What the Forward Fold Knows

April sixteenth. The thing about Tuesday yoga when you went bouldering Saturday is that your body has a very specific and detailed memory that your ego would prefer to keep quiet.

I got to the studio about four minutes before Simone, which was enough time to unroll my mat, sit down, and immediately learn several things about my upper back that I had successfully ignored all weekend. Simone came in, looked at me, looked at the stack of blocks, and said, and I am quoting, "we're using the blocks tonight." Not a question. I did not argue. We used the blocks.

The class itself was fine. It is always fine. There is a version of yoga that meets you wherever you are, and Wednesday, Tuesday, this week, I switched the days because of a shift, the community center version is exactly that. Nobody is performing. Half the people are also quietly sore from something they did over the weekend and would rather not name.

the twist that told me the truth about Saturday

Afterward we stood in the hallway for probably ten minutes longer than necessary, shoes in hand, not quite ready to let the session end. Simone said something about the outdoor area, whether I'd thought about going back before the workshop decision sorts itself out, and I told her I was still inside the lag on that one. She nodded like she understood, which she does, and that was enough.

post-class, pre-honesty about how the legs actually feel

I have been thinking about it since. But that is a post for three days from now, probably.