nice downward dog fatso

last night i went to fancy yoga in tribeca. i say fancy yoga because the class cost $29, and my usual studio is $10 for hot, and donation based for vinyassa, so anywhere that doesn’t actually reek of sweat, rubber, bodies and patchouli is pretty fancy in my book.

the class was fine, but i wouldn’t have called it ‘hot yoga’ as advertised. and i wouldn’t say it was life altering.

i do really like yoga. even if I’m not in the mood, 60-90 minutes later i’m in heaven. honestly, even after a few sun salutations, my body is just awake and ready. i get more of a runners high from a vinyassa class then i get from running sometimes.

but last night it didn’t really work. i left class with my friend and we went and got vegan food and talked about guys and weekend plans and all of those things. this is typically a great evening! but i went home feeling so crushingly depressed, and inexplicably weepy. this is not the post yoga glow i’m used to!

i don’t know what’s up with me this week. maybe i’m exhausted and a bit burnt out. work is stressful. mileage is high. valentines day is infuriating.

i was dressed for hot yoga, you know, since the class was called hot yoga, and was the only person in skimpy shorts and a barely there tank top. it was NOT a hot room, and so i was forced to reckon with the thighs that i hate so much for an hour for no reason at all. i felt trapped. and then at dinner, my stupid head was getting the better of me, and i kept feeling like i’m not much fun to be around and that who wants to hang out with someone who doesnt drink anyway? who wants to hang out with their weird friend in recovery who is barely dating anyone and can’t come to any of the fun events because they’re at bars and with normal drinking couples.

i’m ready for a long weekend and some long runs. i’m ready to get unshackled from my brain for hours while the miles tick by. probably enough of the self pity.


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