Yesterday was a hard day. I got up late (9am…ooh…the luxury), went to the gym, did my running stuff, some weights, and (as always) stretching. Watched the people doing the yoga class at the gym and started thinking about yoga. Then, sort of spur of the moment, decided to go to yoga last night. I guess I hadn’t really realized just exactly how much my quads hurt from running, but they do! Doing all the warrior poses was just killing me. I know that my legs have gotten stronger, even just from running the short amount of time that I have been (honestly, you should see my calves … they’re awesome!) but I guess my legs are now getting accustomed to one kind of exercise and not another. I am totally out of yoga shape! Not only that, but Gregor had the room up to 97 degrees. 97?? Who is he trying to kill? The answer here, of course, is me. And I’m now unbelievably sore and not looking forward to going to the gym.
The more I run, the tighter I get. I am not willing to give up any of my hard-earned flexibility though, so I really have to make sure that yoga is part of my routine. I guess that knowing the gym offers yoga at times where it’s semi-reasonable for me to be there is helpful. I can definitely go to those, although I really don’t like them as much as I like Baptiste. Yoga without the heat is boring! Although, I guess, yoga with as much heat as I had yesterday is murderous. There is a toss-up here.
Oh yeah, one more thing. I wanted to address the smoking issue one more time. Just so you know, I used to smoke. I was a pack-a-day smoker for six years. I loved me some damn cigarettes. But then J and I got involved and I began to see that there was something else that I wanted more than that. I began to see that my smoking was going to get in the way of my ultimate goal … a family. So I started hating smoking. Every single time I lit a cigarette I would hate the fact that I was doing it. I hated how it made me feel, I hated how it made me smell, I hated being dependant on those stupid little things. So I decided to quit. And don’t get me wrong here, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But whenever the desire to smoke overwhelmed me and I started to panic, I would just think to myself, “But I want to see my kids graduate from high school.” And that thought would make me strong enough to quit. That was almost 3 years ago.
I guess the thing that makes me really angry about the entire situation is that I feel like I’m working to become the kind of person that I want to be and J isn’t. J and I have these dreams that we’re supposed to be heading towards, but I feel like I’m the only one who’s doing anything about it and that he’s just sitting around waiting for me to do everything. His smoking is only a part of this, but for me it is a really important one.