Cleopatra comin’ atcha from Louisville, KY on this fine March day. I was going to say morning but it’s 12:07PM so boo you whore. It’s about 19 degrees (F) outside and there’s a cute lil dusting of snow. In short — not what is expected of “The South” on the 4th day of March. But as another BHB (blonde haired bitch) with a very similar name to mine once said, The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway.
Lies I fucking hate the cold.
This morning I went to an “all levels” yoga class at the local YMCA. Or as I am now calling it, Geriatric Yoga. If you can call it yoga. It really was ridiculous and I was annoyed AF the entire time. We didn’t do one flow — yes I know I am an asshole, but if I’m getting my flat butt out of bed to go work out on a Monday morning, I would at least like to get my money’s worth. Or calories-burned-worth in this case.
I will say, the woman who taught it was lovely; probably in her mid 60s. Very sweet. She told us at the beginning of the class that she didn’t like to use the microphones that instructors were normally supposed to wear, and to just let her know if we couldn’t hear her. Great. Because I’m really going to yell in the middle of a yoga class if I don’t know if we’re supposed to be in warrior 1 or peaceful warrior… as you can probably tell, I’m still annoyed from the fake Yoga class.
Now as you know if you read my blog on the reg (which isn’t that reg since I don’t post that often, I’m sorry, I promise to be better now that I’m home and have literally no life), you’ll know that I traditionally start off the post with some sort of humorous anecdote about my life (I just wrote antidote at first and then was like… wait a minute…) and then segue into a deeper/longer topic.
Let me just say, 90% of the time when I start out writing each post, I have no idea where the stupid little anecdote is going to lead me. Just wrote antidote again. The writing I do at the beginning of my posts is a bit like a warm up in a yoga class, I guess. I’m getting started, warming up the ~creative juices~ and just kind of go with wherever they take me.
Today in class, I found these two ideas intersecting. Maybe it’s because the entire class was a damn warm up. SERIOUSLY NOT EVEN ONE CHATARUNGA. But I found my mind wandering quite a bit.
I knew that going to this first class at the Y was going to be uncomfortable. And not because it’s a new gym/the risk of running into someone I know/not really knowing where I’m going. However, all very valid points. Mom was super into the Livestrong program here in Louisville. If you’re not familiar, feel free to google.
When I say “super into” I mean, there’s a giant banner with her name on it for her contribution to the program that hangs in the gym. And whenever I had been there before, it was always with her. So I knew it was going to bring some shit up.
Ugh she’s so cute in that pic.
And of course, it did. But that’s why I’m here, right? Do deal with this? To grieve, to cry, to not leave the house or not put a bra on for days on end… you know, all of that. But that doesn’t make it any more pleasant when I have an episode. Especially in public. Because I’ve vowed to myself that I’m not going to stop and push the bad feelings away when they come. And let just me tell you, it’s not fun to have tears streaming down your face in the scented candle aisle in Target while getting the weird looks from other customers when they think you’re crying because you can’t decide what kind of candle you want. Wow that sentence had a lot of words in it. Oh well.
I don’t even know where I’m going with this.
I guess what I’m trying to say is I get that this is not going to be fun. There’s a moment at the beginning of every yoga class (not just geriatric…) when the instructor says some version of pick your intention….pick something to dedicate your practice to… and today I decided to dedicate my practice to myself, and to this whole process.
So we’re laying there towards the end of class, on our backs, doing some light stretching, and she says something along the lines of, “Now as you’re in this position, I want you to relax your body, and thank yourself for being here, and your body for this practice. Think about your intention…” and I’m thinking THANK MY BODY FOR WHAT?! I GET MORE OF A WORK OUT CHASING THE SHIH TZUS AROUND THE LIVING ROOM THAN I HAVE IN THIS JOKE OF A CLASS…. and then she proceeds to tell us to lay down on our backs in savasana and she goes, “When life gets tough, return to your breathing, return to your yoga…” and then goes into some profound speech about God knows what, because I can’t hear her because she’s not wearing her damn microphone, and CHRIST I can’t just yell out I CAN’T HEAR YOU while she’s trying to be profound and how dare she tell me to return to my breath when life gets tough, MY LIFE IS REALLY FUCKING TOUGH RIGHT NOW AND I CAN GUARANTEE THAT BREATHING IS NOT GOING TO MAKE IT ANY LESS SHITTY and FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING WOMAN?! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST PUT THE STUPID MICROPHONE ON LIKE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO, and DID I REALLY GET OUT OF BED TO COME TO THIS STUPID WASTE OF A “YOGA” CLASS!??!
And then I realize. Hmm. I think I may be entering my “anger phase.” Progress?
And then I also realized that returning to the breath really did help.
So did the cute elderly lady sitting to my right that turned and looked at me at the end of class and said, “Well I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t hear a word she was saying!”
“I’ll get used to this eventually, I know.”