I’ve finished my two months of church yoga, so named by me because the class was held in the fellowship hall of Englewood United Methodist Church. We were a small group of Golden Sneakers age, or almost, who met on Wednesday nights to learn the basic poses.
A few of us, myself included, had never taken yoga before. I went in the first night a little intimidated, wondering if I could bend and twist my body into the positions I’d seen my hot-yoga daughter do.
Some positions I could manage. Who can’t do basic Warrior, sort of? Even if I look like a dork doing this pose at home in the kitchen.
The graceful Sarah, the class teacher, appears so much more poised in this same position. But hey, I’m a beginner, and she’s a Certified Yoga Instructor. And thirty-some years younger.
Some positions I’ll have to work on. I forget what this one is called, but that’s Sarah, not me, doing it.
A couple of times a week, I visit Planet Fitness, where I’ve been exercising on the elliptical and some of the weight machines. Recently, though, I’ve had a bad backache a day after a workout. A backache that’s taken a few days to go away.
Without consulting WebMD, I’ve reached my own diagnosis: there’s at least one machine I don’t need to be using. Not knowing which one leads to a back out of whack, I’ve decided to eliminate all weight machines and use only the elliptical.
And at home, I’ll get out my lime green mat and do the yoga moves I’ve learned—the ones I can attain. Yoga seems gentle, easy, relaxing. Heck, I don’t even sweat. Gotta love it.