Cat-Cow.

My mind drifts back from the morning to my space. My studio apartment. Scented with sandalwood and rose and baked tofu and wrinkle-releaser spray. I am cross-legged on my mats. My three mats. My three mats on top of my beautiful magical carpet.

Eyes still closed, I pull myself forward onto my hands and knees. I breathe through cat-cow. Dropping my belly as I inhale, lifting my chin and curling my toes under, pressing them into the soft rubber beneath me. Exhaling, I pull my spine to the ceiling, release my head so it hangs heavy, and press the tops of my feet into the floor.

Inhale- I’m alone. Unchosen. Unworthy. Unappreciated. Taken for granted. Overworked. Used. Forgotten. Ignored.

Exhale- I’m surrounded. Selected. Worthy. Appreciated. Celebrated. Trusted. Relied upon. Remembered. Focused on.

Inhale- I’m single.

Exhale- I’m selective.

Inhale- I’m single.

Exhale- I’ve not met the right person.

Inhale- I’m single.

Exhale- I’m content by myself.

Inhale- I don’t know what I want to do with my life.

Exhale- I’ve endlessly learned.

Inhale- I don’t know what I want to do with my life.

Exhale- I was finally promoted.

Inhale- I don’t know what I want to do with my life.

Exhale- I’ve been in a male-dominated industry for twenty years and I’m a woman, and I’m still standing.

Inhale- I’m tired.

Exhale- I’m busy.

Inhale- I’m tired.

Exhale- I’m productive.

Inhale- I’m tired.

Exhale- I fill my time with passions and people.

I bring my spine back to neutral and curl my toes under and press myself back to downward dog. I bend one knee and then, the other. I gently shake my head from side to side. I feel the heaviness of my life, of my day, of this moment.

I feel like I’m too much and not much at all. I wonder what tomorrow is going to look like and what the weather is going to be and who I’m going to talk to.

I step my right foot between my hands and pull myself up into Warrior I and wonder if I’m depressed. Properly depressed. Or just suffering with bouts of seasonal and situational moroseness. I open my arms wide, pulling energy through my fingertips. Warrior II. Should I talk to someone, again? Will therapy help? Am I just fucking sad? I don’t feel despondent. Just a little sick of everyone and everything.

I reverse into Humble Warrior and wonder if I should be taking Vitamin C or planning a trip somewhere sunny. Sunnier than here, anyway.

My hands windmill to the floor and I step back into plank. I tighten my ass and my belly and open my upper back and will furrowing from my brows. I lower into Chaturanga and remember when Harriet told me I was cursed with the family arms. Family arms? Family arms. Meaty arms. Strong but barely defined. Only defined in as much as they are clearly arms.

I inhale and pull forward into Upward Facing Dog. I pull my shoulders away from my ears and push my chest open and roll my eyes back.

Downward dog.

Should I wear a skirt tomorrow? What’s the weather supposed to be? Cold? This time of year is so confusing. Fifty and damp. Twenty and blustery. I’m one of those people who never checks the weather. Well, I do, but after the fact, in a very besides the point fashion.

It’s snowing. iPhone opens. Oh look, it’s supposed to snow today. Will you look at that?!

A runner who doesn’t check the weather. It would almost be absurd would it not be perfectly me. It is, precisely who I am in this world.

One of my dearest friends texted me last week and said he knew I was running because it was raining, and while he knew those two things to occur simultaneously, he was assured that the rain followed my decision to run. I feigned offense, but laughed. A real laugh. The kind of laugh that is not for an audience and instead, it meant as a release. Natural. Organic. Free.

I love skirts and dresses. Also, ruffles and bows. And pink. And hearts. And shit with my name on it. Also, whiskey and straightforwardness. A paradox.

I step my left foot forward in between my hands. I breathe my arms high and press my palms together. I feel a tenderness in my shoulders and there’s a pulsing in my ears. I work harder in this left Warrior I. Harder to shift my left hip back, right hip forward. Find equanimity. Symmetry in my posture. Sense in the world.

Warrior II. I know it’s not easier for other people. I know that’s social media curated horseshit, but still, it feels like it’s easier. Maybe just a little bit. I know some back stories. Enough to see through the nonsense and fluff. Still, it’s hard.

Humble Warrior.

I am normal. This is normal.

I windmill my arms.

I am normal. This is normal.

My palms find the floor and I step back to plank. I breathe as I press into the balls of my feet, heels moving through space. I lower down, feeling the strength of thousands of push ups and the will to be unburdened. I lower all the way to the floor this time. Forehead pressing into the mat. It smells of chemicals and lavender. I breathe here. Will myself not to cry. I feel suffocated with my grief suddenly.

No travel. No dance. No theater. No Harriet.

I open to Cobra. A small opening. Barely a lift. Barely a ripple in the air around me. A small opening between the mat and my chin.

I could be more like them, all of them. But, I can’t.

Behind closed lids I see the devastation and in my tight chest, I feel profoundly the suffering.

Downward dog.

I roll up onto my tiptoes, calves tight, and press down into my heels. I’m over it. I loathe the expression ‘over it’. And yet, here I am. Tired. Fatigued.

P called me this afternoon and said she’s sick of using the word fatigued but they haven’t yet come up with a better descriptor and so, we are stuck using fatigued. I pondered this issue and acknowledged the conundrum. There is no more suitable word. None that comes to mind without a deep dive on the Internet. That feels inauthentic and ridiculous. And so, we are truly fatigued. In the purest sense of the word.

I am fatigued. I bend my knees and look forward, step my feet between my hands, and fold over my legs. My hands move to my shins, I look up lengthening my spine and then, fold again. Ribs melting against thighs. I tighten my belly and reach my arms up and around, rising to stand.

I float my arms down by my side and release my breath.

And, again.

x

L.