For the past couple months I do yoga in the morning (hashtag #journey). I almost don’t hate it. I don’t look for inner peace in it. I try to prevent anymore harm.
After a decade of working for unmoving hours in front of a computer, my body is shot. My sciatic nerve must have irreparable damage. Two of the toes on my left foot ache enough most days I don’t want to put on socks. Lately they look a little discolored. I should probably have that checked out. My ass is always numb, but somehow always hurts. My back is a support group meeting of sad vertebrae and pain. My core is nowhere to be found (I suspect it’s hiding out in my ass). The knot in my left shoulder from an injury at 15 feels like a 33-year-old softball embedded in there.
My dogs keep me from being sedentary, and the fits and starts of getting back into the marathon form of my twenties. I want to be in better shape, but distance running gives me the mental boost yoga seems to provide for others. For a person as wound up as me, distance running is the quickest, surest path to joy. I know, it’s endorphins, but I don’t care. Marathon training was the only time in my life where I seemed to at least partially overcome my narcolepsy without the medication that keeps it in check today.
A large component of adulthood for me is somehow I learned to do things I don’t enjoy because I know they’re good for me. It’s Just Do It stripped of aspiration. Eventually, hopefully, I will enjoy these things.
But whatever, so long as I don’t lose any toes. Take it easy out there. You really do get points for showing up.