Yoga for breakfast

I wrote in a post yesterday that I’d do yoga and so early this morning I went to a yoga class (there was some egging on taking place from a friend who clearly has been doing this long enough that she could actually twist into pretzel shapes and look great next to my sweaty misaligned form).

How would I rate the experience? Level of difficulty: 10. Niceness of classmate who asked me later if I was sure I’d not done yoga in recent years: 10. Patience of teacher with new students (meaning me): 10. Degree of joy when the clock reached the ending time: 10.

If I were to issue one constructive comment I suppose I’d say that it’s not necessary to tell us to flower into infinity. The idea of being at one with infinity is kind of freaky to begin with, and I cannot wrap my mind around the notion of flowering into it. And I don’t believe that the mere act of breathing out deftly will get rid of many of the toxins within. But those little quips notwithstanding, I am willing to admit that it is a strengthening, health-promoting activity. We’ll see if I can get myself to do a rerun. Just thinking of it makes my muscle groups shake.