Tonight I lifted the remote to turn off the TV and I winced. And then I smiled. Because the pain in the back of my arm reminded me of the 90+ minutes I spent in a room with several other people, putting ourselves through some odd form of enjoyable torture.
I love the feeling of working out after. During, not so much. In fact, I joked with my roommate that especially with hot yoga I have to literally go to a different head space to even be able to endure it. For some reason though I love it. Granted it takes me a couple days to psych myself up to go but once I’m there I’m committed.
The other thing I love about sore muscles is that is reminds me that I’m alive. My work days are spent behind a computer, on the phone, or sitting in a cube. Nothing that I terribly enjoy. I wish I could get paid to be active – to be moving around and experiencing the fullness of life. So sometimes it feels like when I have sore muscles I’m wakening my sleepy body and soul to engage with what’s happening around me.
The sorest I ever remember being in my entire life was after my first hot yoga class. I literally hurt so bad I could hardly move. I probably did everything wrong in a feeble attempt to prove that I could do it, but it was awful. I was nannying for the Mac’s at the time and I remember barely being able to pick up Judah or get Leo a snack. I still feel the incredible soreness now but I’ve gotten a little more used to it.
So today I’m thankful for my sore muscles.