::not for the weary::

encouraged by pal erin to give it a go, i went to my first yoga class at the gym yesterday. though only three minutes late, i was definitely on the cusp of convincing myself not to walk in the classroom. finally, joined by a late classmate at the door, we strode in together & i threw down my mat in the front of the classroom. first impressions being lasting, i swiftly realized after a few downward dog and warrior poses that this class was absolutely not about slow movements and oooooom-sounds. this class was literally kicking my ass and the clock ticked away about 10 minutes and my arms grew weary of holding me up. i have zero upper-body strength, you see, and therefore even push-ups would only last about three-seconds in a normal day. thankfully, there was a whole slew of yoga-ites in the room to silently encourage me to hold odd positions and not run from the room screaming "it hurts! it hurts!"

minutes after the class, walking to the restroom, washing my hands...water was still dripping from my fingers as i eyed the electric dryer on the wall. it glared at me. challenging me. daring me to reach up an touch its shiny silver button. i tried. i eventually leaned my shoulder against the knob to turn the thing on. warm air flowed on my hands and i tried to rub them together like you're supposed to.

today, typing this, my shoulder are protesting most movement--even that which comes naturally to a writer. and i wonder how i'm going to do my hair and smile as i realize it's short and bed-head is in.