By 11:45 a.m. yesterday, it was clear I’d be able but not willing to leave my home base for the remainder of the day, even though I was wired from the morning’s caffeine and carbs. Have you ever been wired and lethargic at the same time?
I haven’t done yoga in awhile. Every now and then, my body begs for it. Going in for a refresher class is hardly a bad idea, but unless you’re a glutton for community interaction or gunning for guru status, yoga isn’t an undertaking that requires weekly appointments with an instructor or an entourage. As long as there’s a foundation of formal training under your belt and you have a reliable memory, you can run through the drills on your own, on an as-wanted basis.
Instead of doing 60 or 30 minutes straight, I rolled out my mat and left it lying in the same location all day. When I passed by, I periodically pulled over to strike and hold a few poses. While off the mat, I kept an eye on it from a reclined position on my bed or the couch, admiring how lovely the long purple rectangle looked against the color of my flooring. Following the example I’ve set with my ironing board, I may continue to leave the mat unfurled, out in the open, until it starts to become one with the surrounding décor. My philosophy about uncarpeted floors is that you can rarely have too many rugs.
This morning, I woke up feeling massaged – not deep-tissue massaged, but close enough. And removing this mat from my main closet has helped me notice that, although it’ll be tight, I do have the space to jam another suitcase in there. Upper West Side T.J. Maxx, here I come.