Mothers and mountains

I am eager to get back to the mountains. The Chugach range – the wild spine behind Alaska’s urban center – is the place where my heart lives and where my feet long to go. The tundra is open, and I need no map.

Strangely, I haven’t been able to see myself in the city work-week hustle so I haven’t lived in Anchorage for a long time even though I love to recreate there. Instead, I make my home in quiet, rainy Southeast Alaska. There’s a ridge race in Juneau I want to win someday. I’ve competed in but never won anything like this before. Not even close. Now, after a decade of pregnancies, walking flatlands, swinging in hammocks, and preschooler-paced bike rides, the odds may be tipping in my favor.

Antidotal evidence suggests that a woman becomes a stronger mountain runner after she’s had a baby. I naïvely thought this was because of the challenge of childbirth. Perhaps, I thought, the reservoir of strength she discovers in those wee hours before her baby’s first cry might later be used to push her up and over mountains.

Giving birth is heroic – it is nothing less. But a mother’s courage doesn’t come suddenly as she opens and passes a baby into the world through the portal called cesarean surgery or the ring of fire. Her running prowess isn’t earned by carrying an additional 30-lbs on her back for a couple of years or the return to racing in an older age bracket. What makes a mother into a mountain runner is not the sprint of birth, but the parenting marathon.

Parenting is the perfect training ground for a runner. It teaches a determination that grows more tenacious with exhaustion. As a mother I have grown my children but also my patience, resourcefulness, and perserverance. I have learned to take myself more lightly and appreciate every day, no matter the weather.

In youth I found myself in the mountains by default. Friends took me blueberry picking… first as a sixth grader and then as a 16-year-old looking for a reason to sneak out at night. If I make it back it will be through a series of intentional acts.

I never was as fast as my friends. But that was before it made sense to me to wipe snotty noses with my fingers. Before it would’ve occurred to me to pick up a piece of poop off the floor with my bare hands before anyone could step in it. Before all of my babies got the flu and the best solution I could come up with was to catch as much throw-up as possible on the front of my shirt each time they vomited.

If I hadn’t had kids, I never would have known what I am made of.

Parenting isn’t the hardest job you’ll ever love – it’s the hardest job, period. Do your best to love it.

Healthy or sick, fast or slow, gentle or mean, respectful or disrespectful, intrigued or bored, picky or flexible, charismatic or awkward, popular or excluded. Kids go through seasons while, like contortionists high-stepping through training routines, parents run alongside and figure out how to get through it. These are fairly run-of-the-mill life challenges. You can always level up.

I look forward to simpler days. Like when I can set a breakfast table without the silverware turning into an involved geometric design that I am not allowed to disassemble. For now, I get out for a walk by myself whenever possible. Put on shoes. Open door. Close door. Continue in straight line. Turn when you want to. It’s nice to do something that makes sense for a change. Maybe after this, mountain running could be easy, too.

Working out once took very little initiative. Now I have to coordinate childcare with my partner, plan dinner, promise to be home before bedtime, and deal with the guilt of missing a family evening.

Exercise is precious. I can’t believe that for a long time I expected a 90-minute workout every day. When my first job out of college didn’t get me out of the office in time to run in what little daylight February has to offer, I almost quit. Then daylight savings-time happened, and everything was fine.

Sometimes my children feel like energy vampires. They take everything I have, until I am a dry husk of a woman. Workouts, by comparison, are such a concise and reciprocal effort. I invest time and sweat, and in exchange I am given hunger, thirst, muscle, and endorphins. Beginnings and endings are clear. I am not left to chug along endlessly.

Parenting is the first job I’ve had that I can’t quit. Late at night when my husband gets frustrated, he hands the crying baby back to me. I stay as long as it takes. The buck stops here.

Mountain running will be a lot harder on my body than it was in my 20s but mentally I’ve never been stronger. Willingness to do hard physical labor for sport might depend on the same parts of the brain used for cuddling, teaching kids to share, and not getting pissed when the children think mama scrubbing on hands and knees is a good time for a horsey ride.

The kids eat five times a day; so I spend all of my time cooking only to spend the rest of my time cleaning food off of the floor. I throw a few lunges in while I’m down there so it’s not a total loss.

