And some time later you stumble home chiding yourself for probably drinking a wee bit too much, and wake up the next morning feeling like utter, utter shit swearing never, ever again. You’re not 18 anymore, your body can’t take it.
Until next week you’re in a bar and you just get swept along with their corrupt influence because - well - you have to admit you’re having fun. This does feel good. Not just good, dammit. You’re feeling absolutely fucking great - and another drink is going to make you feel even betterer.
Then you wake up next day with the mother of all hangovers again.
Sound familiar?
Nup. Not me.
Not ever. Not even once.
I stick to my guns.
They down their shots, I sip a few nano droplets - I’m polite like that - and pass my glass to someone else to finish, or empty it in a pot plant when no-one’s looking.
They try to make me feel like a wimp, a spoiler of fun, but It’s water off a duck’s back.
I am impervious to peer pressure, I tell you.
Impervious!
I’m smarter than that.
I don’t want to wake up next day feeling like utter, utter shit.
I want to wake up feeling healthy and ready for yoga class.
Morning yoga!
It’s so pleasant and relaxing. And the teacher really enjoys it. She really enjoys teaching us new poses and encourages us to try the tricky ones. And even though I now know that my body can’t do those tricky poses anymore, I can still remember - a muscle memory - how it felt to do them when i was, er hem,… younger. How good it felt. How relatively easy it was.
And so I follow the careful step-by-step process to warm up and get into the pose safely and there again is that great feeling of achievement when I’m balancing there in a pretty awe-inspiring way and feeling pretty good about myself.
Until towards the end of class I feel a twinge in a muscle, and wake up the next morning in with a not-quite-cripping back pain and figuratively slap my forehead as I phone the physio.
Never again.
I will just do the basic poses from now on. The basic poses are still a challenge, they’ll still do me good. I will not injure myself again.
Until next class, when I stick to my guns and skip that particular tricky pose that hurt my back, and take it easy so as not to exacerbate it. But then the teacher introduces a new, new pose and shows us how to do it and makes it look beautiful and simple and I remember doing it myself a while ago without any trouble. She encourages us in her fun, enticing voice to just give it a go, just have a stab at getting somewhere near it. So I carefully follow the steps to warm myself up and ease myself into the pose safely and - ta daaa!! Look at where my leg is!
And then about five minutes later there’s a sharp pain in my ribs and I can’t even do the final twist before savasana.
Never again I say, as I hobble home to the arnica ointment.
Never again.
