After the race Sunday I thought I’d treat my tired self to a little bike ride and some yoga. Since my balance is always more than a little off after a race, I planned on snagging a nice cozy spot in the back, as long as split shorts guy was not there.
Alas all spots in back were already taken. So I settled for a refuge behind a bamboo plant in the front right corner. Not sure if it’s my rigid self or the instructor, but I find this class hard. Although it’s not Bikram, she cranks the heat and I am dripping head to toe by the end of class. All the better to stretch the muscles right?
There is risk in the front row. Yoga experts like the front row and today was no different.
Before class started, the lady next to me started doing elbow stands and splitting her legs apart Chinese splits style. I know, yoga is all about not comparing myself to yoga experts or anyone else. I’m here to honor my body and all that jazz. I fought to ignore her but it became nearly impossible when she started windmilling her legs around so I could feel them brush the top of my head as I waited for class to start.
So about 3/4 of the way through the class, I’m dripping wet, wondering where the hell my flexibility went but still happy I came when we do a standing straddle split. It used to be one of my favorites. Before running-induced petrification set in.
So I’m straddling and splitting and wondering if my head will even begin to approach the vicinity of the mat ever again in this lifetime. Suddenly something in my always-ornery, left high-hamstring/assular area makes a tearing sound. I see stars it is that painful. My head crashes down to the mat followed by the rest of me in a sweaty heap. I writhe in silent pain for a moment, praying the bamboo will obscure my agony. Pain turns to numbness, I take a feeble chataranga and plot my escape. What the hell just happened?
Cannot. Be. Good.
I saw Twin Cities flash before me.
Is this the universe’s way of saying Marcia stay home? Call me crazy, but part of my stubborn self is even more determined to go kick some Twin Cities booty.
I came home, put my angry behind on ice and consulted Dr Web Md. Is this a muscle pull? Strain? Tear? Despite the awful sound it made when it happened, I doubt I tore anything because it’s only painful when I stretch my leg and there’s no bruising or swelling. It’s painless to walk and I’m hoping painless to run.
What other obstacles will I need to overcome to get to Oz Twin Cities? Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t even want to know.
