I am slowly sipping my Zico this morning.
My 5:55 AM alarm went off today and I had to decide... yoga or no yoga?
I slept five more minutes until my alarm went off again. I can't tell you how many times I set my alarm for 6:15 yoga and I contemplate going as Passion Pit taunts me in my dreams. Most times, I shimmy out of bed and throw on my yoga shorts and go, but there are those few times when Mr.Sandman wins.
When 6AM yoga wins, there has always been lovely occurrences to follow. Running into my yoga instructor from New Zealand, kicking butt, or having a wonderful conversation with instructors/students. I find it's always more worth it to go.
So I moseyed out of bed this morning, grabbed my mat and walked to Bikram Back Bay. I love being the first one out the door in a city. I remember walking to Sydney's Bikram studio when the sun was coming up and I felt so lucky to be the only one able to see the gorgeous pink sky.
I had a couple minutes to spare and got comfortable in the increasingly hot, humid studio space. To my surprise this was not going to be the yoga class that I would kick butt in or see my long lost yogis. This class was going to kick my ass... and it did.
I don't know why I feel ashamed when I have to sit out in Bikram's class, but I do. Today I really appreciated the shame because I came to know it very well. I thought of all the other yoga classes I take and they welcome you to sit in child's pose, but in Bikram... there is no child's pose. You have to stay in the room and "suffer."
My thoughts could have turned to belittling myself, but I did the opposite. I felt thankful to be listening to my body, because it didn't feel right and needed to rest. When the pangs of dizziness and weakness came over my body, I made my way to the ground. Breathing and taking note of what was going on in my body.
I felt exhausted and beat, but I also conquered imperfection. I allowed myself to breathe in the discomfort and find relief in doing so.