This practice of cooking food only to clean it up reminds me of a few weeks when I lived in an ashram in India. We meditated, practiced yoga, sang kirtan, and cleaned toilets. Chores were meant to diminish the ego – I knew what I was paying for. But when a man who grew up in the ashram sat and read the newspaper every day while guests cleaned I could not handle it. The sight of him lounging filled me with rage. I am sure he did it on purpose – to teach us that opportunities for spiritual growth come in many forms. Only, did he have to enjoy it so much?

I am without yoga these days. I need to stretch but I can’t remember how to begin. In my mom life, where every minute is filled by the needs of others, I dream of going on retreat. One day I will return to the ashrams, temples, yoga camps, and meditation centers to sit among beautiful people, wise teachers, and singing birds. Canyons of calm will open within my being. There will be no anger based on who is, or is not, scrubbing toilets. I will already have done my work.

When the pandemic started I had a little girl and was pregnant with twins. For two years I have been a full-on, full-time mom wondering

What is life driving me toward?

Into calm. Into perspective. Into family. I dare say I barely enjoyed my 20s for fear that I would never have a family of my own. My husband and kids filled a deep and pressing need. Now, with sense of purpose and belonging more than covered, I find myself emotionally free to explore the world but practically as tied down as a damsel on a railway track.

How much time before my children grow into happy, functional, resilient, carefree, and contributing people?

I want to bicycle across Southeast Asia eating Pad Thai from every street vendor I pass. I want to speak Spanish fluently and teach in a foreign country. I want to write books, and read books, and learn to tango with a single, red rose clutched in my teeth. I want all of these mountains and more.

What do you long for?

I don’t know why there’s so much rattling around in our brains that we don’t speak about. It seems silly to me. I’m lucky that I got the family I wanted. But when all is said and done, I can’t help feeling that there is too little of me left for me.

Are we more afraid that wishes spoken aloud won’t come true or that they will?

It’s hard to understand which dreams should be left for dead and which could still be realized if I just wait five years… ten years… twenty years. Maybe the dreams could be worth pursuing in the future even though the longing is pointless.

Is it possible to hold space for dreaming and let go of longing?

I imagine other lives but I have never imagined myself out there doing something else and longing for the life I have.

Looking at the front of my body is like reading a river. The skin of my breasts and belly flows downhill and parts ways at the boulder of my belly button.

I have been many places.

Once, I had a childhood. It happened, and without announcement, it ended. I cannot pinpoint the day. Then, I had an adulthood; complete with good friends, achievements, regrets, and everything in between.

Adulthood ended with the arrival of my children; but I didn’t know it was over until my dog died and youth became a memory. Childhood belongs to my kids now – but I get something too: parenthood. Instead of comparing what I have with my adult life before children, these years get to be their own special thing. An experience. For me. This changes everything.

I have a friend who did well in mountain races. If I close my eyes I can see her thin frame jogging away from me; high school ponytail keeping time with the rhythm of her pounding feet along a dirt trail. Twenty years later, after everything non-essential was stripped away, she is a mother. The determination that once carried her up and over mountains pours into the basic tasks that fill every minute of every day. Instead of the freedom of the hills, she lives for love of family and commitment to her higher purpose. Once one who ran up and over mountains, she has become the mountain.

Parenthood re-orients my perceptions. I find solace in the slow, sweet cultivation of things. A great day is not about mileage but about time spent outside, watching kids grow, and teaching them to love adventure. When I get back out there I will want summits. Even when I don’t make it to the top of those mountains, I hope that I will be happy. Because I am, and it is good.


Food: It’s what we eat

Has everyone you know been doing a “30-day” diet lately? I resisted, held out for all I was worth, judged the idea for a gimmicky “fast fix.” Then my sister sent me before and after pictures. Fine, I said. I’ll do it.

One year ago I lost 50-lbs with my body after baby project, but back in winter again, February had the roads covered in ice and me spilling over the top of my jeans. The numbers that had been fine in the past were no longer acceptable – in large part because of the way my body changed after having a baby.

Fat that was once well-marbled, contoured, and strong was now only flabby. I wish I could claim some big-picture, inspirational objective behind my desire to healthen-up, but I just wanted to lose weight.

There are three options for losing weight: 1. Restrict calories in a measurable way, 2. Adopt a yes foods/no foods philosophy , or 3. Exercise like a maniac. Option 3 is not a real option for adults because anyone who does this still has their high school body.

