I took part in a three-hour yoga/boot camp charity event Sunday, an experience for which I paid $20.
The heat was hot; the bending was terrific; and at one point I hopped between the rungs of a ladder placed on the floor, rather energetically, I might add, to the pounding rhythmic strains of a group I shall never be able to identify.
We did it for the homeless.
The lousy homeless!
So I’ve told you all of that only to tell you this: It is two days later, and I cannot stand up.
Or sit down.
Or flex anything beyond lifting aspirin to my lips.
I exaggerate only slightly.
It’s fascinating, being muscle-sore from one end to the other. There is particular fun to be had when I must walk from, say, my desk to the printer. It is what I have come to see as a Great Exertion to lift myself up out of the chair, a move now requiring the use of both arms and the expulsion of a soft – but feminine!—grunting noise.
Once up, there is the challenge of forward ambulation, something that requires far more effort – and more feminine grunting! – than the side-to-side hobble I’ve been forced to adopt.
As you can imagine, it’s quite a look I’ve cultivated for myself.
The last time I was this sore was the 108 Sun Salutations Amy and I did last New Year’s. The thinking, I believe, is that after 108 Sun Salutations, you can do anything. Unfortunately, after raising one’s arms up over one’s head 108 times, this is not true, as I discovered the very next day when I attempted to raise them again to brush my hair. I eventually accomplish this by laying my head on the brush and moving it back and forth until the tangles were out.
You can just imagine how my lipstick looked that day.
Sunday’s efforts were for a good cause, however, and I really shouldn’t complain. A lovely chunk of change was raised for people who may never know about it, and that is, perhaps, as it should be.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve printed out a number of documents I need to go pick up.
I wonder if anyone would notice if I just fell off my chair and rolled to the printer?