Namaste

I opened my eyes and decided I wasn't ready for today. The sun is brilliant, all the more so from the reflections off yesterday's snow. Blinding. Painful. The sky is glacier blue, so beautiful I can't help stare at it before the dazzling light forces me to look away, bowing my head in shame at my state before its splendor.

I'm not ready for such a beautiful day. The gloom of this week, the icky drippy cold, the finger numbing misery, they've suited my mood just fine. I'm never going to succeed. How can I call myself a triathlete. I belong under the covers, in the last bit of dark left in the world this morning. I'm not going anywhere. I'm skipping yoga.

Why?

I've worked out three times this week already. I've got two projects I really need to work on this morning. My friends are coming from out of town tonight and I'm knocking off early. Technically skipping my workout is the right thing to do. It's not cheating, it's being responsible.

To whom?

Don't have an answer for that one.

So I went. And it was hard and wonderful and peaceful and exhilerating. All the things that yoga is to me, all the things my fickle memory forgets when I have this argument with myself, in some form every Friday morning, when I feel guilty about taking work time for me time. This is almost a ritual in itself, the searching for excuses to go that trump the excuses not to. How long will this go on, this seeking permission from myself to take care of myself?

So I went, and once again the ritual worked its magic. Once again my aches and pains have melted away, and once again I feel ready to take on any challenge the world has for me. I throw open the blinds and I embrace the sunshine, invite it in to sweep clean the cobwebs of my gloom.

Yeah, it's gonna be a great day.