Saturday morning yoga. After not sleeping much the night before, I wasn’t looking forward to it. But it’s a ritual for me that I seldom miss unless I’m out of town and I’m always glad for it afterwards. Afterwards, but not necessarily during.
My instructor is wonderful. A very conscious, spiritual man with a great sense of humor and a sassy streak. I try to remember this while he pokes and prods at me (he would use the term “adjusts”) during my asanas. I’ve never met anyone who made a simple crescent lunge so hard. “Make sure your knee doesn’t kick in and tracks over your toes.” “Strong through your core, tailbone to the floor.”” Keep those ribs in, they’re splaying out.” “Shoulders down the back. Activate those arms and roll that back leg inward.” “Oh and bend that knee deeper while you’re at it. I know you can.” “Breathe.”…
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