The 30-day is a yes food/no foods system where you take out all of the foods that might be “bad” for you. Does that leave you going paleo? Vegan? Keto? Grain-free? Several takes on this 30-day theme exist. One must choose.

I look for inspiration in real-life experiences of myself and my friends. The structure of my 30-day was based on the eating habits of a few very fit friends and the delicious fare I ate at Yandara Yoga Institute during a 200-hour teacher certification a decade ago. Those cooks served up the gift of a healthy-foods education along with tasty plates full of vegetables and whole-grains. Here’s what I went with: Yes to a protein shake, veggies, fats and a walk every day. No to cow dairy, wheat, sugar, alcohol, and coffee. Anything is possible for 30 days.

I sort of hate to say it, but this 30 day thing was really effective. I always imagined yes/no method would require a discipline that I just don’t have; I kind of ignored the possibility. But in one month I lost 6ish lbs (my scale is lousy) and a total of 4″ off of my arms, legs, bust, waist, and hips (yes, arms and legs count twice). By the end of March I felt more toned than I’ve ever been as an adult.

If you try this, take “before” pictures and measurements. It feels sooo incriminating and shameful to take them but also committing in a good way. Also its so easy to lose perspective and just look at yourself and think blah no matter what your body actually looks like. Take the measurements and pictures so you can measure the change. You don’t have to show them to anyone.

Calorie counting and yes/no each have their drawbacks. I like calorie counting because I can eat what I want; but if I justify too many treats it doesn’t work. Plus all I get for dinner some days are split peas. With yes/no you never run out of calories, but potlucks and dinner parties are a drag. Until, that is, you return home the conquering hero of your own body.

That said, I ate very well on the yes/no diet: Salads with and quinoa and wasa crackers; smoked salmon and egg omelettes with goat cheese and greens; black tea with coconut cream and almond milk. And I never went to bed hungry.

The really impressive part about this 30-day is that I’ve tried to lose these last couple of pounds and I couldn’t do it with my old method. Calorie counting is like some cruel video game where the better you get at it the harder it gets until, right before you reach the finish line, the method you’ve mastered becomes useless.

Yes/no for the win? Not so fast. Upon further reflection, calorie-counting definitely informed my yes/no system. Based on body after baby I ate low-calorie veg to fill up plus protein and whole grains to stay fueled. It wasn’t simply that I took five items out of my diet: I also chose low glycemic foods like quinoa, masa, corn tortillas, soba noodles, rice noodles, brown rice over high glycemic foods like white rice, potatoes, and corn chips. I built treats in to every day and every week, but I knew not to eat more than about 200 cal of dark chocolate in a day. I found I was able to break the rules, like putting a little milk in a coffee on Saturday morning, without blowing the whole idea.

Because it’s never just about calories or which foods are “good” versus which are “bad.” It’s about nutrition, says my friend SNow I have the choice, to continue eating according to this yes/no diet that has brought me a better body and some joy, or go back to my old ways. I intended to take a month off and eat some ice cream, my daughter’s birthday cake, Easter brunch… But I miss it enough that I am thinking about going back to it early.

I feel like I’ve finally solved the puzzle of excess poundage I have poked at for decades. I like eating this way, but now that I have hacked weight loss I also want to take care that my body shape doesn’t become the one thing I can control in this chaotic life I lead. Behind all of our efforts to look better/feel better/take better care of the planet, let us always remember to fill our bellies with nutritious food and not become image-obsessed crazy people forever and ever. Amen.

Time for one’s self

Mama enjoying a morning off

Trying to be an on-top-of-it person, I had the nerve to respond to an email yesterday. In the two minutes I gave it, baby A snatched a pen and scribbled all over a white chair for the second time this week. The first time it happened, I was wiping up food she’d thrown on the floor as a diversion.

This combines well with the fact that I recently diagnosed my 12-year-old dog with depression. I can’t say I don’t understand it: Two years ago I went from his best friend to the person who hurls food at him twice daily and otherwise yells at him to Go outside! Come inside! Stop eating the baby’s food! Get over here and eat the baby’s food! Yeah, I pretty much yelled at him for the past two years while I cared for my late-larval-stage human.

The dog is now on a strict regimen of no being-yelled-at, having his head patted each time I walk by, kibble set lovingly before him, and one full-body hug daily. It seems to be working.

