I admit it. I like yoga.
When I lived in Boston, I went to classes between 1-3 times per week. It was a stress release and I would often catch a class between meetings, just to remember to breathe. It always helped, and helped me justify my exorbitantly pricy gym membership on the fringe of Harvard Square.
When I moved to Tennessee, that regular practice took a surreptitious nosedive. When I worked inside a building with a gym and classes, I would try to sneak away for a weekly class when time would allow. It's been five years since I had that job and worked in that building.
A more practical way to continue my practice is to squeeze in 30-60 minutes of poses and stretches with guidance from my trusty television. OnDemand has made exercise easy by allowing me to pick and choose when and with whom to participate, but the service does not give me the necessary motivation required to actually do it.
Every once in a while, I will treat myself to an actual class, with an actual instructor, and other people. Today was one of those days.
A friend was teaching a 2-hour restorative yoga class in the middle of my single day off this week. I jumped at the chance. If there's something I need, it's a chance to relax for two hours.
Boy, did I!
I swear, by the end of that class, I actually melted into my hot pink mat. I hope to carry that peacefulness with me, regardless of the regularity of my yoga practice. The ability to let go of thoughts, emotions, pain and the confines of your mind and body shouldn't have to be rare or difficult.
Bring on the zen, y'all. Bring. It. On.
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