Yoga today

I didn't want to go.

Oh, I cannot even tell you how much that is an understatement. Last night as I was getting ready for bed, I thought about getting up early to go to the gym for this yoga class that I go to and I felt nothing but dread and dislike.

I dislike the quiet, the slowness. The sense of being alone with myself and still being with people, strangers that I have to try to resist comparing myself with.

I dislike the music. The same music every time. Would it be wrong of me to kindly suggest to the instructor the purchase of just one other hour-worth of yoga music?

And I dislike that so much of the one-hour class is exactly the same every week. Every Wednesday. Same (horrible) music, same poses.

And last night, I thought, "I cannot do it! I cannot go!" But I asked myself what I was really going to do, and I knew that I would go. I would get up and go. So I decided I needed to visualize myself loving the class. I told Jeremy I was going to do this as I crawled into bed, and I did for as long as my brain was awake enough to focus. But it was late, so that was probably about 30 seconds.

Lately when my alarm goes off, I startle awake and jump up to turn that blasted thing off. I am awake. But after just a few minutes of being up and out of bed, the longing to return is nearly overpowering. It's not that I was really going to get back into bed. It's just that I felt actual pain at not being there. You know this pain, too, I know. This morning while getting ready to do, I stopped two different times to lean my head against Jeremy and moan.

It's all the good morning he got. But he understood. He was moaning, too.

With a last sigh, I left the house.

And with that I forgot all the dread and dislike.

The yoga class was the same as normal, but I didn't dislike it. Well, not much. I noticed the music, but without judgment. And she had changed a few things. We didn't spend quite so much time in downward dog and warrior poses. We spent a little more time stretching and strengthening our backs and we stretched our hamstrings a bit more. Just a few things changed. Enough, though.

I felt peaceful. It wasn't a slog. The time didn't tick painfully along. I wasn't fighting against myself. I still wondered what she meant by "Your feet tractioning toward each other" every time she said it. But I didn't let it get to me.

I was more present than normal. And that made it so much better. I hope I can do that every time.