Yesterday was a weird day. It started fine. I got a ton of stuff done at work in the morning and I left to take my statistics midterm with plenty of time to finish it. Except it wasn’t enough time. I got about halfway done in TWO HOURS and then the testing center closed (it’s Spring Break) and I had to leave it unfinished. (I emailed my professor. We’ll see.) Then I had a ridiculously strange conversation with the checkout lady at Wegmans when I ran in to pick up dinner (I was talking about knee highs. She was talking about tampons. She must have thought I was insane.), and when I got home I wasn’t in the mood to do ANYthing. It was such a huge contrast to the day before. When I got home from the gym Wednesday night, I felt like I could climb mountains. You know why? I’ll tell you why. But wait – I need some space. This is big and needs its own paragraph.
For the first time in my life – this is no exaggeration – I touched my toes. Even when I was little, even when I was in high school and so skinny I could hurt people with my hip bones (those days are long gone), I couldn’t do that. I faked it in the Navy – we were sitting down and I could lunge for my toes twice a year. But this, this was real. (I’m a purist.) This was standing up, folding forward, and reaching. And I. Touched. My. Toes.
Go me. Go yoga.