Afternoon practice yesterday. I ditched the extra arm strengtheners from plank to downward dog. They wore me out in the first five minutes, and this time, it wasn’t why I was on the mat.
The spot in my back eased up considerably by the end of practice (only to tighten up again overnight.)
Knee is still a bit squishy.
It shames me to say it, but I haven’t done sun salutations in so long (like, you know, ten years or so) that I can’t remember the sequence. Maybe this week I can re-learn them. That would be cool. I wouldn’t mind making up my own practice sequences this week. It worked pretty well for the shorter practices last week - sun salutations would be a good building block.
As I wander in and out of the blogs of the other folks participating in NaYoPracMo, I’ve noticed some lovely common themes. Moderation. Restraint. Listening. Awareness. Focus. Intent. Compassion for the self.
Back when I was into stage combat, I took a three-week stunt workshop in Seattle. I discovered that I was absolutely terrified of rapelling and high falls. Just couldn’t do them. Some stuntwoman I turned out to be.
I learned that keeping your abs engaged while driving (especially on the turns) improves your driving ability. Doesn’t have to be doing 180’s and 360’s either (although damn, but those are fun! When you do them on purpose, that is.)
I remember what the teacher said about safety. You want to be able to go to work the next day. If you get hurt, you can’t work. If you don’t work, you don’t get paid. Also if you get hurt, you get a lousy reputation as a stuntperson and no one will hire you.
I keep that in mind during just about every practice. If I get hurt, I can’t practice tomorrow.
I daresay there are some other yogis and yoginis who are thinking the same thing this month. It’s pretty freaking cool, if you ask me.
Things at home have not stabilized yet. I didn’t expect them to, really, not yet. I’ve been snappy and he’s been smart-assy and we’ve both been picking fights. I’m not sure why, but this has been going on for at least a month. (Happy holidays, right?)
There are two words that shut my brain down entirely and force blood into my head so quickly that I can actually hear it pounding in my ears.
“You always ---“
I rarely remember the rest of the sentence. All I hear is the pounding of blood in my ears and a voice inside saying, “Don’t you dare throw that plate. Don’t do it. Breathe. Remain calm. Don’t throw the fucking plate.”
I only know one person who says that to me anymore, and that’s my husband. It would be so much easier for me to hear, “Sometimes you…” or “it really bugs the crap out of me when you…” I mean, come on, there are lots of things I screw up in my personal relationships, especially at home. He screws up, too. But for some reason, it infuriates me beyond words to have those mistakes describe my entire spectrum of behavior. It’s not fair.
Last night we agreed to start over, clean slate. After Heather’s party, the Holidays were officially Over. Maybe we can spend some time reducing stressors (budgets, anyone?) and reconnecting. I’m just so emotionally drained that it’s hard to generate any energy for it. Yoga recharges to some degree, but not enough to keep wading through this relentless downhill current to reach him across the river.
I’m just tired, is all. The Charlotte trip is this weekend. Maybe that will help. Or maybe I’ll just feel guilty all weekend. Crap. I foresee lots of chocolate in my very near future.