In helping my dog I realized that the only way to avoid such scenarios is to be infinitely available to my family forever. I made it until 5 p.m., but as soon as my husband came home I ran screaming out of the house.

The scribbled chair, the doggie depression, all of my failings come down to one issue: I need some time for myself. People do. That need doesn’t disappear when one becomes a mother.

It’s like I tell my husband – If you are doing something autonomous that makes sense, then I am not.

“Doing anything for our selves feels like selfishness,” says my friend T, “but it is actually more like self-preservation.”

My main scarcities are two-fold: 1) professional opportunity and 2) “wellness,” which includes sleep, nutritious food, yoga, and outdoor adventure. A person needs to go for a walk once in a while without also extolling the virtues of mittens. Maybe if I just get up at 5:30 in the morning…

Writing is my proxy for professional effort. It is something I do during every nap time whether it lasts 15 minutes or three hours. It is something I can do while solo parenting or following my husband around as he commutes between towns. It is something I can do even though A does not yet tolerate child care. Without this time, my day is reduced to wiping things.

I squish writing into the interstitial spaces of the day, which is why I have pulled over to work on this post at the side of the road at the edge of cell phone service. Baby A sits in her carseat in the back. ‘Wheels on the bus’ plays on the car stereo on repeat. I will stay here until she bellows.

Here is the one benefit of parenting as it applies to any art form: When the spare time you have asymptotically approaches zero, everything superfluous is stripped away and what you have left is exactly enough time for the one thing you most need.

I need time away from parenting – to work, be creative, and exercise – for my sense of self worth, but also because it makes me a better parent. When I get it I am kinder and more patient with my child, and I have more fun with her throughout the day. And yes, the husband and dog benefit as well.

Well, another writing day achieves lift off. Now all I have to do is find someone to jump my car 🙄.

Letter to Ali Wong

Some days I just need a good laugh. If you are a parent (or a woman…or a human…) who has not yet seen Ali Wong’s Netflix specials, Baby Cobra and Hard Knock Wife, you probably should. These “momedies” tell what it’s really like to have a baby in your life. They are a little bit over-the-top raunchy, but then again so is motherhood.

Here is the letter I wrote Ali Wong in my head after I saw her shows. It comes off a little bit like a letter to Dear Abby:

Dear Ali – My husband is well-intentioned, but since I had a baby he always says the wrong thing about my body.

I once made the mistake of cupping my breast up to its old height and letting it fall in front of him. “Once these were round,” I said. Now, they’re U-shaped.”

“Are those ever going to go back?” He asked.

“No, darling,” I said. “Those are never going back.”

My husband recently googled something like, Why does a woman lose her sex drive post-partum? He told me that there are four reasons:

1. She is exhausted.

2. She doesn’t feel sexy or she is self-conscious about her body.

3. A baby has been climbing on her all day; she does not want you to climb on her.

4. She has no time for herself, so she has many other things she wants to do besides you with her precious sleeping-baby minutes.

My empathetic husband relayed these results to me in all seriousness. It’s ok honey. This is just something women go through.

Yeah, I told him. No shit.

I am 100% certain that all of these “results” have been relayed to my husband in the past year via my words. In his defense, my comments sounded more like:

1. “I’m just really tired.”

2. “I just want to keep my clothes on.”

3. “I just nursed the baby for an hour.”

4. “I just want to read my book.”

I try to say how I feel, but clearly there is room for improvement because he has no recollection of the aforementioned conversations. Maybe I stuttered. Maybe I spoke when I should have replied in print.

Or maybe my husband is just male.

Thank you, Google, for speaking his language.

My husband’s heart is in the right place. He not only wants to have more sex, he also wants me to enjoy sex again. I can tell he’s taking the post-partum libido issue seriously because I see him trying to help. He’s been giving me more breaks from parenting, and he’s started to help with the bedtime routine. And just the other day he turned to me, that old thoughtful look in his eye, and said –

“You know; if you ever wanted a tummy tuck, I’d pay for it.”


Body after baby

Somewhere around Thanksgiving (the day after?) I looked down at my body and was done. My baby was almost 7 months old, and I was ready for an athletic shape again.

My pregnancy expansion was impressive. People from my hometown used, “Wow! You’re enormous!” as a conversation starter. One person said to me, “At five months you looked like you were about to pop out twins!”

