Today I pushed myself, multiple times. It was 105 in the stifling yoga room, stinky and sweat was dripping steadily off every limb of my body. The instructor verbally walked us through the poses, encouraging, no demanding, that we go beyond our comfort zones, to take a risk. What's the worse thing that could happen? she asked.
And as I held my foot behind me, cocked like a bow and arrow, left knee locked out, left arm reaching toward the mirror in front of me and all my muscles engaged, gaze focused but on nothing in particular, people around me losing their balance and falling out of the pose, yet I kicked, higher and squared my hips, abs as close to parallel to the floor- one more kick up and I did it. I went further than I have ever gone before. But there was no time to focus on that success. For we had several dozen poses left to complete. Plus the sweat stung my eyes making it impossible to pick out my smile from the back of the room.
A smile did spread across my face later, when I was laying down, soaking in the completion of my practice. And then I sat in the locker room, sweating my eye balls out and marveled at how good it feels to know you pushed yourself harder than before. That you gave it everything you could that day, that practice. And that you can do it again, and again.
In a way it reminds me of team pursuit. Your body is screaming at you to stop, yet your mind wills you on to hold on just a little bit longer. Giving up is not an option. If it were easy, everyone would do it. I love pushing my body - it makes me feel alive and am thankful for the opportunity to push those boundaries. And I'll do it again and again until the day I die.