John Isner playing a Wimbledon match over 3 days…

Michael Jordon in triple overtime in 1993 NBA finals…

Ali vs Frazier in 12^th round at Thrilla at Manilla….

All legends in the game but I claim none of these guys even got close to sweating as much as I did when I took part in my first ever Bikram yoga class. Referred to as hot yoga, you voluntarily place yourself in a 105 degree Fahrenheit room where you perform 26 different postures over 90 minutes, after which you’re baked to about medium rare depending on number of bastings. I was a little hesitant to try it but a friend who swears by the discipline and has the results to show for it convinced me to give it a shot and I figured the worst that could happen is I have a total body core shutdown so what the hell.

I walk in for the 9am class about 30 min early to ensure I get a good spot (next to the exit for a quick getaway if needed) As I enter the main lobby a wave of heat hits me and I think it’s tolerable until I realize it’s just a small sampling of the escaped heat from the main yoga room/oven. The earlier class is letting out and people are emerging from the room looking like they were just rescued from a week trapped in death valley. I consider a fast getaway but the receptionist still has my credit card. I try to remember if I bought the credit card insurance for purchases that could actually kill me. I did not.

Finally our class is let into the room and as I’m literally hit with a wall of heat that makes my eyebrow hair spontaneously combust I’m thinking 90 minutes my ass..my initial goal today is to last 90 seconds. I now long for the tranquil 85 degree environment of the reception lobby. Too late. I’m in and I’m committed. The very nice teacher spots the rookie in the class immediately (Hint – the guy looking on the floor for singed eyebrow hair) and formally welcomes me to Bikram. I suspect that is the insider language to coily announce that side bets on my survival are now being taken. I’m able to decipher that the over/under number on when I run screaming from the room is 37 minutes. The woman next to me clearly has the under number as she hauls out her own portable humidifier. Like 105 degrees is not enough for her. I make a mental note to sweat directly on her when possible.

Let the class begin. We start with some deep breathing exercise but I’m already way ahead of them with my own hyper ventilation technique to keep the air from starting a fire in my lungs. It doesn’t work. Then 3 minutes into the class I have to pee. Seems I took the pre-hydration warning a bit too seriously. 26 postures to go and fortunately the first one puts my bladder in a knot so I’m temporarily out of danger. .

Pose #2 . They call it Pada Hastasana  or Hands to Feet Bend all the Way Over Pose. I call it “Person in front of me please consider not wearing the shorty shorts for your next visit. Spandex can be your friend and mine” pose.

Pose #5 called Dandayamana (Standing Head to Knee Pose) My head has not touched me knee since that hard check I took on the boards at hockey game last year….by my own teammate none the less. He’s not here so I crash and burn pretty hard on this one

Pose #12 called Padangustasana (Toe Stand Pose)It’s as hard as it sounds. Support all of your weight on one set of toes. They might have just as much asked me to levitate off the ground in the seated position and I’d have about as much luck.

Pose #13 called Savasana (Dead Body Pose) Nailed it on the first try! It’s now 38 minutes in class. Dollars are exchanged between classmates. Humidifier girl turns up the dial just to spike me since I cost her $20.

Pose #14 called Pavanmuktasana (Wind Removing Pose) I quickly realize this refers to “inner” body wind and it’s at this moment I realize why there was a bit of a distinct smell emulating from the room when I first entered. On the plus side I’m one class in and my colon already feels 3 years younger.

Pose #16 called Bhujangasana (Cobra Pose) This represents the first pose where you are lying on your stomach and I realize very intimately that it’s been quite a while since I last cleaned my yoga mat. I’m extra motivated to pull my head off the matt but no matter how hard I try I can’t kiss my big toe which is what the woman next to me is doing….while applying nail polish at the same time. Showoff.

Pose #20 called Supta Vajrasana (Fixed Firm Pose) Instructed as a pose easy to accomplish, I find that to be true as I start in a seated kneeling position and bend all the way back until Im on my back, knees folded in. Feeling quite studly until I realize I have no idea how to get out of the pose. Thinking fast I announce to the room that I’m going for the fixed firm pose hold record which evokes cheers from my class brethren. Once I can no longer feel my lower extremities I am able to finally break free and revert back to the dead body pose.

Pose #21 called Ardha Kurmasana (Half Tortoise Pose) Im way ahead of the game as most of my external extremities went “full tortoise” atleast an hour ago from the heat.

Pose #22 Ustrasana (Camel Pose) Bend your head and neck all the way back while on your knees. This is when I realize Mr. Bikram was a visionary. Over an hour into class one might feel like barfing from heat exhaustion but in this pose he has ensured that you will only to puke on your own face. Genius!

