Look at me, blogging two days in a row. This could become a habit.
I know I promised politics but I think I’ll talk about yoga. Last night I took my 13-year-old to the gym for a yoga class. I hadn’t done yoga in…two years? It’s been a while. Little Bit had never done a yoga class. The teacher was super nice and welcoming, but the whole experience was a little weird.
I used to attend a noon yoga class, which was always so packed that one could hardly swoop one’s arms over one’s head without accidentally smacking one’s neighbor. In the 8 pm class, LB and I were half the population. This resulted in an uncomfortable amount of attention, culminating with the teacher observing my frowny, concentrating face and suggesting we try to wear “gentle yoga smiles” and have a “happy practice.”
I’d forgotten how hard yoga is. It doesn’t look hard, what with all that graceful swooping. But zowie, hold some of those poses long enough and you might wish you’d chosen to do some easy powerlifting instead.
And I’d forgotten how quasi-religious/spiritual/mystical yoga is. “Honor your shoulders,” “surrender your heels back to the mat,” and other peculiar ways of giving straightforward messages like “don’t push it so far that it hurts” or “put your feet down.”
I did feel good when it was over. “What did you think?” I asked my child.
She shrugged. “It was kind of…boring.”
Well, powerlifting for her next time.
Now I will honor my wallet by getting back to work. Namaste, friends.