I resisted, of course, because you never want to do what a parent suggests. So when she grabbed her mat and headed off to a class, or taught one at home, I made sure I was conveniently busy for anything to do with postures other than the usual ones.
Lately, though, so many people have suggested I try yoga that I decided to listen. I wondered what they knew that I didn’t. Yeah, my life is busy but do I look like I’m about to blow?
To make up for lost time I signed up for two yoga/pilates classes, one on Tuesdays and one on Wednesdays. If one teaspoon of something in a recipe is good, then two must be better, right?
I bounded into the workout room pretty enthusiastically at my local Y. It didn’t escape my notice that a couple of dozen bedraggled women in soaking wet exercise clothes crawled out of the previous class, gasping for water bottles.
I claimed my space and waited for the life-changing, soul connection to begin. Twisting rids the body of toxicity, my impossibly thin instructor said as we got going. Further! More! I wrung myself halfway around until I could see the back wall. It felt like “The Exorcist,” where my lungs might pop into my throat as my upper half did a 360.
My arms stated to shake about 15 minutes in. By a half-hour in I was shaking all over and pouring sweat in a very unladylike manner. Unlike my comrades, who morphed effortlessly into poses that they could easily hold eternally with graceful arms, eyes to the sky. They smiled, glowing with blissful perspiration. I aspired to be like them.
I struggled into downward facing dog, almost losing it when my feet slipped off my mat. The plank was tough, and I cheated and did the starter version on my knees. My favorite, hands down, was the warrior II pose which really came naturally to me. I would have thrown a spear, if I had one.
Today I’m pretty sore all over, which is a good thing, and definitely blank in the stress and anxiety department. But it’s only 7 a.m. We’ll see if I survive tonight when I do it all again.