Day 374: I Got Beef

Beefsteak

I smell of meat.* I just did yoga smelling of meat. I’m sure that’s far from sattvic. Every time I reached forward, the whiff rose up, all warm, from my arms and hands. In forward bends, my hair hung over my face and brought the pong closer. I was grateful not to be adjusted. There could have been a scene.

Beefcake

Ironic. I’ve been eating vegetarian since 14^th December, my first full day in Austria, but this is the first time I can remember smelling of meat. Maybe I’ve smelt of it for years, but never noticed. Maybe I’m the lady on the bus that people were pulling faces at and whispering, wide-eyed to each other “Beef? Lamb? No, she hums of veal.”

There is a reason. Lilley has been prescribed a few steaks a week to make sure she gets enough instant iron, so she’s obliging. This evening, I prepared one of said steaks just before leaving for the class. It’s logical, but far from pleasant. Perhaps we should see this post as an open letter to anyone I may have offended with my stench. I prostrate before you in a pulse-based apology. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, though.

Flood

Is it acceptable to be grateful for York’s flooded river. The Ouse, I think. The Foss… I’d look it up, but the internet’s shunned me again. I’m not grateful that it’s flooded, but I’m grateful for the beauty and fascination the flood waters afford. I’m also grateful for the wide yellow moon that sat low and fat in the sky this evening, making mysterious eyes from behind clouds. Humbling.

And for the opportunity to play during the yoga class, meat-hum notwithstanding. Katy let me do the relaxation. I loved it. I played with the odd hypnotic command (thank you, Eriksonian Salad cards, for reminding me of some of these patterns). Oh, and thank you for Colin, our taxi driver today, who’d like to stop smoking, please. I said I’d work with him, if he wanted to. I must give the gentleman a call.

Ashtanga tomorrow. My alarm is set for 4.35am. The clock says 23.14. Bye, then. 

* Not entirely current. I showered after yoga, to rid myself of the beef.