didn’t reach my downward dog

yoga

(photo from https://www.tumblr.com/search/yoga%20gone%20bad)

With my yoga teacher taking a summer break, and having been lazy to the point of words can’t describe, it seemed a good idea to have a home practice the other evening.

In theory this would take me about 30 mins. In practice, well not quite so long. There I was in my bedroom, mat out, dressed comfortably, breathing in and then breathing out. My eyes were closed, I was at peace readying myself, stretching my arms skyward, when THWACK, the back of my hand smashed against the handle of my cupboard. Thirty seconds in, that’s all it took, for the tranquility I’d been seeking to be shattered with a stream of choice words and, a throbbing hand clutched to my body.  So much for reaching downward dog.

Suffice to say Yoga ended, mat was rolled up and I went to bed with a book.

 

 

 

 

 

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“Mr Bolt, you may have inspired us to have a go at the old 100m”

Hubster and I have been glued to the London IAAF, mostly drawn by the great Usain Bolt, but also because we really, really love watching it.

usain-bolt-2017-world-championships

(picture borrowed from: http://uk.businessinsider.com/usain-bolt-final-race-2017-8?r=US&IR=T)

Hubster in particular really, really gets involved, to the point his body reacts to every jump, fling, run, leap, splat, throw and dash he sees. I swear he has his own seated athletics championship as his head nods faster and faster as each and every athlete begins and partakes, only for his legs and arms to start flinching and reacting, until the ultimate final moment when his whole body practically levitates inches off the safety of the couch, gliding him over the finish line, landing him in the sand pit, navigating him over the hurdles and, of course, launching him over the pole vault.

Me, well I sit there anticipating a hasty retreat should he decide the old hammer throw is something to partake in.

Anyway, as to the 100m dash. So, I said to the hubster, how about we have a go at that 100m dash? How fast do you reckon you could do it? And how big is our garden?

Hubster feels he could do it, albeit a little slower than the Master Bolt himself. I tend to agree for he is a bit of a runner. Won prizes too. The best ever being a Pyrex casserole dish that who knows how many subsequent meals it served.

rob 1961Hubster taking hold of his casserole dish

The garden though he feels is probably only about 10m in length. When I was sharing the distance with a colleague, she remarked the turn would greatly reduce our time.  You will no doubt agree this could add valuable seconds to the dash.

Me, well I think I’ll have trouble with not only the turn, but also getting out of any blocks we may use.  Or if no blocks, then purely moving quickly will be the problem. My feet are bordering on the flat side.

Ah, I said, then. How about we take this 100m dash of the property and do it on the field behind our house?  Hubster had a nervous laugh. I presume as the field, while very, very large, is surrounded with lights and houses. Perhaps he could be persuaded to think the lights and potential spectators would provide a feel of being in a stadium? Hmm, I’m not convinced, he gets a little embarrassed dancing with me in the kitchen.

To run or not to run then. We will see, we will see. Rest assured if we do, you’ll be the first to know.

 

 

Great piece from WP missmelissawrites

Tofino-Paddle-Surf-Stand-Up-Paddle-Boarding-Group-Shot

(photo credit )

I don’t do enough of this, but will do so from now on – reblog and promote others that is.

I’ve known Melissa for years, meeting online when we both enrolled for one of the Get Smarter Writing courses. Subsequently we met up for coffee with other course participants, and over the years we have met and shared, and supported.

Melissa not only blogs, writes, mother’s children and a husband, she also paddle surfs. Her stories are great fun, and I hope you will enjoy reading this latest piece published in Zigzagsurf magazine. She’s a great read

THE THINKING GIRL’S GUIDE TO LIFE WITH A SURFER – by: Melissa Volker