what the yogi saw

So there I was, breathing deeply into my forward bend.

It had been 3 long weeks since I'd last attended my yoga class ~ 3 weeks of living the good life, the high life, the straight-to-my-thigh life. In addition to the splurges associated with our fun-loving guest, I celebrated my birthday this weekend by trying to eat and drink my way into the Guinness Book of World Records.

One day, lunch at the local grill with a girlfriend (mojitos, ahi salad, bread and ...mojitos!) was followed by some casual shopping, which led to a few hilarious rounds at the bar of a deconsecrated church (peartinis, bruschetta and blasphemy) where we made our pious young bartender so nervous with our irreverent joking that he apologized to whatever gods there be several times on our behalf. This was eventually followed by a light repast (pizza and beer) out on the patio with the neglected Turk ~ you know, just so he wouldn't feel left out.

The next night found me enjoying a nice mushroom risotto, goat cheese salad and a superb lamb prepared in a plumy red wine sauce at Napa Rose, where Turk had made reservations for a wonderfully romantic dinner, enhanced by a very-berry pinot noir. Sunday was all about pasta, vino and a celebratory cheesecake. All told, it was all less birthday than carnival, really. If I did a calorie count of the past several days (weeks) I'd have to do the right thing and and shoot myself. Instead I took the coward's way out and headed for a gym.

I was thus enjoying the feeling of being once again inwardly focused, surprised by how readily my body was responding in spite of so much pleasurable but blatant abuse. It was a joy to let go in a positive, healing manner. Yielding to the soothing rhythm of the Tibetan gong chiming softly in the background, I sank yet deeper into my pose. Grasping my ankles, I sent a long, slow breath into the back of my legs and pulled my forehead to my knees. With a small, satisfied smile on my lips, I opened my eyes.

And that's when I saw it. Looming behind me was a massive mound of stretched-to-capacity black micro-fiber. My startled face appeared directly below.

"OMFG!" thought I, because I really do think almost exclusively in text messaging now (tex mex, if you will) although I have never actually sent a text message nor do I ever anticipate so doing. But I think in it. Because it is so much easier to swear in it.

"Is that thing mine?"

I shook my own tiny hiney. And watched in dismay as the monolith in the mirror shifted in kind. Zen and reflective glass don't lie; that monster was mine.

Knocked the chi right outta me.

Waiting for me when I got home was a card from my best mate since high school telling me, among other things, that she had just signed up to run a half-marathon. By contrast, I was anticipating yet another party on Sunday, this time to be held in honor of one of Turk's golf buddies at a place well known for the excellence of it's brunches; my only goal had been to scale the shrimp tower and take a heady dip in the champagne fountain.

I have really got to get my act together.

And since no one should be made to suffer my sins but me (there is nothing more dreary than someone else's diet and exercise routines, however noble) I will be taking my sorry self offline to do so. See you in 10 pounds.

I'm still going to that party, though. This could take a while.