I gained 45 lbs in pregnancy. The next year I lost 60 lbs, including this lump of sugar:

Now I’m basically back where I was pre-baby. Phew.

This is the first time I’ve ever tried to lose weight and succeeded. I was surprised it took as long as it did, but now that it’s over I don’t mind the wait. Here are twelve things I learned in the process:

1. Calories count. Get an app that counts calories – enter your weight and weight loss goal and it will calculate your available calories per day. I used Lose It, the free version, and I liked it. The least I can do is give them a plug. One criticism: the fewer the calories you eat in a day, the more Lose It celebrates you. I got the flu and kept nothing down for two days. Great job! Said this app. If you starve yourself, you’ll lose 20 lbs this week! No thanks. But a calorie counter was crucial.

2. Days, not pounds. They say it takes 60 days to form a habit. I stuck with these weight loss ideas for 60 days, which felt doable and protected my mindset against inevitable plateaus. It did’t hurt that I booked a trip to Hawaii at the end of that window. I took my two-week vacation off and did the calorie counting for another 60 days when I got home. Surprise: I continue to eat well, sans calorie counter, and I might still be losing a little weight without trying. Nice habit.

3. Exercise. A great way to buy a few more calories. I increased my daily walk from 1 hour (160 calories burned) to 1.5 hours (240 calories burned). I also got a 300-calorie credit for breastfeeding.

4. Binge on protein & vegetables. Many nutrition guidelines suggest 1/3 of your daily calories come from protein, but this is actually sort of hard to do. For me, that meant eating over 100 g of protein each day. A change in emphasis from food restriction (don’t eat that!) to intentional protein consumption (add some walnuts!) was a huge help to me in this project. Meat and eggs. Protein shake. Cottage cheese, goat cheese, and greek yogurt every day. Yum.

5. Cut the carbs & the crap. Focus on the nutritional value of food! Carbohydrates do a poor job of filling the belly and don’t last long enough to be worth the calories. I ate/enjoyed them only if they were important in getting food to my mouth (ie. tortilla) or if a food came from the “makes life worth living” treat category (ie. homemade bread Mmmmm.) 

A big problem for me is being under prepared, so when I’m starving all of a sudden at 1 pm (nope, didn’t see that coming), I eat whatever’s fast and easy, ie. simple carbs. The more of these empty carbs I eat the more I crave them. A big part of my revolution has been in spending time cooking everyday so that I have healthy food at the ready.

Here is the “no” list: No carb-based snacks. No chips, no crackers, no cereal, no toast unless it’s the weekend and you’re choosing to break this rule. Sorry. Also take vitamins! Drink water! 3L/day! OK!

6. Go halvsies on flavor foods. Little things make a big difference. As far as I can tell, my weight gain or loss depends on a small margin of error – maybe 300 calories a day. I didn’t skimp on nutritious food, but I cut these taste-based items in half: milk/cream, butter, peanut butter, salad dressing, bananas, & carb vehicles.

7. No refined sugar, no alcohol, no caffeine*. My “no” list is probably unpopular here, but keep reading to #8-10! This point was intended to address my adrenal fatigue symptoms: swollen thyroid, red eyes at night, insomnia… It also helped the weight loss project though and I felt better for it. (*Full disclosure, I drank caffeine almost every day but took my latte to half-caf. I also ate dark chocolate.)

8. Upgrade from a snack to a meal. When I’m hungry I’m not granola-bar hungry. I basically ate five meals a day (no, not “smaller meals”), which left me without a budget for snacks. On days when I went over the calorie budget, it was the snacks that did it. With exercise I could basically have 400 calories 5x daily, or 500 calories 4x daily. Meals are the best deal for the calories.

9. Go big breakfast. The more calories I ate at breakfast, the fewer calories I consumed throughout the day. My standard: turkey, spinach, goat cheese omelet with three eggs. No toast.

10. Dairy fat, the silver lining. I’m still muddling through the cost/benefits of saturated fat, but I ate dairy fat and loved it. Fat feeds the brain and cues satiation. And it feels good, like a vice.

At one point I cut too many calories and had a headache for two days. I made halibut chowder with bacon (desperate craving!). One bowl took care of the headache and left my belly happy. Ahhh. Also, I conducted a coffee taste test (thanks dad!) with 60 calories of each 1% milk, 2% milk, and half and half to see which produced the tastiest cup – half and half won, hands down! Baby A helped by emptying the pantry while we taste-tested.

