Getting It Out of My System

After 12 hours of abusing myself yesterday, I decided it was time to take care of myself today.

Even though I hate to wake up to the alarm, I set it for 11:30 this morning so I could make it to the restorative yoga class on 56th St. I didn't even really eat breakfast (or, er, shower) because I was so looking forward to lying on the floor in the dark, but when I got there, I realized I was in for something very different. My teacher, first off, was about 75 years old. Her teaching style was reminiscent of teaching circus performers how to execute gymnastic tricks, encouraging us to flail our arms wildly and flop our heads around - totally antithetical to what's supposed to happen in a yoga or pilates class. Clearly not restorative but not really of any other yoga practice either, it was like taking a sitcom version of yoga, watching her vocalize weird sounds and twist her body unrhythmically.

I decided to go with it instead of walking out (like I normally would) since I know enough about yoga to adjust her instructions and actually execute some proper poses like tree and warrior 1. But overall the class was distracting and not restorative at all, especially when the elderly teacher's joints kept cracking like bubble wrap every time she demonstrated a move.

Still, I felt like I accomplished something, and I got all limbered up for the lymphatic drainage massage I'd scheduled for later in the afternoon. I'd been wanting to drain my lymph system ever since my massage in Minneapolis in October pinpointed pain behind my knees, so when I read about it in this week's Time Out, I was excited to try it. I went to the Dorit Baxter spa on 57th St, which I expected to be a lush Midtown hideaway but instead was kind of ghetto and stressful. When I actually got into the massage room, though, I was immediately relaxed, and excited for the light touch that LDM is known for (which often frustrates people who like a deep tissue attack when they get massaged). I kept expecting to have an emergency-level urge to pee like the article said, but instead my stomach kept gurgling to an embarrassing extent. And a couple moves made me a little lightheaded. I guess I'm just not used to having my armpits massaged.

Overall it felt good and my sneakers felt a little looser afterwards, but my bloat is so severe that I think it's going to take more than one massage to fix it. My ring won't fit at all today. And my legs don't feel like my own. I'm supposed to drink a lot of water and elevate my feet today, which I should probably do everyday, so that might help.

I'm pretty adventurous when it comes to this stuff and, as Edith says, I'm the kind of person who takes action when I want to do something. So expect more dispatches from the world of holistic practices, homeopathic remedies, and naturopathic medicine. And weird infomercial products.

Or maybe I'll just take an epsom salt bath tonight.