Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Yogi Chronicles: Three Years

It's been three years. Three years since I took a step to move on. Three years since stepped on a yoga mat for the first time. Three years since I questioned why I signed up, but decided to keep going.

Three years later, I take time to write here on my blog instead of in my journal that I've been writing in for the past 45 days. A journal that I write in after my daily practice that has had my alarm going off at 5a every morning, even on the weekends. A daily practice that is part of an ongoing homework assignment.

I am currently enrolled in a 200 hour certification class so that I can teach yoga. In addition to an increase in how much I practice, the reading, practicing how I'm going to teach, there is also daily meditation. It is because of this meditation, I'm learning so much about myself. I'm more aware of my surroundings. I pay more attention to my body. I'm more aware of what I put into the universe (which has been a challenge today given the fact Darren Wilson is a free man). My relationship with God is strengthening.

I can go on and on.

One of the biggest signs of the change within me is my current place of employment. A month ago, I returned to a place of employment that I absolutely hated waking up for 2 1/2 years ago and I couldn't be happier.

Growth.

If you had told me three years ago that I'd be studying to be a yoga instructor, I'd think you were crazy; especially after that first downward-facing dog. I would think I'd be a basketball coach (in which I have no interest, believe it or not) before being a yoga instructor.

Yet, here I am.

All because of what I did on this date, three years ago.

Namaste.

Monday, November 24, 2014

What year is it?

I'm back to taking the train to work, so I have a lot of time to just stare out the window and let my thoughts flow. I was recently thinking about aging and #nshit, since the birthday is approaching. I usually start to get excited for the birthday around Thanksgiving. This year the birthday is exactly a week after Thanksgiving. Thanks, Pope George XII!

Sidenote: My original due date was November 17th. I was born on December 4th. That is one helluva delay!!! HOV! <>

Anywho, a high thought came to me while sober. Though I haven't officially turned 32 yet, I am currently in the 32nd year of my life.

I swear I was sober when this came to mind. Stay with me here.

They sell stickers so you can take pics of your baby when they hit their monthly milestones up until their 12th month on Earth. These pics are documenting, what? Your baby's first year on Earth. After they hit the one year mark, they are on to their 2nd year of life.

The reason I bring this up because whenever something good has happened in the past 11 1/2 months, I've said "Year 31 is showing out!" or something to that effect.

But really...it's Year 32.

Or is it?

Well, I barely look legal...so, whatever!

K to the...

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Dear Gym Rats:

Your condescending "What's your excuse?" questions aren't all that motivating.

"I had a cold, felt like crap, but still made it to the gym. What's your excuse."
"This dee-yick is my excuse!"

Cut it out!

Happy Monday.

K to the...

Monday, October 20, 2014

Basketball Chronicles: Unlike Kevin Gates...

...I'm getting tired.

Because I was woke at 5a Sunday morning (Will cover in another blogpost), I got to the gym extra early and was able to shoot around with no interruptions. There is this guy who is at the gym every Sunday. Whenever I'm shooting by myself, he always offers to rebound for me. I think it's really sweet of him of him to do that. So, because I'm able to just shoot and establish a rhythm, I'm nice and warmed up.

My warm-up pays off because I'm on fire during the first game. The game ends in a tie. Wanting to give myself a "heat check," I say that I'll shoot for the win. The other team shoots, and misses. So, this guy named Alex takes it upon himself to shoot for the win. He misses. No prob...I'll shoot when it's our team's turn again. The other team misses, so the ball bounces to this young ball hog whose name escapes me right now. I have my hands out asking for ball...he passes it to Alex. I say "I'm standing here for a reason." Alex misses the shot. Now, I'm pissed because this could have been over. Yes, I had that much confidence in my shot.

Now we're on the third round of shots, other team misses. Alex brings the ball over to me and puts it by my feet. I kick that shit away and say "Don't try to give it to me now!" Someone hit for our team (I guess it was him. I wasn't looking) because we got the win and are back on the court for the next game. He comes over and tells me that he thought it would be easier if the same person shot for ball. This is utter bullshit because the next time there is a tie game, he misses...then gives the ball to someone else on our team to shoot. Dude misses and we ended up on the sideline.

The other two times I was disrespected was by the same person who calls the same bullshit as "traveling" when I hit someone with a ball fake and dribble around to shoot a shot that will brings my team closer to a win. It's never called when it's the beginning of the game. This is how I know the call is false. So he makes the call and then gets loud, because to him, if he's the loudest...then he's correct. Sunday when he made the call, I had a teammate to speak up for me so I didn't have to say anything. But Monday, I told him about himself. When I continued to talk as he does, then he wants to cut me off. I told him it's OK for him to continue talking about a play, but if someone does it to him, now they have to shut up.

