An awesomely bad practice

And by "awesomely", I mean that, hey, at least I practiced, despite the biting sub-zero-farenheit-with-the-wind-chill-factor-temperature, and at least I didn't melt into a puddle of shame and disappointment when my fingertips weren't even in the same zip code during my half-assed attempt at Supta Kurmasana ("Right hand, I would like to introduce you to someone I think you might like...left hand. Left hand, meet right hand. Yes, you two should get to know each other sometime over a nice Supta Kurmasana..."). My biggest achievement in today's practice is that I achieved nothing, and it was okay. Course, I had to make sure it was okay with Sir. Obviously, I have a ways to go with the non-attachment to the practice thing.

It was very challenging today, I must admit, to not add the little twitches, ticks and quirks that I have heretore been adding to the sequence, sometimes without even being aware of it. For a dyed-in-the-wool red-headed Pitta, I am pretty uncomfortable practicing in the bitter cold. I came into the shala wearing three pairs of pants (capri yoga pants, a pair of roomier, full-length yoga pants and a pair of nylon track pants) and three tops (a tank top, a technologically advanced thermal ski top with a turtleneck and a hood, and a giant, thigh-length cable-knit wool cardigan). Not to mention a coat, hat and gloves and thick, heavy winter socks. I walked into the practice room wearing the socks, all three layers of tops and having shed only the track pants. I quickly removed the socks and the cardigan, folding them up next to me for later, when I would need them in Savasana. I began my practice in two tops and two pairs of pants. I didn't "strip" down to my tank top and capri-length yoga pants until the seated poses. And now I kind of wish that I hadn't stripped down at all because as soon as the top layer went, so did my heat. And what started out as a nice practice, quickly turned crunchy, crackly and well, seeing as I am fresh out of adjectives, let's just say, it was the opposite of flowing.

Ah well. It was just a day, just a practice. Practice for more practice. It doesn't matter at all as long as I do it. And again, I made sure that this conclusion was correct by asking Sir, who, I think, thought I might have been kidding. I obviously have a lot to learn about what I'm even supposed to be doing on the mat, apart from bending. But that's why I keep pushing that rock up the hill. The difference between me and Sisyphus is that it's my choice to keep pushing that rock uphill, day in day out.

Rinse.

Repeat.

YC