Twisted Sisters

I met this gal at a ladies' party and I hit it off with her right away.  She's young, about the same age as one of my kids, vivacious and delightful...and she's a yoga instructor.  Before she left, she gave me a card for a free lesson.  That was so sweet, but no way was I going to go to her class.  Thank God it was far away so I had an excuse!  I realize that every other woman in America loves yoga but not me.  I took a class once and I was still sore from it three months later.  No siree Bob, not doin' it.

Then came the emails.  Finally, the kicker -- she's starting a class in T.C. and that's where I live.  She officially invited me to her premier class.  What can I do?  I have been trapped!  I am horrified at the thought of yoga.  I know that I haven't been flexible enough to touch my own toes since I achieved double digits, yet I feel it would be rude not to attend and be supportive of her new venture. 

I argued with myself a lot about attending this class but somehow this morning I find myself wearing a pair of Lycra leggings and a shirt that's far too tight to be comfortable.  (I'm still not sure it will stay put if I do anything more exotic than sit down.)  There are whole industries that are devoted to yoga garb but I don't feel inclined to purchase an actual "yoga outfit" for something I'm sure will be a one-time-shot.  At best I'll be comic relief for the other students.  At worst... well, let's just not focus on that.

See ya on the other side.

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When I arrived at class, it looked like it might be a private lesson.  Oh, no!  That would not be good.  Not. Good.  At the eleventh hour though, another woman arrived - thank you GOD - and even better than that, it was my friend Mary.  Now Mary is one of the nicest women on the planet (I'm sure she doesn't even kill mosquitoes) and I was relieved because I knew she'd see the best in everything which would rein me in a little if I started whining and complaining.  If?

A graceful and smiling lady

The instructor is just too cute!  She looks like a young Deborah Messing and has all the energy and high spirits of youth.  Unfortunately for me, my youth has long since vanished and has left me with a little less to work with.  We posed.  We did the downward dragging dog, the sphinx, pigeon, half moon, dancer, little cobra and quite a few other pretzel moves.  Whenever we'd settle into a new pose our leader would ask us, "Where do you feel that?"  For me an easier question would have been "Where don't you feel that?"  I felt it everywhere and not in the happy way that she seemed to be feeling her stretches, either.

 

And it was then that we had a differing of opinions.  She thought my body was telling me that it would like to stretch more and I was hearing, "Stop this immediately or you'll be sorry!"  

About the time my elbows started to sweat, we changed gears and did some balancing exercises.  Then came my favorite of all yoga poses known to mankind called, "The Corpse."  You just lie on your back and pretend you're a possum trying to fool predators.  I was pretty good at that one, I must say.  That the ended of one of the longest hours of my life.  We were finally done.

That's when I found out the class wasn't an hour, it was an hour and a half  -- and -- it meets twice a week.