Today instead of CrossFit, I went to yoga. I set an intention at the beginning of the year to do 300 minutes per week of physical activity, which is really only 5, 1-hour blocks or 5 days of 1 hour of activity. It usually works out to one hour blocks. I've decided CrossFit four days a week is one day too much. My joints hurt, my muscles ache, and yet I love it. So I'm switching out yoga for CrossFit for the fourth day. My decision making about yoga studios is this: Is it within a short walk of where I live? Realistically, I'm not going to schlepp across town for yoga as I will for CF, but even that is barely 1.5 miles away. This yoga studio? 5 minutes walking, door to floor.
Much like my apartment, the studio is on the top floor of an old mill building with massive windows overlooking the rooftops. As I was standing around trying to figure out how to actually get into the building, I saw a hot guy in a Harley Davidson T-shirt with a sleeve of tattoos around his lower arm. Slung over his shoulder was his yoga mat!
"I can only guess you're going to yoga. Can I follow you? It's my first time here."
"Oh sure, c'mon up. Fifth floor. Great place."
I rolled out my mat on the side, not knowing what the traditions were and just lay down to stretch out a little. The ceiling was the original wide planks of the mill, but this time with little green pinpricks of light that moved and circled in slow motion. When we did our opening "ooooohhhhhhmmmmm" the room felt like it vibrated, not with volume but with base. As night fell, the yoga instructor slowly pulled the curtains on the now dark city and lowered the lights in the room, cocooning us in soft sighing space. My intention went I went to yoga was just to be there with my body and my breath and to ease into the movement and the stretches. This encircling space didn't need to be a space for my strength, but rather for my letting go.