Fondling The Stink
This yoga model thing is turning into a regular gig. I just love saying it; I'm a yoga model. That's right, I'm a yoga model. I wish someone would ask me what I do so that I could answer, "I'm a writer, a runner, and a yoga model." It's enough to make me want to go to a high school reunion just for the chance to say it aloud and watch the reactions. Oh I'm doing well. I'm a yoga model now.
Our teacher has been begging for yoga self-portraits from the class each week but she isn't getting enough to satisfy her needs. Thursday night after class she asked three of us to stay and model some poses--a slender spiced chai goddess, a long statuesque classic goddess, and the short sassy goddess. This is one of my poses taken by the chai goddess but artistically dramatized by me for Language Art purposes. You would never know we were sweaty and flushed under the unflattering fluorescent glare of a dingy rackeball court, would you? I called it Yoga in the Shadows. I'm a yoga model. Hello, I'm a yoga model. Fondling...fondling...
Aaaahhh...the exquisiteness of being sore after a long race. I wonder if non-athletes can relate to this? Yes it hurts, but in a good way. It's an acknowledgement kind of pain; an affirmation kind of pain. I guess pain isn't even a good way to express it. Discomfort would be a better choice but the discomfort produces smiles of satisfaction because it affirms that you did something amazing with your body the day before. It doesn't hurt in the way that stubbing your toe hurts or throwing out your back hurts; it's a sweet hurt. That may not make sense to some folks but Sassy likes that creaky song that comes from her muscles the next day. It extends the joy of the activity just a little bit longer.
It did rain but only lightly at the beginning. After that it was just warm and humid and muddy for the 9.3 miles along the foggy river banks. Since the last five years have featured thunderstorms, flooding, ice/snow, or 50 mph wind gusts, this was the best weather for this race yet. I made three new friends along the course--two new club members I hadn't met before and a woman from another club who introduced herself because she always seems to be chasing me in to the finish throughout the year. When she asked my name I answered, "My name is Angela but everyone calls me Sassy." She exclaimed, "Oh! So you are SASSY!" I guess my reputation preceded me. (giggle) I like that song of recognition too.
I didn't race this race. I ran it as a long run with friends but since it was my longest run of the year so far it served as hard training nonetheless. It is generally my favorite race of the year so it also served as a rainy day adventure and of course socializing with that unique breed of people who think it's fun to go play in mud puddles. By the time I got home I had schmutz splattered halfway up my sore calves but that tends to also make me smile. Getting dirty is fun. When it is earned this way it is fun to stink. My only regret is that I had to leave a sick AppleJack at home. We usually stink it up all the way home together. Solo funk is cool but the double funk of two wet filthy river runners is even better. This is something that is just as difficult to explain as the good soreness--the good stink.
I think a kind of chemical communion happens to people who sweat joyfully together. The scent of dirt and exertion turns into an organic fragrance when it is shared. Somehow the sharing of the production of the stink makes it less of a stink. It magically stops being foul or repulsive and becomes familial and funny. Your brain says less "Get away!" and more "He/she is one of us!" Just like the day-after pain is a signal that you rocked your physical prowess, the just-after reek is a signal that you and the others you are smelling rocked a social boundary together. You dared to be gross together for a common goal. Using your bodies to do something amazing together created that stink. It may be difficult to understand but that sort of, well, smells good.
However, the stink does have an expiration. The magic of it being pleasant is relatively short. Right about the time the adrenaline high wears off and the body begins to cool and the belly begins to growl with hunger, the stink starts to stink again and it's time to tidy up. The stink being a hallmark of badassity will quickly turn to being just a hallmark of the unwashed past a certain point. The nose knows that point and then Poof! the spell is broken. Perhaps the fact that it is so short-lived is what makes it magical, just like The Blue Hour just before sunrise and just after sunset. It is a fleeting fondle.
(c) 2012, ACG
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