I tried on the shirt. It was an amazing soft cotton. On the mannequin it looked great, loose and comfortable. On me it looked tight and wrong.
I was disappointed. I've been deep into a yoga practice for over a year now. I've been visiting Joe to get stronger. I've lost a good deal of weight. I've worked hard to get this body in decent shape. And here I was in a store in Healdsburg, California trying on a "large" shirt that was too tight and - well, I felt fat. I was surprised at how much I took that feeling on and let it fester.
Kim and I took in a fantastic hour long yin practice this morning. We hiked 10 miles yesterday, so a day of restorative seemed like the right choice. We drove Hwy 1 north along the coast to the Russian River and then made our way over to Healdsburg for an afternoon of wine tasting. It was glorious.
That shirt. The sleeves were long enough. The collar was okay. --- Why the fuck am I thinking about that shirt?
We stopped to eat at Boon in Guerneville. Crazy good meal. We drove back to our home for the weekend. I got ready for bed.
I looked in the mirror. That shirt. That fucking shirt.
I climbed into bed at a decent hour.
I'm about to drift off to sleep. I'm gonna let that shirt go for good now. Turns out the damn thing was designed for a teenager.
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