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My Glorious Shins

April 11, 2013


I was just thinking about my shins, which I recognize is abnormal behavior for most folk. However for an Ashtangi, it’s probably not so odd. Someone who’s practicing primary series the traditional six days a week probably spends almost 100 hours a year with their head in their shins.

Normally, this is distracting. The only thoughts worth thinking about ones shins (unless you have shin splits, in which case there’s little else you can think about) come in the form of unanswerable questions:

  • Is that mole new?
  • How long has it been since I shaved?
  • How could the ability to sweat from their shins have possibly given my ancestors any competitive genetic advantage?

Rarely do I actually take time to appreciate my bony, sweaty, pasty-white appendages. But yesterday, at PT, I did. While bending over, straight-legged, to prove that I couldn’t bend over with this bum hamstring, I inadvertently bent over. And nothing hurt. I couldn’t palm the floor or anything, but I got as far as touching my shins – about an 8″ improvement in the past three days.

Physical Therapist gives the ugly part of my recovery four weeks / eight visits. Fingers, eyes, and broken toes crossed!


Smoothie season is upon us again, partly because the weather is turning, and partly because I’m reading The China Study and freaking out about fruits and vegetables. Spring is in the air! Crazy is there, too!

This morning’s concoction: 1 English cucumber, 2 medium apples, the juice of one lemon, ice, flavored sparkling water that had sort of lost its sparkle (Unsweetened. Mama doesn’t play with aspartame). It’s bright and refreshing like rubbing noses with a fluffy angel kitten.


Speaking of kittens… I work long hours, so my home life during the week is limited to my leisurely morning routine – yoga, cat care, breakfast, email, packing of provisions for the workday, showering and ablutions, occasionally some light reading – and my evens time, which will consist of a makeshift meal, more cat care (Kibble and poop, kibble and poop. That’s the sum total of their existence.), and maybe a little Netflix if I get home before 9 or so.

These brief periods of homesteading are regimented by a series of reminders from Phone that it’s time to move on to another stage of the day. I think my diurnal clock is set for a 26 hour day or something, because I am rarely tired until I’ve been up for 18 hours, but I enjoy 8 hours’ sleep. Phone’s job is to tell me to eat or shower or go to bed or get back out of bed.

The other sound that punctuates my day is that of one or both cats vomiting in the distance. This is my call to the hunt. Armed with a paper towel I must find the sick before it sets, creating a landmine of gross for Future Liska. Lola’s bulemia seems to be the result of eating too fast, and as such, typically happens next to or, if I’m lucky, right in her food bowl. Wahla is a party girl and likes to puke off things like every asshole frat guy you ever knew. She would be hilarious if she were someone else’s.


I consider it a perk of my current employment that we share an office park with an amazing liquor store. They have a stunning selection for a suburban office park, and reasonable prices too. I recently learned that they will hold cases of select wines for select customers on request. Then, even more recently, I was the benefactor of this most kind customer service. Subsequently, as recently as just now, I enjoyed my favorite Rioja (Marques de Riscal. I’ve never had a bad vintage, but this 2005 is so good I want to have its babies. Then I would drink them, too.)

Hasta la Siri~

One Comment leave one →
  1. April 13, 2013 1:56 pm

    Liska. I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE WRITING AGAIN! WHERE WAS ME? but now I do, so consider yourself lurked.

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