Day ten very nearly didn’t happen. Well it would have happened, just not in the format that was planned. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go to my yoga class, it was just that I’d have quite happily not gone to my yoga class. Mainly because I was very settled on the sofa watching my new favourite rubbish telly (Bondi Rescue since you ask, it’s got sharks and jellyfish and idiots nearly drowning – it’s brilliant). I was doing that thing of opting out of making a decision, I was waiting for Ginge to arrive home and had he been five minutes later, I would have shrugged my shoulders and stuck the kettle on.
I didn’t want to have to say out loud “I’m not going”, so I went.
And of course I had a lovely time.
It’s very easy to get caught up in the competitiveness of yoga. You see what other people are doing and you want to do the posture as deep or as flexed or as twisty as they do. You become so caught up in trying to make the shapes that you forget about how you are getting into them in the first place. In trying to be as fully in the posture as possible, you end up barely skimming the surface of it. This is how I came to spend part of the evening in cat pose just thinking about and imagining the movement of my arms and legs, rather than actually lifting anything up from the floor.
Then we moved onto balances and I spent the rest of the evening cheerfully falling over.