In the 80s

It's officially summer here in my Metropolis. It's sticky. It's humid. It's hot.

It's so hot and humid that they don't turn on the heaters during hot yoga. Hell, the windows are sometimes open. And I'm not even south of the Mason-Dixon.

But, the actual reason behind this post is not the temperatures. No, friends. Today, I stepped on the scale pre-shower on a whim and was flabbergasted by what I saw: 189.0.

Fully clothed I am 191.

It feels good. I know it's that I've been sick, but I hope to maintain it even after I feel completely human again. Suddenly 170, my next milestone, doesn't feel so far away.

My butt is starting to look round (in a good way). I have little biceps growing under my flab. My stomach is flatter. My pouch is much smaller, and under my flab I can feel hard ab muscle.

And it's the yoga. Because I really don't do much else. With the move I fell off the running wagon. I'm going to try to get back on at some point, but the impact just isn't fun when I'm this heavy -- I think for a while my cardio of choice is going to be the elliptical machine.

Oh, and one last thing. For those who have never been to a yoga class, there's generally a set formula. You start with sun salutations. You move into standing poses. Twists. Backbends. Inversions. The yoga instructor calls the poses and kind of sets the pace. But not today. Or at least not for the whole class. Instead, after the first Sun Salutation A, the instructor said, "Do three more at your own pace. When you reach the end, stay in downward dog." It was oddly freeing, and just the right amount of instruction. I knew I had to do them, but there wasn't a timetable.

It was nice for a change of pace. But tomorrow I will go to the ass-kicking Sunday evening class and have Sean make me want to cry. And that will also be awesome.