Jay and I started going to yoga classes at our gym a couple of weeks ago. A basic class once a week on Wednesday evening, with another on Saturday afternoons, which so far hasn’t coordinated with our social schedule. The idea of yoga in a gym setting brought to my mind some sort of aerobicized bastardization of yoga practice, but they actually have real yoga teachers who breathe and chant and do their best to help us block out the thumping techno music and grunting sounds coming from other parts of the gym.
On Monday evening I summoned up the courage to check out an Astanga Yoga class, which is taught more frequently during the week. The teacher is considerably more charismatic than the basic teacher, and the discipline is more intense as well. I hung on and made it through as best I could and felt like a million bucks yesterday. Woke up refreshed at 7am instead of my usual groggy and gradual awakening between 8 and 9, sometimes 9:30. Posture good, spring in my step, and the like.
Different story this morning. I felt the stiffness and aches coming on last night while Jay and I were out with Wardi and Ron for pints and curry. And this morning my usual, “How can it be 9 already,” feeling like I hardly slept 4 hours.
I think it will take some time. Good thing tonight is basic. Back for some more Astanga tomorrow afternoon.
Om shanti.
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