Dear yoga;
I know we’ve had a rough past together. Your deep stretching poses and mandatory self reflection usually scare the crap out of me. I’m always nervous of my fat ass swinging in the air during downward dog, not to mention the inevitable “oh so calm” fart.
Spending 90 minutes in a hot sweaty room flowing through sun salutations does my body good, even when I think I’m going to die. I can’t recall all the times I’ve stopped and started practicing. 90 minutes alone with my thoughts is daunting. How do I learn to listen to myself?
Yoga, I promise to flow by your side these next few months. I won’t skip class to watch How I Met Your Mother (although I’ll probably want to). I promise to not beat myself up when I can’t hold a pose or keep up with flow of class. Most importantly I need to connect with myself again. I want to be comfortable twisting and stretching my body in all kind of pretzel-like ways. I want the clarity of mind that practicing gives me.
I will see you in class, dear yoga. I’ll be the girl giving it her everything simply because she has nothing else to lose.
