How's this for a sentence I never thought I'd type?
Yoga completely kicked my ass yesterday.
I made a point not to over-exert or over-stretch myself, but I became overheated and lightheaded to the point that I sat like a lump on my mat and watched other (bigger) pregnant ladies assume various poses. PeacefulMama usually only teaches on Saturdays, so I was being taught by SilverMama, a middle-aged woman so calm and nurturing she could surely talk the craziest cat out of the tallest tree -or- assist a laboring mother through a drug-free birth.
True to my spazzy form, the first time I took a yoga class from SilverMama I did a klunky job and referred to sciatic pain as "that pain in my ass" and followed up that impressive display of tact by not being able to stop myself from grabbing the foot of the woman in front of me. We were balancing with one knee on the ground, the other leg stretched out straight behind with either both hands on the mat or one hand (opposite of stretched leg) reaching out. Her foot was right there! My hand was right there! I (accurately) judged that the gal wouldn't mind; she chirped at me in a friendly sarcastic voice "I'm trying to concentrate on yoga" and I panted back "I'm helping you concentrate!"
SilverMama seemed less than thrilled with my clowning around but continued to be patient with me. I was relieved when she actually seemed happy to see me return to her class yesterday.
But back to whining.
Although my midsection doesn't look very big, I feel immobilized by it; I can only guess that my ligaments have lots of stretching to do still. The best I can describe, it is like being Thanksgiving-afternoon level stuffed full of food, but add a horribly hollow hungry feeling with a dash of heartburn AND random stabby pains most likely to be triggered by *daring to* twist one's torso or sneeze without lifting up one or both of your knees first.
I know that stretching will help in the long run, but in the short term, I think I'd be more comfortable couch-surfing with my pets.
When I returned home, I ate some leftover pasta, had a bowl of cereal for dessert then flopped in my recliner for a while in the hopes I could avoid slamming myself with heartburn by going to bed at the rock-n-roll hour of 8pm. Taking into account several bathroom breaks, a few snack breaks, and gathering my thunderstorm-paralyzed cat to hide under the covers with me, I didn't get out of bed until 8:15 this morning - and I STILL think a nap would be fantastic.
Over 20 weeks to go folks - I don't think I'm going to become more graceful (physically, mentally -or- socially) any time soon. This is gonna get interesting.