There's nothing like going back to yoga after almost three weeks gone.
Thought number one? I used to be stronger.
Thought number two? Jesus Martha is it hot in here...
I could go on; and so, of course, I will.
I discovered some things yesterday afternoon, whilst tipping this way and that in a heated room. For instance, I recalled how much I enjoy my forehead on the mat. There's something about it that feels good. I'm not going to look at it too closely. If I am soothed by resting my head on the ground, let's let it be.
I also noticed that the free shoes at the doors have switched from three-inch heels and tennis shoes to boots at various levels of practicality. I found several pair I really liked but they didn't come in my size.
No, the footwear at the doors is not really free.
I noticed, too, that there seem to be far more men in the class than they're used to be. I'm against this. I have significant proof that men sweat swamps around their mats, that clusters of more men than, oh, one lead to pools of brackish water that may invade your personal space.
They also smell funny.
Mostly what I noticed, however, came after the class: the all-over, deep down relaxation.
Now that is why I practice yoga.
Holy Hannah, I feel like a million bucks.
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