This morning I woke up 10 minutes before my alarm went off, which is the ideal waking situation. It means I got a full night’s sleep — only 7 hours last night, due a busy evening in Boston capped by an excruciating subway delay and a 9:20pm dinner of leftover steak and mushrooms — but obviously just enough sleep, and any day that doesn’t begin with a blaring alarm is bound to be a good one.
Plus, that’s 10 more minutes of early morning yoga. Even on days when I do feel well-rested, my morning yoga sessions are never too long or intense. They are more like warm-ups, and while I would love to continue beyond the 20-25 minutes of gentle movement, the day begins to loom in front of me like an unfurled to-do list. Need to shower, make breakfast, pack lunch, wake up my husband, and make myself presentable to the world! Need to drive to work, and then actually work for 8 hours! When I practice yoga in the early morning, it is difficult to keep focused on my breath, and not on whether there is meat thawed for tonight’s dinner.
Yes, food is sometimes on my mind when I do yoga. Not that I’m hungry. Perhaps there is a biologically tie between physical activity and thinking about food. After all, in the caveman era, food was usually the goal of physical activity (food, and escaping tigers). So maybe it’s not so strange that, as I stretch my buttocks and hips to the sky in downward-dog, I’m dreaming about this:
Yes, that was breakfast… the last of the CSA sausage (which I didn’t finish — I mean, that’s a slab) and two eggs, poached in pork grease. Hey, it’s cold outside.
