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.