I was upside down the other day, contemplating my hamstrings and their relationship to the universe.
Yoga is a wonderful exercise, both physically and mentally; and if you’re not focused, the chatter of your monkey mind does its best to interfere.
It’s very hot in here. Very, very hot.
When’s the last time you had a pedicure - or better yet shaved your legs? Would it be wrong to glance at the woman next to me to see if she has shaved her legs?
Oh, come on, Lady (which is what I call myself when I'm disgusted). What’s it to you? Shut up and breathe, O Unshaven Child of the Universe.
I’m a big fan of yoga. Yoga is a series of discoveries. For instance, I can now bend forward and place my forehead on my shins; and my physical discipline has translated to disciplines in other parts of my life.
My newest discovery?
I no longer smell the yoga studio.
For the first several weeks, the smell of many sweating bodies stood out for me each and every time I went.
Amy, my friend, confidante, and yoga mentor, tired, I’m sure, of hearing me talk about it.
Words are my, um, thing; and I used a number of my favorites to describe what the smells reminded me of.
“Smells like a burlap bag of wet taco chips, perhaps buried under a back porch, don’t you think?” I’d whisper.
“You smell that?" I'd chuckle. "Is that more of a Roquefort or a feta smell?”
“Hey there’s a real special kind of smell going on over here,” I’d murmur. “I’m thinking someone’s keeping a large number of ferrets in the same room they’re storing their yoga clothes.”
Amy is too polite to respond to such rude silliness.
Most of my observations, of course, were exaggerated, as is my wont. I enjoy a good exaggeration, after all, and what better time to do it than just prior to a serious commitment to physical and mental exertion?
Just short of three years into it, I am still discovering new aspects of my yoga practice.
Today I’ve realized that I’m no longer noticing particular aspects of my physical surroundings while exercising.
Tomorrow never knows.
3 hours ago