It’s funny, given how much I’ve read about yoga over the years, how clueless I felt when I finally got around to attending my first class — “Yoga for Athletes” — the other night.
I was also the stiffest person in the room. (This is what I get for invariably skipping post-run stretches). You know that maneuver where you sit cross-legged with your ankle resting on your knee? “Like stacked wood,” the instructor said. Well, my legs looked more like a partially collapsed tent, with one limb mysteriously jutting up in the air. It simply wouldn’t go down any farther, no matter what I tried.
I should be way too embarrassed to go back next week. And yet, given how much this experience made me feel like an alien inside my own body, I figure there’s lots of room for discovery here.