85 minutes into the class the heat finally gets to me and I start to display rapid shallow breathing. The Yoga instructor is speechless and quite impressed at my ability to quickly adopt as it turns out this happens to be the final breathing exercise called Khapalbhati (Blowing in Firm pose)

90 minutes. Done. High fives all around save for mean humidifier girl. I gather my mat, exit the oven and feel the glorious 85 degree lobby air embrace all around me. For a moment I’m speechless until I instinctively shout out “SOMEONE GIVE ME MY FUCKING KLONDIKE BAR!!!

BTW I really loved the class and officially addicted!  :)

3:30pm – After 16 near sleepless hours, arrive in Barcelona for Mobile World Congress tradeshow as sole representative of the company I work for.

4:15pm – Arrival in cab just outside hotel. 15 years of world travel does not hide my “essence of gringo” and almost immediately I’m propositioned to buy souvenirs, weed and a wounded cougar Spanish lady friend.

4:16pm – 13 years at Adobe has by nature instilled blind faith that an organization that sends its employee on a business trip will ensure that proper accommodations are secured during the stay. Silly silly Scott. As I walk toward the entrance to the hotel I read this note

“During the week of the MWC tradeshow only full night room reservations will be available”

A moment lapses before I realize my company has booked me into a 1-star cash only hotel that by policy allows rooms to be rented by the hour. I turn my gaze back outside seeking an escape route but all I see is the cougar lady friend across the street who gives me a knowing wink as if to say “I’ll be here when you’re ready big boy”.

I haul out the smart phone. Surely this must be a mistake. Hopes dashed when travel itinerary confirms the destination. A quick scan of hotel review on Yelp. The words “dump”….”avoid”….”shady” and “nightmare” leap out at me first. Defeated, tired and anger brewing I succumb for the moment to my predicament and walk into the lobby.

The manager looks like he’s on the tail end of an 18 hour shift. Cables behind him lead to a dilapidated modem that likely is the sole source of Wifi that likely has a limit range of about 10 feet around the lobby. Other guests huddled around laptops scattered about the lobby confirm my assumptions. No one is over 25 except me. 75 euros nightly rate! Cash only sir. MWC pricing. Keys are handed over. Complimentary gruel and water service begins at 7am each morning. I’m pointed to the 19th century elevator to take me to the 4th floor room. I choose the stairs instead.

4:45pm – I check into my room. I believe the original decorator was inspired by 3rd world interrogation rooms for criminals when deciding on an “essence” for the room. 2 cots, a dangling light bulb and an armoire with 3 hangers. I can’t bring myself to unpack

4:46pm – The first hint of the sewer like smell wafting from the bathroom hits me. I check to see if the last guest left a deuce as a present but no such luck flushing that problem away

5:15pm I return to the lobby to inquire about getting an iron to prepare my work clothes for the week. The manager informs me there is just one iron and it’s being used at the moment. There are atleast 40 rooms in the hotel. I calculate that my turn to get the iron will come about 3 days after I’m already back home in the U.S. Then again I might be the only guest in the last few years that ever set foot on the premise wearing a suit and sporting a full time job.

6:00pm – After a good cry I decide to head out to a restaurant where healthy doses of Sangria will blunt the sting of my predicament.

8:00pm – I finish dinner and check around a few other local hotels to see if they have any remaining vacancies. After a few hearty laughs as I pose that question to front lobby managers and one prolonged grimace when I note my current accommodations I accept the predicament I find myself in and make the long slow walk back to the hotel. Around the same time I get a text message from an old Adobe colleague also at the show. “Hanging out at the Mandarin Oriental tomorrow night for drinks….join us!” That one hurt.

9:00pm – As night falls the quality of the characters lingering around the bar next to the hotel follows suit. The hotel manager buzzes me in through the since secured double re-inforced lobby door. I catch a momentary glimpse of the sacred single iron as it disappears into yet another room. I start my death march upstairs

9:15pm – I reach the top of the stairs and approach my room. The hall lights have since shut off. Lock down for the night. In the room realizing I’m still in the same clothes from a day ago I plug my nose, head into the bathroom and start up the shower. I scan my surroundings. No fancy soap or shampoo. Correction..make that no soap or shampoo. Contemplating if the liquor store across the alley from the hotel carries Irish Spring. Odds quite low. I jump in and decide to just spread the dirt around.

9:45pm – I gingerly pull of the bed spread pull back the covers, praying that all the money the hotel saved not stocking shower soap for its guests has been invested alternatively in healthy amounts of strong germ killing laundry detergent instead.

