Is that? Could it be? I squint at the light streaming through my window. Nope. Not true. I don’t believe you, Outside.
Here on the East Coast, we’ve been pummeled and frozen for months by the snow. I’ve barely left the apartment. I’ve worn — and only worn — the same pair of slush-splattered snow boots for six weeks running. During a two-full-days-trapped-inside stint, my food source devolved into a fridge scavenger hunt for leftover takeout rice reanimated with a little hot sauce.
So I remain, a slug. But this sun… could it be?
I slide out of bed, press play on the coffee and fall onto the couch for a five-minute Candy Crush break (I know). I could go back to sleep, but I have to leave for a meeting in an hour. My husband waves goodbye and before I can shuffle to my first cup, the door bell rings. Huh? I’m not expecting any packages. A cheery voice pipes through the intercom. “It’s Kimberly!”
SHIT. My yoga teacher. I’d completely forgotten she was coming over. Because of some past knee injuries, I’ve started doing yoga at home with a wonderful woman I met at the Women’s Entrepreneur Festival. Kim works with people who have injuries or illness and has a relatively new business to create personalized programs for clients. I wanted someone who wouldn’t screw my knee up even further.
But I haven’t seen Kim for a little while because, well, snow and bad cold. And with the craziness of life — there’s no other reason — I forgot about this appointment. When my energy is low, my brain follows suit.
She instantly recognizes my slip-up, and gives me the evil third eye (not really), but I tell her I have 30 minutes, let’s do this. Hey, I’m already in sleeping-yoga-work-from-home pants.
As she guides me into Mountain Pose, I instantly go into day preservation mode, thinking “Ok, when we do savasana, the final meditation, I can totally lay there and plan my outfit and if I get that in my head I’ll be good to keep moving, grab the coffee over there and get to my meeting.
I don’t share my yoga-wrecking plans with Kim.
And then we look out my window.
“Look,” she says. “We can actually do a sun salutation to the warm sun!”
It is there. It wasn’t a cruel joke. As we cat cow, downward dog and triangle pose, I find myself, coffee-less, actually relaxing — and recharging. I’ve become stronger, she tells me — even with our time off, and maybe especially without coffee, I seem to have found stores of energy. It’s a beautiful thing.
Twenty minutes in, I just let it all go. My back. My stiff computer arm. Despite the fire truck blaring. Despite my cat snoring. Ok maybe not despite my cat, but nearly.
As we enter savasana, I nearly fall asleep. Outfits, be damned.
A big chunk of me still battles this regular yoga practice — too afraid to relax, to find this energy that exists as close as a deep, satisfying breath.
After Kim leaves, I turn off the pot of coffee; I don’t have time to drink it and, in fact, I don’t need it. I’m in a state of calm, non-buzzy energy that I haven’t felt for a long time. I put on clothes and walk out, into the sun.
This week our writers find their own energy sources:
- Laurie White seeks a healing touch.
- Sara Gilliam runs for it.
- Lauren Oster sleeps like a teenager.
- Amy Barr shuts out the critic.
- Judy McGuire attempts Beastanetics.
- And I’m stepping to those 80s workout numbers…
oh and p.s.:
** An Energy-Boosting Giveaway**
Last week we featured the nutrition and lifestyle expert Alex Jamieson in these pages and live at our first Talk TueNight event. This week we’re giving away five copies of Alex’s new book, Women, Food, and Desire: Embrace Your Cravings, Make Peace with Food, Reclaim Your Body. Enter here to win!