Despite my crazy-ass schedule I'm trying to get some regular exercise in. I find that I'm a much more pleasant bitch to be around if I: A.) don't weigh a schmillion pounds B.) work some stress out. (Heh...ass schedule.)
I only logged 22 minutes of yoga the other day (89 calories, holla!) and was
getting so fucking frustrated because I just couldn't get into it. My mind?
Racing. Papers to grade, emails to respond to, grad school stuff to read, grades
to enter, my desk is a disaster, I haven't seen my kids in two weeks (I have,
but it's neither quanity nor quality), I think I'm fighting something and I feel like crap,
and I'm TIRED.
So, I stopped. I was angry about it. Disappointed in myself that I couldn't
even get through a 45 minute yoga practice. My self-talk sounded something
like, "Why the hell are you so unorganized that you can't get all your shit done
in a timely fashion? Why are you SO FUCKING LAZY?" I know, I know, I'm not very
nice to myself sometimes.
One of my lovely friends mentioned that every bit of movement, every bit of
stretching counts...
It also reminded me of something the lovely and bendy Katherine Budig said
in one of her classes that I took via YogaGlo.com: "Be thankful for that fact
that you are here today, doing yoga. It doesn't matter that the pose isn't
"perfect", it's perfect because that's where your body wants to be, so for
today, that is perfection." (I totally paraphrased here, but that's
the gist of it.)
So, while my body may be gaining some weight from time to time, and I may
limp a bit more, I may not heal as quickly, and I may be too unorganized in my
brain to focus long enough to barely hold a decent Adho Mukha Svanasana...let
alone a decent Bakasana...the fact that I'm there counts for something.
It's something I really should be thankful for, every, single, damn day. So nana-nana-boo-boo to you, stupid self.
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