reblog if you do CrossFit. I want to follow all you badasses out there.
When I am joyful, I practice yoga. When I am sad, I practice yoga. When my heart feels like it is bursting and beating with love, I practice yoga. When my heart feels like it has been shattered into a million tiny pieces, I practice yoga. When I feel crazy with gratitude and beyond blessed, I practice yoga. When I just feel crazy, I practice yoga. When I feel deeply connected, I practice yoga. When I feel unbelievably alone, I practice yoga. When I feel full, I practice yoga. When I feel hollow, I practice yoga. I don’t practice yoga to be happy. I practice yoga to be real. I don’t practice yoga because I think it is going to take away all of the suffering in life. I know better than that, and I hope you do, too. I practice yoga because while it teaches me that suffering is as much a part of this human experience as is sweetness, it also reaffirms the impermanent nature of all of it, breath after breath. It shows me that all of it is fleeting. My practice teaches me how to show up in my life, for as many moments as possible. It teaches me how to show up for the really light and carefree moments and it also teaches me how to show up for the really heavy, gritty times of struggle and pain. I practice yoga not to run away from whatever emotion, feeling or state of being is here with me, whatever sorrow or gladness, whatever elation or devastation it may be. Instead, I practice yoga to know, to reaffirm, and to restore confidence that I can MOVE with it, I can MOVE and BE with all of it. I practice to remember that I am able, that I am capable, of being present, knowing that this moment will go by, never to return. I practice yoga so that I can move with my joy and so that I can move with my sorrow. I practice yoga so that I can be present with my elation and also with my devastation. Because the more I move with it, all of it, and the more I can actually be in it, the more real I feel and the more alive I truly am. This life is so short and so incredibly sweet, and I want to be here for as much of it as I can. This is why I practice yoga. — Jennifer Jarrett
“Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life. … Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it is the wellspring of life.”
“My Big Fat Eating Disorder.”
I have an eating disorder. Not Bulimia or Anorexia but EDNOS. This means that i alternate between puking and starving. I also have rules. Bread has to be eaten in even numbers. Cake is evil. Carbohydrates are secretly plotting against me. Diet Coke is the elixir of youth and beauty.
My EDNOS is 19 years old. It started out as Anorexia when i was 15. Then i progressed to Bulimia, otherwise known to some as a failed anorexic. My weight fluctuates between slightly overweight, slightly underweight and somewhere inbetween. Which proves that my methods of losing weight aren’t that efficent, but this is not about logic. This is not about doing the right things like eating less and exercising more. This is not about being sensible or healthy or a shining example of mental health. This is not about Jamie Oliver and his organic pig testicles. This is not about looking good on the beach and wanting to be a supermodel. This is not about wanting the cute guy in the coffee shop to beg for your telephone number. This is not about sliding a pair of skinny jeans over your hip-bones and laughing all the way to the check-out till.
This is not about wanting attention until complete strangers force feed you Black Forest Gateaux and siphon double cream into your skinny latte.It is not about deliberately pissing off the nurses by hiding your peas under your fork and stashing butter in the bed pans. It is not about starving for all the children in Africa. It is not about reading the magazines and pining for the Body Mass Index of Paris Hilton’s pet Chihuahua. This is not a conspiracy created by the Patriarchal system to oppress women.
This is about having the self-esteem of a gnat’s arse. This is the polite way of committing suicide. This is about having no life because it’s impossible to order a bowl of dry cereal in a restaurant and ask them to hold the raisins. This is about weighing pasta, cereal, raisins and anything that passes your lips, including toothpaste. This is about secrets and lies and shame. This is about not wanting to admit that you need to eat. That you deserve to live.
This is about being scared. This is about being terrified. Of everything.
This is about control. This is about sex. This is about putting relationships on hold until your thighs don’t meet in the middle and by then you have no libido anyway. This is about hiding under layers of clothing that are mostly black. This is about “Please don’t look at me and cover all the mirrors with black crepe.” This is about avoiding the camera, even at your sister’s wedding. This is about intense self hatred.
This is about needing so much that you can’t stand it. This is about having emotions that bubble up and spill out all over the carpet and stink up the whole house. This is about having too many choices and too much pressure and isn’t it easier just to keep it simple and obsess about the amount of calories in a small cantaloupe? Instead of making big scary choices that might crush you to a pulp?
This is about wanting to be safe. This is about wanting to curl up in a nutshell like Thumbelina and ignore the big bad world that’s too noisy and dangerous and can’t be trusted. This is about not trusting anyone and relying on food (or lack of) to give you an all enveloping comfort blanket when the medication bloats you up like a corpse in a river.
This is about really crappy coping methods. This is about making a choice that will quite possibly kill you. This is about failed relationships, waiting lists, devastated families, waiting lists, becoming vegetarian, becoming vegan, becoming lactose intolerant, developing a wheat allergy and more waiting lists. This is about infertility, rotten teeth, and hollow bones. This is about cardiac arrest in a shopping centre. This is about being sick. This is about not being sick enough. This is about finally being sick enough for a bed in a unit until you drop down dead and you get a mention in the local paper for being such a model student.
This is not about food.
What I would prescribe for you is to get rid of all these silly, pathetic and disgusting notions of what you think a man should look like and start over. I’m going to give everyone a huge hint here: no one gives a shit what you look like. Now I’m not saying being a fat slob doesn’t raise some eyebrows in disgust, but if you kick as much ass as possible in the weight room and conditioning field AND start OWNING the fuck out of your given “sport” (you better start competing and making your training count), you will not only LOOK better but you will feel better. People are not attracted to vanity – they are attracted to confidence and passion. No one owns a room by the way they look; it’s how they carry themselves. — Jim Wendler
Maybe, you have to let go of who you are to become who you will be. —
(Source: fyeahtattoos.com, via alimag)
Why Yoga's Not a Workout.