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During yoga class the teacher, Tina, tells me to lift up a bit. I’m squatting in a pose (it’s sort of this made up pose that I’ve dubbed the Tinasana) and Tina says my middle is sagging.
“The muscles in your body will automatically revert to being lazy if given the chance,” she says.
Lazy? But I’m working so hard, I think.
Later, in Warrior II I’m concentrating on my arms when Tina reminds me to firm my thighs. If I don’t pay attention, they become lazy.
Yet another pose and my feet are splaying instead of pointing in the right direction. Guess why?
Really. Out of all the things in the world, I don’t consider myself lazy. But apparently even when I’m truly working on my alignment there are parts of my body that are secretly trying to get away with as little as possible.
After class I start thinking . . . does that apply to other areas of my life?
No way. I’m motivated! Diligent!Relentless in my pursuits!
Except in the mornings. I like to linger in bed. It’s warm and cozy. Plus I’m still sleepy. By the time I do get up, shower, and eat breakfast, I’m always surprised at how much of the day has gotten away from me before I make it to my home office.
And walking. I love my afternoon walks. Love them. Then why do I skip them from time to time, opting instead to sit and work a little longer?
Speaking of work, I realized something as I began investigating this whole laziness issue. If I have ten things on my “To Do” list, I tend to opt for the easiest projects first. When I do start working on a hard topic (say an article that requires a lot of research or possibly a personal essay that forces me to do some inner work), I will drop it as soon as I feel stuck. I tell myself I’ll get back to it and turn my attention to the easier assignments again.
Isn’t it funny the insights yoga gives us into our lives? So if you’ll excuse me, I have an article I’ve put off. I’d better get working on it.
When one of my writing colleagues asked me if I had any tips for driving across the country (my husband and I made the trek 18 months ago), I told her to Google all the Whole Foods across the nation and make a point to stop at a few for decent food. Also, I suggested she keep a cooler of healthy, cleansing snacks in the car.
My husband and I didn’t do either of those things, and I was blown away by our limited meal options during our trip. Fast food, fast food, or fast food anyone?
I admit I do have a taste for a sausage mc-muffin with egg from time to time, and the car ride gave me ample opportunity to indulge. But I knew it wasn’t good for my health. The other day I had a craving, and I decided to make a wholesome, at-home version of my favorite fast food breakfast.
I toasted an organic wheat English muffin (search the health food stores for brands that don’t include sugar, high fructose corn syrup, or “enriched” flour). Then I poached an egg (break and egg into a measuring cup and slide it into simmering water to cook for 7 minutes). I placed the egg on the toasted muffin, piled on a thick slice of tomato (instead of a sausage patty), and topped it off with a tad bit of grated cheese. Finally, I broiled the “sandwich” for a few more minutes. It was quick, easy, and so good that I decided to serve it for dinner the next night. Yum.
Now I’ve just gotta figure out how to make a healthy version of a big mac.
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My car crunches over the gravel as I pull into the parking lot of the yoga studio. Climbing up the rickety stairs of the wood building, I’m filled with hope.
This is the ninth yoga instructor I’ve tried since moving to DC. For whatever reason, I can’t seem to find a teacher that feels like the right fit. In part, I’m grieving the loss of my instructor from Los Angeles whom I adored. And I admit I don’t mind the teachers I’ve practiced with here, but I find yoga easier to maintain when I feel a strong authentic connection.
A few months ago I tried a class where the teacher did seem like a great fit. But when I returned, she was no longer there. I scoured the web searching for her to pop up in another studio around town. I only had a first name to go off of, but I think I might have found her and that’s why I’m here today.
I sign in at the desk and walk into the studio. The teacher is asking the class to get two blocks, a blanket, and a strap. Yep, that’s her. I can tell by the sound of her voice.
She walks by me on her way to close the door of the studio, but she pauses before reaching her destination. She watches me as I pull back my hair back into a loose ponytail.
“Hi. I’m Jenny. I’m a drop-in,” I say.
“I know you,” she says.
I sigh in relief. She remembers me.
“I took a restorative yoga class you taught in another studio a few months ago. I’ve been looking for you ever since. You’re hard to find,” I explain.
“Yes,” she nods, remembering the class. “It’s taken me awhile to get going and figure out where to set up shop.”
Well no wonder I couldn’t find her. She’s a new teacher. Later, I discover that she had a health scare which caused her to re-evaluate her entire career as a molecular biologist. Once she recovered, she decided to become a yoga teacher. Love that (I had a similar experience three years ago and that’s when I began writing).
We open by chanting three Oms. Then she tells us to be sure not to miss class three weeks from now. She’ll be teaching it outside where we will all face the trees so we can experience a “yoga foliage festival.” Oh yeah, she’s my kind of yogi.