I've been threatening to take a yoga class for a long time and today I finally did. I came in two minutes late and walked into a dark closet to find a mat. The handsome teacher had to show me where the light was. I had to squeeze into a spot, which then turned out to be too near the speaker, so I moved the mat. The teacher played music in a yoga class which is very weird to me, but it turned out to be okay. I probably could have been almost every person's mother in the class, they were all so young and beautiful. I could follow the class, after all I studied with Bikram, for God's sake...and many other teachers over the years.
I was in the class thinking, "Oy vey, this is way too hard for me. I can't do this. I can't hold my leg up over my head and hold a downward facing dog for what felt like ten minutes and breathe. I need an easier class." But somehow about half way through the class, I felt good. I felt connected to my body. I loved the stretching. I felt proud that I could at least try most of the postures and the ones I couldn't even begin to do, many other people in the class couldn't do either.
So tomorrow, I will probably not be able to walk or move and I will probably be in pain. I remember the pain of yoga class when you haven't done it in awhile. But I look foward to trying other classes and hopefully continuing.
And then I went to Friends In Deed and had yet another good cry and a big salad and some very good macaroni and cheese.