So, my yoga has gone up a notch -- maybe just one notch, but a notch nonetheless.
It started with yet another, routine family-visiting trip from SC to NC.
No, you aren't seeing double; I really did just do a family-visit post (after a scattered succession of such, each more lackluster than the last). And, likewise, this one isn't too interesting to anyone but myself (until I get hideously famous and people begin buying my underwear and writing unofficial biographies of me, anyway). But, this particular trip did accomplish one thing of interest to this blog: I did yoga in public, for the first time in ... too long. (Note that I did say "of interest to this blog," by the way; not "of interest" in general.)
But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. That picture there, Exhibit A? That's just the motel room I lodged in on the way up north, and my yoga there was totally hermetic, like the rest of my post-last-summer sessions. So, after you finish admiring my trunk of foodstuffs, let's move along.
Don't laugh (well, no, feel free to laugh), but the finger invading the picture was not intentional. I only saw it after the fact, and that picture was the only one I took, so there. Anyway, pictured is the SC gym where I -- gasp! -- did yoga in its stretch room. No, my public yoga wasn't even outside and in a conspicuous public space, but in the semi-private space of a gym. Still, it felt a bit daring for me, in the sense of "one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." (As the more perceptive of this blog's readers might have inferred, my "retirement" from audacious public yoga last year was due to some serious health problems that I won't elaborate on. I mention this only to explain how doing some yoga stretches in a semi-public area can be at all noteworthy, to anyone, on even a personal level. For me, the gym-yoga was akin to taking the first steps after being bedridden from crippling injury.)
Note the van in the foreground, which is (was?) the ill-fated successor to the RV I vagabonded around in last summer. Ill-fated because, a few hours after this ridiculous picture was taken, the van broke down, seemingly for good if the violence of its breakdown was any indicator. So, in light of that, I guess this post has two (count 'em, two) nuggets of semi-interest: first, my return to public yoga (sort of), and, second, a memorial of my maybe-deceased Dodge van. Alas, we barely knew ye.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
I went North again, to visit the family for Easter.
I should start by stating, right off the bat, that this post is gonna be even more boring than whichever previous one holds the record, for this trip was, besides being one I've documented here multiple times, almost entirely uneventful (or, at least, without any non-personal, blog-friendly events). On the way up North, I overnighted in a hotel, and -- gasp! -- I yoga'd there. And, once safely in North Carolina, I yoga'd there too!!! Can you believe it?! Me either.
So, yes: I went from a totally random, capricious, spur-of-the-moment thrill-ride trip up to NYC ... to a routine back-and-forth from SC to NC (and, probably, the most-routine one of all thus far). But ... it was travel (and while Out There, with Spring in the air, I felt stirrings of last year's summertime nomad'ing around, and its more-adventurous, non-hermit yoga ...).