(aka Yoga Journal Week 15)
It’s been more than three months since I began pouring myself into yoga. I’ve learned a lot since then, particularly about my body and managing my own expectations. I had this silly idea that I’d take photos every month of the same poses and see these drastic, magical improvements. Nope. But I have fallen mercilessly at the hands of a strange addiction.
I love yoga. Like, maybe an unhealthy-need-to-talk-to-a-profession love. I read about it, write about it, scroll endlessly through pictures, lust after apparel, contemplate its applications in my life. It’s sorta out of control.
I realized that I had this strange disorder when I was sent to DC for a work conference. After a full day at the airport (thanks for the delays, Delta) I grabbed dinner and then collapsed into the hotel bed. It was nearly midnight. All I could think was, But I didn’t get on the mat today…
I popped out of bed, telling myself I’d just do a few sun salutations, I ended up doing a 45 minute video on YouTube. It involved touching the hotel carpet. I was desperate, y’all.
It gets worse. The next day, I nearly fell asleep on the cab ride home. I knew I should go straight to bed. I didn’t. I found myself on that damn carpet again with a video playing on the Kindle in front of me, going with the flow.
To prevent the same thing from happening again, I went to the hotel gym the following night. I got in some exercise. That’s all my body needs. Nope. Even after burning 600 calories doing HIIT I found myself sprawling out on the hotel floor creating my own sequence.
I had a morning off to tour DC and I found myself doing yoga in DuPont Circle. (I’ve seen all those monuments and museums anyway, right?!) To my credit, I also slipped in a run at Rock Creek so it’s not like my life completely revolves around the mat. I’m still a normal person.
Then I think I caught SARS at the airport. I was out of commission for an entire week. Sure it sucked that my head was full of snot, my throat felt like a Brillo pad and my nose was so tender that it burned to touch (even though I bought the expensive tissues). I felt miserable that I got my husband sick, too. But maybe the worse thing was seeing my mat rolled up in the corner. The little white frog peeking from it’s edge, beckoning me. Come play with me. When I bent over to pick up the mat, I got lightheaded. Fail. The withdraws set in. I drowned my sorrows in Tumblr photos and a cheesy Australian miniseries about teenage mermaids.
When I returned to my yoga studio the following Monday, it took every ounce of don’t-be-a-creepster-ness not to hug my yoga teacher. I think I grinned like a maniac. When class started, I felt rusty at first. Fortunately my body hadn’t completely turn to concrete during my illness. I slowly loosened up and started to feel pretty good. I think that’s what being high feels like.
Moral of the story? Yoga is like crack.
But wait! I’ve got before and after pictures! The progress over these past three months is minor but it makes me feel good 🙂
Warrior III (virabhadrasana III)
Thanks for following me on my journey thus far!