zen

"Restorative: All levels. Active, therapeutic relaxation, relieving weak joints and tired backs while reducing stress."

It sounds amazing. I'm such a twitchy, visibly agitated person, and I love the stillness that comes with yoga. As a rule, I'm not particularly active -- low stamina, low blood sugar, low motivation -- but I love the deep breathing of yoga, the way I can feel my muscles tense and then release themselves.

If I'm lucky, the teacher is a hippy-dippy sort who comes around and spritzes us all with lavender, or softly touches us on our temples after the session's done. But even if this doesn't happen, yoga always ends with a moment of meditation. To be there on my little rubber mat after an hour of yoga, to be relaxed and full of endorphins, is one of my favorite sensations.

I love that. I love that we take a minute to just be silent with one another, grateful for what we've accomplished, reveling in what our bodies can do. It is when I feel most proud of myself as a physical being.

Today, my yoga schedule told me I could go to the "restorative" class -- and since I am a bundle of tired joints and stress, it was perfect. But of course I fooled around all day long, and all of a sudden it was 3:45, and yoga started (down on U & 14th) in less than an hour.

Hadn't showered in two days. Still smelled like last night's crowded bar. Had to get my ass in gear.

So I flew into a frenzy -- flinging off clothes, flinging on towels, running to the bathroom, brushing my teeth as the shower water warmed. I jumped into the shower. I threw shower products in the general vicinity of my body.

And then I realized, oh God, I have to shave my legs. There is no way I can be blissful and serene with legs that look like they belong on my eighteen-year-old brother. So I planted my foot on the bathtub, picked up the razor, and fell flat on my ass.

I feel that last phrase bears repeating. I fell flat on my ass in the shower.

And it was not a graceful fall, no. There was a thunk and a splash and a groan and a skittering away of razor blade, loofah, suds. I had the kind of fall that I imagine that old grandmothers have, or drunks who can't steady themselves long enough to get clean. My knees were chafed, my hip bruised deeply, my lower vertebrae thrown all out of whack.

What could I do? I kept shaving my legs (stubbornly!) and went back to my room.

By this time, it was 4:15. There was literally no way to make it to yoga on time -- even if I took a cab, I'd still have to go to the ATM for money first, and by the time that little errand was done it'd still be past 4:30. So I went on the website to see if they had another yoga class later that day, and of course, it turns out that the class had started at 4:00 anyway. Even if I'd made it to the studio, I'd have been half an hour late.

So here I am, in my yoga clothes, clean and shiny and smooth, with skinned knees and a pain in my side, all because I freaked out so much about yoga. How ridiculous! My brain had said, "I MUST HURRY! I CANNOT BE TARDY FOR MY RELAXATION." It had said, "I WILL NOT BE SERENE IF PEOPLE CAN SEE MY HAIRY LEGS." In the end, I just managed to get more out of whack than I had been when I started.

There will be more yoga classes tomorrow, and every day. For today, I'll lick my wounds, and maybe take a moment to enjoy how I feel in this moment. I may not be lying on a mat, blissed out and bendy, but it's still a lovely thing to be clean and comfortable on a warm day.