Do you know two games later, he was still talking about that one play? On the sideline whining. I heard him and asked "You're still talking about that?"

I'm tired. I'm tired of the disrespect. I'm tired of these grown ass men cheating. I'm tired of hearing whining from these men who are quick to say another dude is "acting like a female". I'm tired of wondering if some dude is going to get in his feelings because he's threatened by my presence on the court and wants to call false calls.

I'm tired.

K to the...


Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Nike loves Chicago

On August 14th thru 16th, Nike held the World Basketball Festival in my city, Chi-City. This festival wasn't on the north side; it wasn't downtown. No, this festival was held on the best side of the city...the south side, at the 63rd street beach.
Of course I had to throw on the #8. 
I didn't know what to expect at the festival; I just knew I had to go. I checked out the Tournament of Champions, watching some of the best in the Chi play against some of the best in NYC. I saw hella Chi-town basketball legends. Current NBA players, retired NBA players, and plenty of movers and shakers of the city.

But the highlight for me was the exhibit that gave a history of Nike basketball shoes. From the very first pair of basketball shoes made by Nike, to Forces, to Flights, To Jordans, to Lebrons, to Kevin Durant's...I wish I would have taken pictures of everything. What was so dope about the exhibit was how it was customized for Chicago. When I saw pics of two parks I've frequented as a kid and adult, I couldn't help but to smile.

Seeing these pics took me back to when I first started playing basketball. I didn't even have proper basketball attire, but I was in the alleys on the milk crate trying to establish my game; pretending to be Scottie Pippen in a game we made up called "The Passing Game." When we got older and were able to ride to the parks, we'd go to Avalon, Cole or Tuley Park; wherever we could find a pick-up game. Then, as an adult, I was at Cole, and then 63rd & Hayes when I moved to the South Shore area. Some people got their suntans at the beach. I got mine on the basketball court.

I truly do love this game of basketball. I'm sitting here typing right now with my left forearm on fire after it caught a serious elbow this morning. I don't know. Maybe it's not meant for me to wear heels until I'm 75 like my grandmother. But I do know I can't let this game go. Whether I'm playing or watching...it's in my soul. And it's nothing I can and will do to stop it.


K to the...

Monday, August 18, 2014

The more things change...


Usually when on Instagram, I scroll by the posts with words because a lot of it is common sense being posted for likes. But one day, a fellow WY Dolphin by the name of Jarquetta posted the pic above and it really hit me. Because I was torn, at the time, as a result of jumping back in a situation with someone I had no business dealing with again. But I did.

Because we're 10 years older.

Because there was an apology.

Because I saw changes.

So after a couple months of courting, I gave in. The wall that was up finally came down and I was happy.

Then...I wasn't happy. I was mentally drained. Things really didn't change. I asked what was going on. I was told it was nothing...but my gut said otherwise.

And then I came across the pic above.

After a lot of thinking and crying, I decided I had to let that situation go. And regardless of how much others liked him for me, or the fact that I'm going to be 32 with nobody with whom I could settle down...I made the right decision for me. And there isn't an ounce of hesitation in me as I type this.

I made the right decision for me.

But, there is this feeling of hurt. Because I put up a fight for us. I communicated. I was an open book. I was patient. It wasn't until after I stated that I couldn't be with him anymore that he communicated his feelings; that he answered questions that I had been asking.

Too late.

I'm not going back to that situation again.

The wall is back up.

Damn, that was quick.

K to the...



Monday, July 7, 2014

True Life: I Don't Know How To... 7+7=14

Jump double dutch.

That's right!

And every summer I am reminded of this lil known un-scientific fact about my life.

When I was younger, my nickname was Tweety. Because of the constant teasing about my big head, I was extremely self-conscious about it. Therefore, I stayed away from anything that could hit my high-yellow forehead, leave a mark, and bring more attention to it. 

Sidenote: You'd think this would have kept me from playing basketball. 

You're wrong. 

So, there was this constant fear of being hit in the face with the rope while playing, which I couldn't overcome. Even when starting off standing in the rope, I couldn't get pass "2,4,6,8..."

So, yeah. My name is K.D....and I can't jump double dutch.

I might be one of the best turners, though. And I'll kick your auss in Chinese Jumprope.

K to the...

P.S. My mom, a child of the 60s, can still jump double dutch. And my lil sis can too. -__-

P.P.S. I'd kick both their ausses in Chinese Jumprope, though.