khkhkhkhkkkkkkhhhhmmm. Let me clear my throat.
Today started yesterday, if thats possible. Yes, for me it is, b/c as soon as I arrived in sun-blessed, collagen filled Santa Monica, I was put to work by no other than Ana Forrest herself. A few errands were ran, a lucky lounge at the pool for a wee bit o' catching up and then our 3.5 hour practice ensued. Food finally filled our bellies & the other two assistants and I were back at the "grind". Mic checks, logistics, you know Yogic set up shit...that lasted until midnight.
Then the anticipation was killing me, (or was it the twin bed Angela and I shared?), and I couldn't sleep. So when the alarm went off at 2:30am, I was a little less than stoked to rise, buuuut, happily dressed from the night before, headed out the door with a smile.
Practice starts at 3am. And what I am ultimately getting at here is:
Can Yoga be an endurance activity? You see, we sweat in an 85° room until the trainees arrive at 6am, whence then, we change our clothing, chug water (I scarf another cliff shot b-fast), and we teach until 9am (mind you we're participating while we "teach"). Then I had to teach another yoga class from 9:30-11am.
So, 7.5 hours of yoga are already under my imaginary belt, by noon. I feel high, and duh, I am. Many a'backbends, handstands, and moments with your feet behind your head will do this to you. Which is why everyone should quit their life-limiting variable and choose Yoga for drug of choice. I feel great. In fact, now that I've had back to back meals for NOURISHMENT (cereal and tuna fish/avocado), I am hopping on the bicycle and heading shirtless to the promenade. Heh, thats how they roll here in Venice.
Bedtime's a hopeful 6pm, if we can quit giggling- or get the heart to settle, and then its the same ol game tomorrow, and the next day...
Tootles.