Ouchie.

Nine hours of improv workshop, split over two days, starting at hours of the morning when I'd normally be asleep (not lazy, just nocturnal). Nine hours of movement. I didn't think I was doing anything strenuous, except maybe the brief scene where I held a pose straight out of Picasso.

Several hours and a long nap later, I feel like my body has been hit by a semi. It occurs to me that it's been a hell of a long time since I've made physical fitness a priority. Like since back in my days as a Ziegfeld girl.



And then I went to sleep again, before finishing and posting. Guess what: I still hurt.

I do a lot of compromising in my life. It seems at times like my personal mantra is "of course, whatever you need." So, I could always avoid physical pain by toning down my onstage movement. *SMACK* No. If there's one thing I've carried away from Tom's workshop, it's that compromise and negotiation weaken a scene.

Ultimatums, now... those are intriguing. Meaty. Forceful. I believe my body has given me an ultimatum: Jen, if you want to do improv, and move the way you did at half this age, you'd better do yoga more than once a year. Or else I'm going to keep hurting you. You don't want that, do you? No, body, I don't.