hunk of pressure treated 4 x 4 about 10 inches long. It didn't lessen the pain, but at least I didn't have to bend over so far to suffer it. As an added discovery, I quickly recognized the fact that boxer shorts and yoga don't mix. I'm also pretty sure where the inventor of Pac Man got the idea for the game.

The real kicker came, though, with the balance postures. There is one called "The Crane" that is so supremely absurd that I'm not entirely convinced it wasn't a joke to begin with. Imagine standing on your hands. Okay, I can't imagine me standing on my hands either, but try to imagine it. Now from this position, imagine sticking your knees in your ears. Being the go-getter that I am, I squatted down, leaned forward onto my hands, stuck my knees in my ears and promptly fell on my head. I looked at the Gumby-like figures on the screen knotted into a monkey fist, balancing with apparent ease on their hands. So I tried it again... and fell on my head, again. And again. And again. Nothing says "I do yoga" like a rug burn on your forehead and a neck brace.

So here I sit, over two months into a three month program. I'm leaner, stronger, have better endurance and I still have a rug burn on my forehead. Now it's a contest. I'm determined to stick my knees in my ears for an entire 60 seconds or die trying. Just in case the latter happens first, before starting each session of yoga I set out a note for the paramedics so they'll have an explanation for the coroner. I hope my life insurance covers yoga.