A helped the taste test by emptying the pantry

11. Be a control freak. Unspoken social pressures have a big effect on my eating, especially when sugar is concerned. I hate to turn down a cookie, even if I don’t want it, because baking is love. I hate to disappoint a baker by not eating the delicious things. And it makes people eating the cookies feel weird if I don’t partake, as if I’m rubbing my will power in their sticky faces. Noticing this, I kept “no” foods out of the house, and I spent more time alone (just being honest). I’m also working on loving people through healthy cooking.

12. Don’t eat after midnight.


Actually, don’t eat after dinner. I fasted at least 12 hours every night. This was a side-effect of parenting, because all I could do in the evening was scarf some food before A went coo-coo-bananas and needed bedtime. I never got to have seconds. This wasn’t intentional, but it is relevant.

With some effort (ok, a lot of effort) I doubled the couple of pounds I lost each month just from breastfeeding to 5-6 lbs lost each month, and I felt fairly happy and healthy en route. One day I stepped on a scale and the project had ended. It’s not that I “got my body back.” It’s a new body, but I feel good about it.

Ashtanga revival

I’ve had a colorful, lasting, love affair with yoga. It started 20 years ago when I spent several semesters waitlisted for the very popular yoga class at my college. Being denied again and again made me want in all the more (yes, this also happens in my love life). Senior year, finally admitted, I found I was bad at being still. The poses made me toot in front of people (= embarrassing), and the whole thing increased my stress instead of decreasing it. I dropped out and took an withdraw/fail on my transcript.

Yoga finally began for me in 2006 with ashtanga. I was injured at the time, and frankly a little afraid of my usual activities: hiking, kayaking, skiing, biking. My roommate took me to a class, and I loved it. Though I was physically fit, those ashtanga classes were a new kind of challenge: just a 5′ x 2.5′ space, my muscles, and a teacher’s voice. Each breath moves the body into a new posture, so there is no time to think self conscious thoughts. I got my butt kicked and I went back for more.

Ten years later I called my college boyfriend to tell him I’d become a hatha yoga instructor. “You’re kidding,” he said.

I’ve since learned to love and appreciate many yoga styles. But this winter my regular practice is pretty far gone. I did not practice yoga while pregnant or during the first six months of my daughter’s life, except the kind where you roll around on the floor breathing deeply. Sigh.

So, last Thursday I went to an Ashtanga class.

The teacher guided us into hand-on-the-big-toe pose, where you stand on one foot, grab the big toe of the other foot with two fingers, and try to straighten that leg at a 90-degree angle parallel to the floor. Then, let go of the toe. The leg is supposed to stay up; mine slid steadily down like dripping candle wax.

Then, something interesting happened.

Instead of feeling disappointed in myself, I felt overwhelmingly happy. Just to be in that studio with my foot a few inches less than level, doing this crazy thing called LIFE was enough.

Physically, I haven’t been this weak since elementary school when the mile run left me gasping, wheezing, and walking. But I kept going.

I tried a headstand and crow (the simplified versions). I was asked to wrap my leg behind my arm and over my shoulder, and I did something like that. At another moment, I threaded my arms under my legs and sat on them. Every now and then, it’s good to do something that scares you.

After a few months of ashtanga back in 2006 I did some mountain races and made my best times even though I had scarcely trained outside. But women in the mountain running community are known to make their best times after becoming mothers. For a long time, I’ve wondered why – perhaps they’ve learned to “push through” the pain? Last week’s yoga class gave me some new ideas.

Idea 1: Moms with 90 precious minutes to themselves don’t screw around. Training (without a baby on my back) rarely happens, so when it does I train hard. Precious time = focussed mind.

Idea 2: De-facto fitness no longer exists. In pregnancy, all strength is stripped from a woman’s body (one woman I know says this happens so we can’t resist the birth process). If I am ever strong again it will be because I fought tooth & nail for those muscles.

Idea 3: Babies are really inspiring. Ten months ago our daughter was born floppy (can you imagine if other animals were born like that?). But she does squats and sit-ups non-stop and now she’s almost walking. I try to do more of what she does.

Life is full of major setbacks; we get back on the horse if we want to. I’m currently lousy at yoga asanas (poses), but I wont always be. Being okay where I am means that mentally I’ve never been stronger.