It’s a rainy day over here in the second city.
My hands seem to be protesting the rain, or at least that’s what I’m assuming today’s joints are brought to me by.
Last night, I headed to hot yoga, and when I was signing myself in, my instructor (who is one of my favorite people on this earth) stopped my pal and I and let us know how strong we’d gotten since we started our practice.
Which was music to my ears, chickadees, because one of the most irritating part of my adventure in RA is that I don’t always feel in control of my own body.
I try to remind myself that with my lifelong coordination struggle, I’ve never really had much control over it, but that doesn’t always help when I’m trying to stretch out and just can’t.get.there.
I spend a lot of time looking around the room and fixating on all the things I’d maybe be able to do if my limbs would just listen to me.
Instead though, I spent 90 minutes last night focusing on all the things that I can do, instead of shooting jealous looks at my classmates who make everything seem easy.
And it turns out that while right now I am not the runner of half marathons or the bendiest of yogis, there’s still approximately one millon things I can do now that I couldn’t four months ago.
And so, the thought of the day, from my favorite historical figure, is as follows.
Do I wish the treadmill didn’t scare my knees into submission? Of course.
But then, chickens, what if I’d never learned to do a headstand?