Oof. After Chris's Saturday yoga class I was beat. I limped home and my husband looked at me cautiously.
"Are you OK?" he asked, looking sympathetic. I collapsed on the couch. How to explain?
I thought about telling him that I was having difficulty with the sixth chaturanga in a row, or that my half-moon pose was more like a quarter-moon verging on an eclipse. Or maybe telling him that my trikonasana had collapsed onto my sacroiliac and my uttkanasana was a tad wobbly. Or maybe I'd get some sympathy if he knew that I'd lost the key to my root lock, and that my ileus and my coleus and everything else including my varigated euyonomous was knotted up like a garden hose. I swear, at one point during class I was sure I'd torn a hole in my mula bandha.
"I'm OK," I said to him. "I'm just sore from all the vinyasas."
"Poor baby, that sounds terrible. I'll get you some advil."
I thanked him and smiled. Everything sounds so much more painful in Sanskrit.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Terri,
ReplyDeleteYou crack me UP!!!!!! And you made me long to get back to class.
I will be there saturday, looking forward to doing chatarangas, or eating chimichanga's. Whichever feels right.
Namaste, sister.
ReplyDeleteBravo, Terri! Bravo...
ReplyDeleteTerri, Terri. I love reading your posts.
ReplyDeleteI do have a suggestion in the future. You might sum it all up for your husband by telling him it's your psoas (prounced so' ass). He'll likely still get you the advil and may spare you the Sanskrit.