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I was so psyched about yoga class. I mean, I was REALLY excited about it. I got there 20 minutes early last night, did the keener thing and dragged all the equipment out for everyone, I had my mat set up 10 minutes before class was meant to start and I was SO EXCITED.

And then some of my classmates started stretching. This one lady, directly across from me was lying on her back and effortlessly bringing her feet up to touch the mat over her head. WTF? It turns out that this lady has been doing advanced yoga for longer than I’ve been alive. Slightly intimidating, but I figured that I’m on the beginning of that path so no biggie. 

Then the class started. Last week was a bit intense, but it was just the first class. I figured that over time, it would become easier. We got going and I was okay for the first thirty minutes or so. And then it got hard. And I couldn’t keep up. And I was starting to hurt in all the wrong places. And I cried. Yes, I’m that sad, pathetic sack of fat that was sobbing in yoga class last night. I kept going, crying the whole time. Forty minutes passed, then fifty… sixty…. seventy… and then I couldn’t take it anymore. I quietly padded out of the classroom, made my way to the bathroom, and sobbed and threw up. 

I could blame it on overheating (I was sweating so much my clothes were all wet), I could blame it on arthritis (I was not having a bad day), I could blame it on lack of sleep (heat wave + no A/C = shitty sleep). But the truth is, the class was simply just too difficult for me. I had signed up for gentle yoga, but due to low registration, that class was cancelled and I figured I could handle the regular Hatha class. I can’t. I need the gentle class. I pushed my body too hard, and my body said, “Screw you, lady!” I spent the rest of the evening in a pretty considerable amount of pain. I was bummed. REALLY bummed. 

Two things I did last night during this bout of painful self-examination made me believe that this is the time it’s going to work. This is the time I’m going to continue to exercise and lose weight and not turn to binge eating and wallow in self-pity and do nothing. 

1. I ate the quinoa and chicken salad I had planned for dinner and did not use food to comfort myself; and,

2. I texted my friend Kari to ask if we could go swimming at her place tonight (her building has an indoor pool). 


It’s a small beacon of hope. Tiny. But it’s mine, and I’m going to feed it and nurture it and call it George. (Wait, no, I can’t do that, my cat’s name is George…)

I firmly believe in the concept of “ask, and ye shall receive.” I was complaining about not being able to get immediate validation – feedback that my efforts were working. In the ten days since I got home from Chicago, the scale has gone down steadily every single day except for the one where we had eaten pizza for dinner the night before (went up .5 lbs). This morning, the day after that brutal yoga class that actually had me crying and throwing up? The scale was at 282.5. That means that as long as I keep moving, the number on the scale will keep crawling downward. So now I’m psyched that I’m going swimming tonight and I’m psyched that I still have three weeks to work on Project Me before I see Rob in August, and I’m psyched that this is really happening!

So I may not be able to handle an intermediate Hatha Yoga class right now, but I’m recognizing and accepting my limits and working within them to create the changes I want to see in myself. And that is fucking AWESOME.