10:15pm – Either total sleep deprivation over the last day or the lingering effects of the sewer stench wafting straight through the bathroom door lulls me to sleep/unconsciousness.

3:00am – Bar next to the hotel closes. Remaining fellow quality guests return to their rooms. From the paper thin walls I hear every conversation simultaneously and crisply as if it’s being screamed directly into my ear. I contemplate offering my unprompted advice in return to one particular conversation that indeed you might want to have that rash checked out. Over the next 20 minutes the collective guests around me decide to have an impromptu door slamming contest.

3:20am – Rythmic bed squeaking sounds from my neighbor to the left begins.

3:22am – Squeaking ends. Rookie.

4:15am – I’m awoken again by shouting voices coming for the alleyway outside of my hotel. I don’t speak much Spanish but the loose translation I am able to derive from the conversation is something along the lines of “Yo WTF? I’ll crack your skull in half if you don’t give me my money” I recognize the voice of that of the wounded cougar. Mental note – Never stiff a wounded cougar.

7:15am – Sunshine breaks through my window. I survived the night. I take another soapless shower get dressed, brace open my door and slam it shut as hard as I can to provide a complimentary wake up call to my hungover neighbors.

After a hearty gruel breakfast I fire up the laptop and craft an email to my boss.

“Hi! Made it to Barcelona and the hotel your assistant booked for me. An interesting selection. Here’s a link so you can check it out for your next visit here. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be heading off shortly to the show, I’m a bit tired from the noise emitting from the bar below till 4am, sporting a wrinkled suit and a bit smelly at the moment given the lack of my hotel amenities and won’t be able to do any work from the room with no WiFi but I’ll manage somehow. BTW if you don’t hear from me in the next 24 hours inform the CFO to prepare the random money to secure my return. Glad I could be here in person as the sole rep for our company. Later!”

10:45am – Our travel coordinator calls. Miraculously a room opened up at a 3 star hotel down the road and I can check in anytime.

Mountain climbers occasionally experience the phenomenon of the false peak, topographical oddities that seemingly indicate that a summit has been reached when in fact the journey has not yet been completed. August of last year I experienced my false peak on the journey to a diaper free lifestyle. All indications and preparations were made for a full transition on his 3rd birthday, similar to his older brother who “summitted” on his own in a similar fashion at that age. Down to the last oxygen tank and near exhaustion I soldiered on, counting down the number of diapers I had left to change a full 30 days prior and not letting any poop blowouts dampen my spirit. But the 3rd birthday came and went I realized I had experienced a false peak. Dejected, I sat down, ripped open a Cliff bar and prepared myself for a seemingly endless Pampers driven life. This was my Vietnam.

Fast forward 7 months and I have finally conquered that mountain. A single tear from my face hit the ground at the exact same moment my son’s first poop on the potty made the splash down, unclear if it was caused from an overwhelming joy that I had finally reached my summit or laughter seeing the uneasy look on my boy’s face as things were falling out of his bum. This uncertainty has quickly turned to pride as he always makes a point now to fully admire his work before flushing.

Since I have graduated into a diaper free lifestyle, I have pledged to never change one ever again. My father called recently to congratulate me on my decision but noting that that it took him about 3000 less diapers before he found his own enlightenment. Easy to say in 1971. That said I’m not jaded and I have chosen to use my powers only for the good. I happily pass on my diaper changing expertise to less fortunate male souls who are still completing their own death march though I do it Mad Men style, with a high ball of scotch in one hand while I tell you why your changing technique is all wrong. Flaps out boys…always out.

They say kids grow up too fast but this was one milestone that could not come fast enough for me. Please give a moment of silence for my personal sherpa – the diaper bin that now sits at the the end of my driveway with the biggest FREE sign I could find. Time to pass him on to another weary mountaineer.

Have to give it to the Sharks fans though. They channel their inner east coast die hard fan and step up in the playoffs. Best cat calls I heard last night at the sharks game when they clinched the Western Conference semi-finals to knock out the Wings

“Hey Lindstrom-Your mama face looks like she got hit with a Toyota with faulty brakes.

“Hey Babcock-You run a hockey team like GM manages a car company.

“Hey Draper – Shark fans think you suck but your boyfriend confirms you swallow”

“Hey Detroit – I hate you all and the entire east coast” (slight pause as the fan sitting next to him gives him an impromptu geography lesson) “and the midwest too”

Bring on the next victim.

Alright.. but at what cost? The bag is so unbelievably loud it makes secret snacking impossible. Bad news in a home filled with kids who never met a chip they didn’t like. Now I have to decide between my obtaining my daily empty calorie nutritional intake  vs contributing to  landfills. The answer –  well hello there Mr. Dorito!

