This morning I went to a free class at Om Factory, schlepping over to the Garment District at 10am. (Still better than the 7am call time when I used to teach there.) I was puffy-eyed and groggy from some gluttony the day before, but knew that three hours before breakfast wouldn’t work for me, so I had a quarter-cup of coffee with cream en route. (I had to save the rest of my daily coffee allotment for a meeting at everyone’s favorite coffee place, Grumpy’s.)
The class was slow vinyasa, a perfect pace to guard my shoulder from any aggravation. (I saw a sports medicine MD on Tuesday, who assured me my shoulder was no big deal and would heal without problem. Tendonitis is a really common yoga injury. But weight-bearing will stress it, I have to be careful to strengthen and not stretch too much. I have ligaments “like rubber bands.”)
I felt so alive and awake afterward, I wondered why I don’t practice in the mornings any more?? Then I remembered: the hump. I don’t make it past the first 15 minutes. If I plow through it I have an amazing, creative, fulfilling solo practice, but I have issues with plowing through yoga. Aren’t we supposed to listen to our intuition? What if that body awareness is saying “I don’t want to move! I want to lay back down!” How do we know if it’s actually tamasic (heavy) energy that needs to be burned up?
This is the weird dialectic that is my practice: I have to force myself through the beginnings, but once I’m going it’s an easy flow.
