Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Anger Yoga

Last night at yoga it was so incredibly unbelievably hot. There was a yoga instructor I hadn't had before and I didn't like her. She asked the impossible. People were falling over, passing out, dripping sweat onto the floors. My yoga mat swam in sweat. Gross gross gross! I HATE sweating! The towel I brought was damp. It was crowded. It's always crowded. 10 across and 7 deep in one room. No fans, no air conditioning. I kept stopping and sucking down water, pouring it over my neck. She KEPT asking the impossible. We're supposed to recognize our yoga anger when we feel it. I recognized it. I was tired and on fire. My hands and feet wouldn't stick to the sticky mat, no longer sticky. I kept thinking that I wouldn't give any money this time. She should pay ME! She kept lying about the number of chair poses left. She had us do core work at the very end. For some reason, I could not hold the boat pose. My only rest came in the half pigeon, believe it or not, while my hip sockets screamed. Then she had us do one last downward dog.
And
I noticed that, for the first time ever, my heels hit the floor.
"Nice form!" I thought. Anger began to dissipate.

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