It’s been a rough few weeks. I had pneumonia coincide with the biggest event of my year in San Antonio. Not surprisingly, I didn’t recover quickly enough to avoid coinciding with another not-as-big-but-still-significant Open Space in Chicago…but thought I was on the mend, really I did, to the point where I started to push myself in yoga practice, last Wednesday.
And immediately relapsed, coughing, etc, in time for my three-hour workshop on consent in local community groups out in Marion, Iowa.
On the one hand, I’m totally living my Pa-on-Little-House-in-the-Prairie dream of working myself to death.
On the other hand…maybe I shouldn’t do that.
Ah…Push It…Push It Real Good…
If ever there’s a time to note how unhealthy toxic masculinity can be, this is it. The dirty little secret of any practice is the sneaky way it slips into a goal-oriented “growth” mindset. Rather than It’s a beautiful day, I get to enjoy the way my body moves it becomes What’s my time for this kilometer? Can I maintain the pace? How’s my heart rate — better or worse than yesterday?
And there’s some value in that. I’m not saying the goals and measuring progress is inherently a bad thing. It’s just not conducive to healing a body that (as one medical friend put it) suddenly has, at best, 2/3 the lung…
