Do you think

Running up the staircase to the 9th floor in a hypoglycemic rush for ice dream accounts as sports? No? I’d think so.

After several hours of sitting in bed, underlining important facts about children’s diseases with three different colours of neon markers, none of them yellow,  my immobile body squirmed and ordered GET. ON. THAT. MAT. NOW!!!

And I obeyed. Even if only remaining in a pose for a fleeting minute or two, I ran through my whole routine.

I seem to have adopted resistance as a basic method of copying. It’s a way of holding back, closing up, protecting myself. I just don’t know when exactly it took over my whole attitude towards life. My brain can’t seem to make the difference when to hold back and when to embrace the new. I’ll have to rely on my body to remind me of its needs. And to be persistent (read: annoying) enough to overcome resistance.

Oddities

I bruise easily. I have weak connective tissue or something. You poke me, I get a bruise immediately. Which wouldn’t be a problem at all, since at the tender age of twenty-six, noone is poking me at a regular rate anymore, nor do I get in the crossfire of my brothers’ pretend play anymore, where they pretend to be the Ninja Turtles.

And still I am always embellished by bruises at a different stage. There are the almost black ones, the purple ones, the fading away greenish and yellow ones. Dress me in a skirt, I look like Pippi Longstocking, who fell of her horse.

I bump into things. Absent-mindedly I run against door-frames, walls and various pieces of furniture. I don’t even notice, unless I find a new bruise. After years of exercise, my gross motor skills are still rather weak. Most of the time I feel like Nearly Headless Nick, or to be precise Nearly Bodiless. I have a brain, which I’m extremely aware of. Then, if I don’t focus hard, there’s no body attached to it. I’m a mind afloat in space. Now, how cool is that. Yeah, not at all.

This is why yoga makes me feel better, it sharpens my senses, it shifts my awareness to bodyparts that I never even knew existed.

Yesterday I went on a walk with S. and his Golden Retriever. She’s 7 months old and as adorable as chocolate cake! We were strolling uphill and I was talking, when he asked, “Why are you out of breath?”

Something must be done.

How do you motivate yourselves to get on that mat?

It should be a no-brainer, like Gartenfische wrote:  I practice, I feel good, I don’t practice I don’t feel good, therefore. . . . But no.

Why am I resisting what is good for me?

I thought I was getting over that whole “I like to feel miserable and complain about it”-thing…