but in my life, friday doesn't mean the weekend starts tonight. however, it does mean that most managers won't be on property for the next two days. which, doesn't really change anything in my life anyhow.
I'll leave my desk at around 11 PM, go through the parking garage to my locker, and change into some yoga pants and a sports bra, go back up the elevator to tromp through the lobby in my red Sorel's, and land at the hotel's fitness center.
once there, the following may or may not happen:
1. I stare at the mirror and think about which poses I would like to incorporate today. That chick in the mirrors tells me that You would like to be home, working out your wine-bottle-corking/pouring muscles right now. (unless it's been a bad day, in which case, skip the wine glass and sip that Pinot straight from the bottle, with a few half-melted squares of super dark chocolate held in your chipmunk cheeks.) I blow that chick off sometimes. But sometimes I agree with her and walk back to the parking garage and go home, having accomplished nothing.
2. If I choose to stay, I will strategically place my favorite, worn, gloriously sticky (sticky from being broken in and having the initial slippery film worn off, not from being dirty) old yoga mat in a corner that the valet boys are least likely to see me in through the windows. You need to start borrowing sheets from housekeeping to tape over the windows while you're in here.
3. I'll meander over to the sound system, hook up my ipod and choose the 'yyog' playlist (I'm a careless titler) which is set up for an almost perfectly synchronized ashtanga primary series. Oh this song. "Intro" by M83 Remember your yurt at Sundance? Those were the days.
4. After standing on my mat with my eyes closed for a few minutes, full Ujayii breath and my hands at my heart, I'll decide I'm not in a yoga mood (for the 3rd month straight) and resort to doing a half-assed 20-minute tabatta session.
I'm in a yoga slump (read as life slump)
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| summer in the sundance fitness yurt. 105 degrees of Bikram joy. |
The gym at the Waldorf Astoria is fabulous. And in the middle of the night, it's dark, quiet and empty. Just me and kinesis machines, treadmills, yoga balls, and my favorite piece of workout equipment, a bare clean floor. Everything in this room is top of the line, expensive, and wiped squeaky clean of any trophy wife's gorgeous perspiration that may have rubbed off earlier in the day. I can see the flickering glow of the fireplaces just outside the window, and I have a gorgeous view of the illuminated snow-covered mountain at Canyons resort just a hundred yards away. This environment should be condusive to an extraordinary yoga practice, a life-changing savasana, and a sense of peace and accomplishment to relish in on my drive home. But it's not. Not right now anyway.
I wish I could rewind to last summer. Last summer, my workout and yoga practice was my favorite part of my day. I would rush through emails and amenities and phone calls and itineraries just so I could change into some spandex shorts and spend 2 hours in an non-air conditioned, slightly dirty, awkwardly shaped yurt located at the base of Sundance resort. It was round, so it was tricky to use the wall as a stabilizer for handstands and forearm stands. There were bees and spiders and pot guts and mice and moths and ants and spying bellmen. All I could hear was the rattle of the chains on the tires of the shuttle bus. But my yoga practice was so satisfying and perfect every time. Not meaning the poses were perfect, but just that everything went smoothly, I accepted my progress and my fallbacks, and I acknowledged myself without passing (much) judgement.
How I miss it. I've been pondering how I can get to that same mental place again. New playlist? New LuLus? Heaven forbid - a new mat?
practice, and all is coming.
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