Yoga-rific

With the best possible intentions, I went a month ago and bought a pass for one of the large yoga studios in town. One of their branches is merely two blocks away, so I thought for sure that I would make it once in a while. Alas, my excuse being feeble that they don't offer as MANY classes there as in other studios, I haven't been once. 

This morning I woke up with guilt writhing through my body because hello? I hate wasting money! So I determined to get myself to a class this morning. 

I had also had a crummy week. Lots of work, The Man was busy and tired, The Boy was cranky, everything was  ... bleh. It was just a bad one, and I was in a foul, foul mood. Not all the time, but underlying there was a distinct foulness. I needed the peace found in 40 other sweaty bodies breathing heavily through strange poses. 

Most yoga classes -- I admit, I'm not even remotely close to a good practitioner -- I wend my way through the poses wondering, in turns ... "when will this be over?" "this pose sucks" "ugh, it hurts" "do I look stupid?" "am I doing it right?" Somehow at the end I always feel better, which is why I keep going back, but during the class? Not so much.

But today -- I don't know. Today I finally managed to get with the program, to wend my way through without thinking very much at all, and left the class afterwards feeling just generally lighter in the world. I took my glasses off and did most of it with my eyes shut, just feeling my way through and not seeing the rest of the folks so as to hedge the self-doubts and self-consciousness.

Also good in a crowded room when one of your close neighbors is a middle aged man who can't keep his balance, which of course throws off your own balance if you watch too closely.

I feel more relaxed than I have in days, which is good heading into a week which promises to hold a great deal of activity, some of it possibly frenzied. 

I must remember to re-read this post sometime next Sunday morning.