Not even trashy TV can make up for the loss of a precious, chill-out-inducing yoga class
IÂ have to admit: when my husband sent a text saying he was sorry but wouldn’t be home from work in time for my Wednesday night yoga class, I wasn’t too devastated. It had been a hard week after all and I was suffering with a streaming cold. Hurriedly exchanging my yoga pants for some baggy PJs, I poured myself a huge glass of chilled Chablis, and settled down with my feet up, ready to watch some trashy TV.
Ten minutes into an extremely addictive and highly thought-provoking documentary about celebrity kitchens, I found myself wondering which poses I had the luxury of missing out on this evening. Smirking to myself as I dipped into a box of Maltesers, I hazarded a guess that those upside down movements would not have been good for my cold at all. No, I was much better here, wrapped up in my blanket, in front of the telly.
I figured that one night off the yoga wouldnâ€™t be too much of a setback. I also thought that it probably wouldnâ€™t tip the scales too much when the dreaded â€˜weigh in timeâ€™ came around on Sunday morning. After all, Maltesers have to be one of the â€˜healthierâ€™ options if you are going to throw the boat out and dive into a box of chocs.
The trouble is, I kept going back to the programme after getting distracted, pondering the moves I couldnâ€™t properly do yet, and the people I was missing at class, now becoming good friends. I really tried hard to concentrate on important things like Victoria Beckhamâ€™s dish drainer but it just wasnâ€™t happening for me.
Eventually I decided to head off to bed, and do a spot of reading before hubby arrived. Thing is: once I turned off the programme, and stumbled upstairs, I realized that I felt nowhere near as calm and relaxed as usual on a Wednesday night. I was missing my post-yoga bliss feeling. Next week, I can’t wait to miss the rubbish TV.