And I never, ever use them. UNLESS
I go to the gym...which I never, ever do, UNLESS
I magically get a free pass to go to a really nice gym, in which case, I'll do it nightly for the five consecutive nights gifted to me and get my sweat on until the pass runs out. (I did this in Bend, OR, too with Ben's sister and loved it -- thanks, Tia!) When I get an extra $$$ I'll spend it on gym membership, I think, because I learn through these experiences that I am fond of gyms. That's news to me. Shout out to Haven for the 5-day pass to the nice gym in Boulder.
Two discoveries:
1) Trista Hollerbach the yoga teacher.
Hands down one of the most seasoned, rooted, inspiring and excellent yoga classes I've been to in a good while. I love it when teachers offer real, deeply investigative inspiration to court the divine. She did this so naturally, and so accessibly! No pretense, no barriers; all shakti, confidence, love and union. She teaches a (very well attended) class at the Colorado Athletic Club on Tuesday nights, 5PM. I'm not alone in saying I think I love this lady, I love her so, and just being around her is a grounding, whole-body invitation to a deeper love affair with my practice.
A couple of times tears of relief fell off my cheeks during class. Love those. When and if I ever teach my own classes, she is who I want to emulate. Her class was challenging, flowy, slow but fast enough, fast but slow enough, and peppered with her insights, suggestions and easy encouragement. The wisdom of the season shone through. She gave us a recipe. The music was almost as good as the music that Isha plays during her classes...
Trista has a lot of initials after her name, none of which I know anything about, but I gather she is a sex therapist in addition to a yoga teacher. Sex therapists: a noble and fascinating gift to humankind. Oh, the places we can go!
I am so, so very grateful for all of my wonderful yoga and meditation teachers, to my comrades, my peeps, this morning. You know who you are!
2) Hairdryers make me cry? WTF!
Turn them on: they remind me of getting ready for a date. (What are those, again?) It was Friday night, the ladies at the gym stood in front of mirrors drying their hair, mostly naked at least from the waist up. Naturally beautiful and readying themselves for supper? Or their first walk around town in the early spring? Maybe meeting their husbands of 20, 25 years in town for a meal? Beauty.
I fantasized: these gals were feeling strong enough and well cared for, juicy and alive and in love. Pleased. Routines serve these women. Sweating and taking the time to flex in and out of changing musculature good. Setting goals, being human, dealing with screwy issues at work, budget changes, sick kids, dying parents, pending divorce, maybe not?, a broken toe, grocery lists.
Mingling with these women I decided to take the time to slather my with lotion and dry my own hair; it was like vacation. Fucking transcendent. I was transported. Where was I going? Not on a date, but home...where we had leftovers and the girls were almost asleep, Ben on the sofa working on an estimate. Quella eager to say hello. It was not date night, but my heart sang loud and smiled on the inside and opened, and opened again, for when the real date night(s) come. This is enough for now, though, and I can extract the good and be with it easily.
I do look forward to the time when Ben and I will be able to work out together, co-sweat yo, then meet up for a nice supper in town after showering and doing locker room things. This is how I see ourselves when we're in our '50s. It's a sustaining and happy vision.
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