an every day sort of thing.

i went back to hot yoga yesterday. it was miserable. 108 degrees. i know because i was practicing my postures next to the thermostat. it may as well have been 200 degrees because i was sweating more than anyone in the room. this is not an exaggeration. i was so sweaty that i had to wrap a towel around my knee in order to grip it. i didn't know my knees could sweat. and anyway, there i was - a sweaty, wobbly mess. for 90 minutes. staring at myself in the mirror. trying to find my center. which, in my world, just means i was trying like hell to balance on one foot.

see, i'm a klutz. today. yesterday. when i was three. and when i'm 50. i was, am and always will be accident-prone. and i'm okay with that. because i typically choose activities that won't expose my awkwardness. i learned the hard way (the fifth grade basketball experiment.) but i learned. and that's why running is so easy. i just put on shoes and move. in a straight line. it takes no coordination. no bouncing or balancing or classrooms full of students who are better at it than i am.

i went to a step aerobics class once. i tripped over the step. years earlier, i had a failed childhood ballet attempt. and when i was 12, my mom made me take a tumbling class, with the two-year-olds, just to learn to do a cartwheel.

i have an aversion to classes that involve any type of coordinated movements. i don't like sweating in front of people. and i hate the heat.

so why, dear reader, do i continue to torture myself with this fart-inducing, sweat-creating, hot yoga?

because it feels good.