The point is I could have seen the movie opening night and fought off throngs of people but why is it so important to be first? Star Trek was just as good in June as it was during memoral day weekend and Matthew McConaughey’s wooden overacting style is just as bad in week 3 as it is in week 1 of release. It would be more dramatic to say something like week 10 of release but have you ever seen a Matthew McConaughey movie last more than 3 weeks lately? Keep those bongos handy my friend.

Beyond movies, you hear about the people that line up for a week or more outside the local best buy to be the first to get their hands on the latest gadget.  Hey Mr Gadget, how you liking that overpriced, underperforming, battery sucking first generation iPhone that you just had to have before everyone else and took 3 days to activate? One day that will go great with your Zune MP3 player and that 32 inch Sony Plasma you bought in 2002 that cost you $10K . I just picked up a 46 inch version for under a grand.

I learned my lesson early in life on the pitfalls of being on the cutting edge. In 1978 my father marched down to the store to buy our first VCR. The Betamax vs VHS format war was in full swing and it wasn’t clear yet which side was going to win. What finally made my fathers decision was a special offer of a year’s free video rentals if he purchased the Betamax unit. Little did he realize that there was probably only 20 titles at the time that were available in Betamax  so I spent the next year switching between Star Wars and Jaws rentals. I choose not be kind and rewind that year. My father never learned his lesson and followed up that act that Christmas by purchasing the Intellivision home video game system. Never heard of it? Came out about 3 months before Atari….exactly.

So keep taker those flyers on first year quarterbacks that can’t miss in your fantasy football pool (sorry that Brady Quinn pick you made didn’t work out that well) and Twittering your whereabouts every 4.6 seconds. I’m going to check into this thing they call Netflix.

What would preoccupy someone to the extent that they would do such a thing? You would think that the sound of the equipment ripping from the main housing of the gas pump as the car drove away would have alerted the guy that his gas bill that month immediately jumped about $1000 but the only thing that finally got his attention was another car driver frantically waving to pull over. I would have done it myself but I was too busy looking for my camera. Never did get the shot.

Could it possibly be the force feeding of 24 hour cable news programs and front page headlines tracking the economic armageddon that is currently unfolding that is making us all feel and act like zombies who’s fate is already sealed? Maybe the guy finally opened up his 401K statement and realized he’ll now be working till he’s 93 before he can retire. It’s just depressing to see the headlines get bleaker by the day. I’ll know I’m on to something here if I drive up to refill only to see the gas pump handle missing from pump #16 at my local Arco. But then again I’m a regular unleaded kind of guy. 

The consensus from the TV pundits and financial “experts” is that the economy will not recover until some semblance of confidence is restored in the average consumer. These consumers who have been on a drunken spending credit fueled spending spree the last 10 years have finally started hording cash with concerns about their job and keeping their home. Overall that’s a good thing but with consumer spending driving over 50% of the U.S. GDP annually, coupled with the bad debt the banks continue to carry, it’s not hard to imagine a languishing economy dragging on for years. 

So here’s my contribution on how to fix the economy on the cheap. Have the government secretly buy up all the media companies. The T.V. stations, the newspapers, the radio stations, even my kids school newspaper, who by the way is tracking how the economic fallout is having an effect on what’s in their lunch boxes every day. The BSFI (Bologna sandwich frequency index) is at a level not seen since Oscar Meyer first introduced that meat travesty over 80 years ago. 

You have to figure that with the shrinking value in traditional media formats falling off a cliff, the all-in price for picking these all up would be a rounding error compared to these economic stimulus packages congress keeps passing. Once that transaction is complete, the government embraces it’s inner propagandist and immediately starts a new “feel good” campaign to get the consumer confidence back on track. I imagine the headline on the Wall Street Journal Monday morning reading something like 

Fed Chairman – “We forgot to carry the 1. Our Bad” Economy back on track. 

That would be followed up with a reshuffling of the TV lineup allowing the cancellation of the Sunday morning political talk shows and replaced with extended showings of Access Hollywood. Nancy Grace would anchor the nightly news and Billy Bush would go to jail forever (if we only get that it’s worth the price alone) 60 Minutes would air at 4am on every 4th Wednesday and the headline in my kids school newspaper would report on the sudden drop in the BSFI. Shares in Peanut Butter would skyrocket. Let’s hope so..my broker put what’s left in my 401K in shares of Skippy.

Oh and just for kicks we’d announce that the next Super Bowl halftime show would feature the execution of the next CEO that gives out another bonus to any executive in the financial sector that helped drag us into this economic meltdown in the first place. 

Atleast if I had my way….