30 Day Challenge- 20% there!

Day Six- February 1st

Though the cataclysmic shift in my life has not yet happened, I’m living with the modus operandi that it will indeed occur in T minus two months. There was an air of excitement after practice on Sunday and it felt like I was back in college—when every night the evening becomes a blank canvas to make of whatever you like. I decided not to subscribe to the stringent minutiae of my daily rigors (yoga, shower, dinner, movie, sleep) and instead went home and dolled myself up for a spectacular dinner at Ray’s Boathouse.

We toasted to a long happy future together and indulged in a Sake Kasu sablefish (for me) and Alaskan King crab legs (for Brett.) Having grown up under the profoundly wise tutelage of my father, I took the scissors from Brett’s hands and went about swiftly extracting meat from every crevice of crab in record time until there was a massive mound of thick, juicy deliciousness.

The crowd dwindled and there was scarcely anyone aside from us at the restaurant. I felt spectacularly en mode with our bay window seating. Though completely dark outside, I could see the waves gently lapping against the dock-- a heron perched above our window quietly observing the night unfold.

Feeling festive and a bit quirky when we returned home (likely a result of the Ketel One martini), I decided to inflate our Aero Bed, which I aptly named the S.S Shilshole (Ballard being located on Shilshole Bay.) We watched a fair bit of TV before I finally decided to hit the hay around 11—and yes, I most certainly was going to camp out in our living room on the S.S. Not that I want to place blame on our air mattress for my restless evening, but I’m fairly convinced our kitties have poked multiple holes on the raft which caused me to slowly and steadily sink toward the floor throughout the night.

I woke up exhausted on at 5:30 on Monday morning. My fitful sleep, combined with the fact that there were only about six hours of it made for a slow-moving start to the day. I somehow managed to power through the day and make it to class that evening. However, when attending practice no longer becomes a choice and is instead a pre-ordained necessity, even if I can’t “manage,” I know I will have to buck up and go.

After scurrying in from the rain, I curled up on my mat in the warmth of my familiar studio—happy and relieved to have made it. As all my instructors say: getting there is the hardest part, the rest is just cake. People continued to file in up until class began. A whopping 64 students squeezed into the room for their Monday night detox session which isn’t bad considering the room can accommodate up to 66.

Practice was difficult in an unusual way for me. I was fatigued to say the least, but most frustrating was that my mind and body were completely discombobulated. I couldn’t get them to cooperate with each other to save my life. If my posture was strong, my mind began to wander—when I had determination and focus my limbs were indignant and leaden.

As the floor series began, I remembered all those piano and viola lessons during my formative years and how I sometimes would skimp on practice, but had enough inherent skill to perform well for my teacher. I had them duped, so to speak. I had to laugh because if I adopted this same mentality in the yoga room, I would only be cheating myself. It was apparent to me at that moment that this room in which I spend so much time sweating and toiling is like a microcosm of my life. Things don’t always go as planned, I’m not always as prepared as I would like to be, and sometimes I just don’t feel like rising to the occasion. Regardless of that fact I have to take everything in stride, push myself to the best of my ability, and accept the results for what they are. Both inside the yoga room and out.