As I listened to Sam Smith’s beautiful rendition of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, tears slowly rolled upon my sophisticated yoga girl cheekbones because as the lyrics urged, “Let your heart be light,” I realised that my heart is anything but such. It is rather heavy. And mad. And sad. It is because I am who I am that my heart is not light. Because I think how I think that my heart is not light. Because I am dealing with this ankle injury that I cannot practice yoga as I want, that my heart is not light. It is because I was on the mend, and last evening, on two poses before the end of my full primary, full vinyasa session of nearly two strongly rigorous hours of Ashtanga Yoga, I did something in lotus that caused a pain so very harsh that I could not walk comfortably for 12 hours, causing me to miss a very lovely Christmas cocktail party, one of exclusive invitation, one to which I so looked forward to attending, one to which I so looked forward to wearing my new spaghetti-strapped, bronze-sequinned, tiny, oh-so-glamorous party dress by TopShop, for sipping of martinis and laughing with my dear Greek goddess-looking girlfriend Kristin, and for flirting with the man, the Hank Rearden type who has been expressing interest in knowing me, that my heart is not light. It is because I looked today at the runners and coveted their ability to run, that my heart is not light. It is because I lusted, all day, for a strong ankle again, that my heart is not light. It is because I could not walk my beautiful dog for 20 divine miles during this amazingly warm weather, that my heart is not light. It is because I took my god damn fucking body for granted, that my heart is not light. I pushed it too hard. I wasn’t patient. I wasn’t kind. I wasn’t anything First Corinthians for something that I love. And this is why I am so MAD. And sad. This is why my heart is not light.

Saturday and Sunday were amazing. Super purely amazing. A beautiful, kind, oh so lovely friend gifted us with a perfect stay at The Hotel Monaco (of Pittsburgh), A Kimpton Hotel, in celebration of our eighth anniversary of being a family. Yes, Gwendolyn and I have been together for EIGHT most glorious years. Here were existed, on that first five minutes of togetherness. Isn’t it funny that I never, until now, realised that she seems to be holding my heart?

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And she’s never let go. Nor have I allowed her to do so. Because I love her back with all of my being. On Saturday afternoon, in flow with our very high, very unordinary temperatures, post divine yoga, we cruised around in tight yoga pants and tank by Alô.

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And then we checked into the hotel, with the greeting of Peace. How wonderful!

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Riding the glorious elevator to our floor… and I’ve since learned from a friend that Hotel Monaco is the former site of the law offices of Reed Smith, and my friend of subject was partner on the exact floor of our stay! How super cool. And the elevator did seem SO law-like!! So smart!!

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The gorgeous team of Hotel Monaco greeted us with the most AMAZING spread. House-baked cookies for Gwendolyn! Chips (for us both? hehe)! Salsa! And VINO.

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A note from Annie Shellem, the Sales Manager who arranged our beautiful room. So so so so so so so awesome.

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The cookies. Gwendolyn could not keep her snout away!

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And because I did not know the ingredients of the chips left for me, I raided the mini bar for my favourite Rusty’s Island Chips. Hehe. I’m such a dipper. And mini bar raider. ;)

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We ordered room service, and the great Alfonso mystified Gwendolyn with his presentation!

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This, of course, happened AFTER little miss Gwendolyn escaped from the room, running down many hallways to find someone else’s finished room service that sat outside of their room, that she scavenged like a riff raff before mommy and Alfonso could catch her. Ha ha! My little zesty DOG!! Here I was, scolding her!! Looks like a scene from a 1960s Woody Allen film, does it not, hehe?

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I loved my salad!!!!! LOVED!!!!!!!!! They created it based upon my specific requirements.

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And Gwendolyn loved her chicken. First priority.

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She ate it all. Big surprise. ;)

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And although it’s likely pasteurised, I allowed her to enjoy almond milk. Look at that tongue!!

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That night, my ankle surged with EXCRUCIATING pain but when Gwendolyn needs to go outside, Gwendolyn needs to go outside!! So we ventured outdoors at about half past one o’clock in the morning, and the town was HOPPING, especially The Commoner, which is the restaurant that supplied our room service. Seriously. Look how divine. It is now my favourite restaurant in town. We shall enjoy our birthday celebrations in this exact manner, for the next year.

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Next morning? My ankle hurt so badly that I hobbled like a hobo jobo, deciding to cancel brunch with an (ex)friend, extending our stay at The Kimpton until 2pm, ordering martinis and divine salads to the room. It was like heaven.

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Waiting for our food…

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Yay!!!!!!!!! We heart room service!!!!!!!!!

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Two martinis for me! One big plate of vegetables for the baby.

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Steamed.

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And of course we ordered more. Another salad and martinis for me (I hadn’t yet eaten salad one, but I knew that I’d want two when it came time to nourish). And Chelsea was the gorgeously prompt, non-judgemental server of the morning, as one should be when martinis are ordered in the morning, hehe. :)

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Chicken for my girl and her tongue.   :D

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And guess what. The Perfect Man starring our beloved Sanaa Latham of Love & Basketball was available for rental!!!!!!!!!, and we’ve literally been stalking this on iTunes WishList release for months!!

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She loves to view black film, just like her mommy (black film = the stuff from the late 90s / the stuff starring the popular actors from the late 90s / early aughts).

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Of course we only get halfway through the film before needing to NAP.

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After the nap.

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The flower-decorated hallway, beautiful!

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The OTHER elevator, so very cool. I could have stared at the artwork, all day long.

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Saying goodbye:)

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And we rested for the day’s remainder, prepared for a gorgeous Monday of yoga. Here it was.

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And Tuesday.

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And then BOOM. Two hours after this photograph, I was incapacitated.

And even though I made myself fully functional for today’s obligations (except for one cute little thing), I knew that MY YOGA was not within MY reach. But this got me to wondering, “Must my asana be the same thing, day in, day out, even if I am injured? If yes, why?” The answer is yes, I am regimented. But that yes is amended with, “with modifications.” And last night’s modifications were wonderful, I assure you! Jumping to chaturanga with one leg lifted, not taking my bad ankle into lotus for the marichyasana series … etcetera etcetera. But my body was so warm! So powered! So excited for cocktails in a hot dress with Hank Rearden that I seriously thought that headstand series in lotus, etcetera, would be just fine. I was wrong.

And I will take rest and leave from MY YOGA for the next two days, and I will not practice LOTUS for a fortnight. So let it be written. So let it be done.

This also got me to thinking about a friend who reads this blog. He is paralysed. Suffers from spina bifida. He will never experience yoga like I do.

So you know what? I should be grateful for what I can do, when I exist in my healthy state. Even when I exist like this… in mad shambles!! This ankle thing? It’s peanuts. It’s so stupid. It means nothing compared to others. Sure, I’m totally of the Ayn Rand mentality, but yes, it seems that I also maintain a social worker conscious. And I do not state social worker to make others feel bad. I state social worker to differentiate myself from complete narcissists.

Yes, I am irked tonight because I might gain a pound, lose some muscle, not keep up with my fit and firm girlfriends on Instagram. But you know what? Who the fuck cares? After viewing this post of the amazing weekend with my love, I know that it will be okay again. I came from a good place, worked myself into the gutter, and then swam so hard to find my way out, and I have done that. I can certainly do that with my ankle.

With my mother fucking stupid dumb ass mother fucking ankle. :)

I’m doing it in my way. In my aggressive way. But intelligently.

And I think, when I’m healed, I’d like to not only help triathletes to explore yoga, but I’d like to help those with disabilities, too. Because I can.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Let Your Heart Be Light

You deserve it.

And so do I.