Ok, originally, I had vowed not to bring this up here, because it’s got nothing to do with yoga, or anorexia, and I pretty much blogged the heck outta it, 14 years ago on LiveJournal. But, I’m making an exception, just for today.
The first picture was taken on my 13th birthday. I know, because he had to miss my party to have his pictures made. That boy’s name is Jordan Randolph Blass, and he was hit by a car and killed on January 4th, 1999. Today, marks the 14th time I’ve honored his birthday, without him. Today, he is 27 and 12… I always think of him as still 12, and always feel closest to him through yoga. His church was across the street from my home studio (they literally shared a parking lot). After his funeral I walked to practice, from that day on, I would always take a minute right before class to look out the window at his church, pause and think of him. His presence in my practice became so deeply ingrained that, in time, I no longer needed to see the church to feel connected to him in the hot room.
Any how. This blog is about yoga. And anorexia. Not dead little boys. My plan for today was simple; chocolate and almond butter breakfast shake, citrus snack, leave work early for a 4pm PCP appointment, then birthday yoga at 6:30.
What actually happened today is, I couldn’t get my car door open, because someone apparently hit it last night
I spilled ink on my favorite jacket, I had to give blood at the doctor. Which is HORRIBLE to me. I am tiny. My veins are tiny. My capillaries are tiny… So I am hard to stick and then I don’t bleed. It is ALWAYS a traumatic experience. Plus, it was 6:08 when they finally called me back, and I was ALREADY crying, because it seemed like birthday yoga was altogether out of the question at that point.
So, I gave the phlebotomist the rundown “hard to stick, don’t bleed, you get one shot, then I leave, never again will I allow someone to make 17 holes in my body at a single attempt for blood” and to her credit, she goes “well, if we can get blood from a baby-you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m using the tiniest needle I’ve got, ok?”
And she did. First try, got enough, no pain, no bruising, and sweet as pie while I sat crying silently, staring at my phone (thank you Sensitive Storm).
I left at 6:19, under the most incredible sunset (2nd picture) and made a bee line for the studio… Figured there was no harm in trying. I pulled in at EXACTLY 6:30, just as he was turning on the lights.
Naturally, I did what any, hell-bent, heat loving yogi, who just spent 2 hours at a doctors office would do…. So I jumped up and down and waved like a maniac until he noticed. When he opened the door I was like “thank you! I love you! I need to change! There is another lady walking up! Thank you! I love you!” And he goes “tiny friend really wants some yoga tonight.” “Yes. Altin, more than ever! I have to change.” He laughed “calm down tiny friend. It’s ok. You’ll get your yoga. Go change. And CALM. DOWN!”
It was a perfect class, the kind that’s just good, hot and well wrung.
I didn’t come out laughing, or crying, or anything too dramatic, just CRACKED! I literally felt all of the frustration from the day, and past several weeks, my living situation, being thin, feeling fat, my job… It all oozed out like, well like an egg, cracked. So perfect, and much needed.
When I got home, I went out to the garage, intending to bring in a photo of myself in full camel, when I was 13 or 14. When I opened the box, the tape at the bottom of the first photo, was just sitting on top. Now, I have been searching for this tape since August, and have certainly dumped that particular box multiple times in the process. It is video that my grandpa recorded in May of ’98 with one those very early digital video cameras, that you stuck a 3.5 inch floppy in, with the swivel screen. The very short segment contains footage and audio of Jordan, my dad and both of his parents… All of whom are gone now.
I can’t help feeling like Jordan just gave ME a gift for HIS birthday, tonight.
All in all, my awful day, came to a pretty fantastic conclusion.