Bricks are for chumps!

Growing up I was always a very limber girl. My granny would describe me a long and gangly, while I preferred tall and statuesque. In any event, part of having long limber legs was my ability to contort my body in all kinds of crazy positions. My most famous move was the "ol' leg wrapped around neck and tying my shoe" trick. If I was feeling really loose with it, I'd even put my big toe in my mouth (don't judge me). Despite my advancing age, I've still managed to maintain some of this unnatural flexibility. In fact I recently embarrassed myself at a retreat by busting out a full on split while dancing to Michael Jackson (there is a video out there awaiting my judicial election). My husband, who is a yoga devotee, suggested that I use my talent for good, and not drunken party trick evil. So with his prodding I decided to take a yoga class to supplement my marathon training.

Before this class I'd been to yoga once, and didn't like it. I often find it impossible to tune out my thoughts and meditate for longer than 5 minutes. I'm a mom, there are at least 10 things that are spinning around up there at a time: dental appointments, fundraisers, did I put underwear on Kendall? There is little time to focus on breaths. I breathe quite well everyday, why sit and think about breathing while sitting cross-legged in a hot room? However, after observing my often stressed husband floating around in a zen-like state, I figured I'd give it a try. Besides, I'd heard that the stretching exercises are of great benefit to runners.

My yoga class is filled with mostly middle-aged women, with a sprinkle of 30 and 20 somethings. These women look like the ladies who lunch type; fancy yoga mats, frilly pull over, and freshly pedicured feet. I on the other hand, am wearing that damn Calvin and Hobbs T-shirt again, and my feet look like someone took a whack-a-mole mallet to them. These women have this kinda yoga snobbishness to them, you know like they discuss downward dog over lattes in the middle of the day, while I sip vending machine coffee at my county job. I don't know the names of these moves so I'm usually at least 2 steps behind. I see their sideways glances and knowing looks to one another as I clumsily adjust to each new move. I am annoyed, and the thought of my naked 4 year old is really impeding my slow deep breaths. But something magical happens. Our instructor tells us to lay on our backs with one leg tucked underneath our thigh. Next, we are to take our other leg and fold it into the opposite direction and lay it on the floor. I hear moans and groans around me. I see the latte ladies reaching for these little blue bricks to sit on, because it's too hard to do as the instructor has described. However, for me, instead of ancient chants, I hear my college buddies chanting "go, Kim Go, tie your shoes around your neck!" I'm in the zone! Contorting in each way our instructor dictates! It feels good, my body is coming alive, and I feel like each move is a natural extension. I watch the other ladies struggle, and childishly I beam inside because my gangly legs are doing me proud. At the end of the session I feel at ease and at peace. I listen to the ladies complain that it was a bit too strenuous for their skill level. It is then that I realize that I have turned yoga into a competitive sport. I can't wait til next week!

Namaste!