As in, "Out of the frying pan and into the fire."
Well, okay, maybe I was just moving into the frying pan, if we're going on degrees here. Anyway, the 22nd marked a departure from all recent yoga, with it being performed on the chair-stripped floor of my new conversion van. The van was supposed to be my RV replacement, and though I was only driving it at the time, as a car, not planning on staying in it yet ... fate had other plans. That is, it broke down during its maiden voyage, in northern SC, and rather than shell out for a hotel, I decided to just stop putting off the inevitable and "camp" in the van (in a Food Lion parking lot, as it were, the town's closest surrogate to a Wal-Mart).
Thus, that day's yoga was performed in the frying-pan-rough of a broken-down conversion van, as opposed to the cushy, marsh-side session of just the day before.
The kicker? It was the best yoga I've had in a while. I don't know if it was just the inordinate stress accumulated from the day's van troubles (and, subsequently, that stress's relief), or what. But, doing yoga in that noisy parking lot, on that cold, rainy night just sixty-some hours from Christmas day, I felt pretty darn good.
Afterward, upon retiring to the van's fold-down bed, I was smiling.
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