Day 52: fast and Day 53: bluh.

So, Saturday morning MSH and I drove from Grants Pass to Ashland so I could go to yoga class. (MSH whiled away the time doing the exact opposite of yoga: eating eggs and bacon and then sitting in a car working on a laptop computer.) It is a neat little studio in a converted house, with hardwood floors and woodstove heat. The teacher, a man, was a TRIP. (I've had three male teachers now, and they all wear Speedos. Since Bikram Choudhury wears a speedo, I'm going to blame it on him personally. This seems strange. Of all the female teachers I've had, none of THEM wear BIKINIS to teach in. In fact, some wear PANTS!) He got out every verbal cue for every pose, every set. This means he had to talk VERY fast. He was like the Micro Machines guy! I thought it was going to drive me crazy, but I had a good class. It just felt like it was moving very fast. I could have sworn at the end the whole thing had taken an hour instead of the usual 90 minutes, but I was wrong. He also had cute little things he said, like "booty out looks good in jeans, not in yoga. Tuck that tailbone!" and a rhyme: "Elbows go below the KNEE eventualLEE." And he said he doesn't call people's names to correct them in class, because it brings out the inner child. And time is an illusion. Apparently it also brings out people's inner child to do physical adjustments, or to give them extra instructions or cautions if it's their first time doing Bikram yoga. Different. Still, I had a great class, and was very glad I practiced before my aunt's memorial service. It was a wonderful service--there's a reason we do it. It felt like we got to honor her and say goodbye, and it seemed everyone felt better afterward. The graveside freaked me out a bit, though. The whole day was full of things you don't really WANT to do but know you'll regret later if you DON'T, you know? I already regret not speaking at the service, since no one from my generation did. But damn. I'm a cryer, folks. My mom spoke; I was so proud of her.

Back to yoga.

Our flight home was supposed to get in at 2:30, plenty of time for the 5:00 class at my usual studio. Oh well. We were delayed at our stopover in Eugene for almost two hours. Got home at 5:15. I was so exhausted. All the weekend's crying and social interaction and travel piled up on me all at once and I slept for about 20 minutes on the couch before getting up and putting my clothes on for the six o clock class in Fremont. MSH dropped me off and then went to pick up his parents at the airport. So THAT was the most tired I've ever been going into a class, and I took it nice and easy. Only rested out two sets, but it was definitely NOT my finest hour. Either the teacher wasn't going to waste a bunch of time with me because I'm not a regular in Fremont, or she just took pity on me. So--only up from here, for the final week!

In the car on the way there:
MSH: You really don't want to go, do you?
ME: (shakes head)
MSH: But you're going to go anyway?
ME: (nods head)
MSH: Because you're strong in mind?
ME: (nods head)
MSH: And because your aunt would be proud of you?
ME: (nods head)
MSH: I'm proud of you, too, honey.