Time is a fickle thing. Twenty four hours has barely passed, and I had just finished shouting from the hilltops about my strength, and focus, and beauty, etc, etc, etc, when I woke up with a body full of wet sand. Huh? Where did all that energy go? Granted my morning was busy, but it always is. I didn’t really sit down all day. I didn’t have the greatest of dinners, with only a teensy glass of wine, and I slept fine, but none of this is earth-shatteringly different. No matter what was causing my lethargy, I was so glad for the slow flow yoga class. As heavy as my body felt and as badly as I wanted to lay still and breathe deeply, the teacher moved us thoughtfully and serenely through sun salutations and warrior poses, creatively modified side planks and backbends, and even when I thought it was finally time for Sivasana, she tricked us into some serious ab work. And then at last, as the wet sand in my veins had almost dissolved, it was time to lay still, breathe deeply and enjoy the stillness. I was so thrilled to have arrived in this timeless pose that I killed it.