The one in which I do Yoga


In an earlier blog I vowed to obtain a body that had the flexibility of a worm. My future suppleness would allow me to coil and writhe with the best of the nimble goddesses in lycra.   If you knew me you would appreciate the challenge that I have set myself here.  There is a serious reason for my endeavour, my grandmother had a stoop in her elder years and my mother is developing one.  As I am on the eve of retirement, OK so a decade or two away but in the terms of the bodily decay its tomorrow, I should increase my spine’s agility to avoid the same fate.  So with this aim, I joined a trial yoga class this week.  Sadly,  at the time of writing I'm not sure the instructor will have me back to continue my quest.  That will be a shame because I so enjoyed lying on my mat gazing at the ceiling, which was a lovely pine, I should add.  I think my error was in asking the Mayor if he was joining us half way through the session but it seemed rude not to mention it, especially as we were using his premises.  


To set the scene we were in a sumptuous room with a plush, thick moss coloured mayoral carpet, mayoral central heating set on the temperature of mayoral bodyheat,  candles with fresh bay leaves, aromas of therapy, not mayoral lunches, and pristine white net curtains. No dirty, cold, draughty hard floored village hall for me when I do yoga.  For me only the 6 star rated mayoral hosted yoga would do, as you would expect from a discerning person as myself.  I was attending yoga in no less than the Town Hall.

So there I was lying on the floor, feet up the wall making lovely smudges on the mayoral decor when the instructor said ‘bring yourself back to the room.’ I hadn't left it.  My mind was not drifting on a tranquil plane.  My mind was gazing at the mayoral pine ceiling and rotating around to watch other people, for comparison, you understand.  I suppose this was the first clue that yoga will be a huge stretch for me, in more than one way.



We moved on to do contortions, swooping and balancing.  Trees were involved at some point.  I think it was the section in which my roots came unstuck and I was more chopped log than young, lithe sapling.  Yet my suppleness did increase during the hour, with each upside downside sideways dog and yawning, sleeping, lazy cat.


My conclusion is that exercise in a candlelit room and at the speed of a tree sloth suits me and I cling on to the hope that the instructor accepts me in her class.  I eagerly await the summoning email.

1 comment:

  1. I love the new blog name!!! Bravo for posting on Midlife Blvd. you're a rock star darling. My mat has at least made to my car trunk...that's a good sign.

    ReplyDelete

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