One more class, one more posture, one more breath. You’ll make it.
In 2008, I joined the local Bikram Yoga club during the grand opening special. This was around the peak popularity of Bikram Yoga, so between that, new place novelty and the prices, it was busy.
60 people working hard, in the Bikram hot box. mad for tough conditions. It was hard to do the postures, to concentrate, even to breathe through the heat and humidity. So I learned to focus on the next move, even just the next breath, to push through without quitting.
In December last year I found myself ready to quit. To simply give up.
Not Bikram, I haven’t been to a yoga class in over three years (thanks Ford, you fascist shit stain). No, I was ready to give up.
I was done, my life was over.
It was a normal day, except that today kid three was home sick. I was taking my lunchtime walk, and about halfway something in my head snapped.
BANG.
When I got home it was time for my final breath.
I reached for my phone to call wifey to leave her a message, “Come home, I don’t want kid three to be alone.” Except that he wouldn’t be alone, I’d be there, and he’d be witness to my final act.
For the second time in two years, one of my kids saved my life. I couldn’t make that call, because I couldn’t complete my final act, not with my son there to witness it.
So I concentrated on the next step, and the one after that, and the one after that.
Just to get through.
