I woke to the ominous sound of rolling thunder. After the second one I pried myself out of bed to start the day. It’s supposed to rain up to 2″ here this weekend. Squeezing in my long run will be a challenge for sure.
For the past few years I’ve been doing yoga on a regular basis–a class or 2 per week plus some home practice. It’s a nice, relaxing complement to the tightening effects of running. However last fall my Tuesday night class was cancelled, then in January it was rescheduled to earlier in the evening–too early for me to get there. So I’ve been working around Thing 2’s preschool schedule and doing Pilates 2x/week instead. Not as relaxing and not as good a stretch as yoga, but my newly flattened tummy speaks for itself.
The one yoga class I am able to attend every other week, if I get up early enough and race hone in time for Mom & Tot Skating with Thing 2, is Saturday Yoga with Kandy. She is my favorite instructor by far. Beautiful both in body and spirit, and with a to-die-for lemon/lavender shoulder/neck massage at the end of every class, how could she not be my fave?
Thoughts of lemon/lavender danced in my head as I decided I would make the effort to get to yoga today, despite the rain and gloom. As I staked out my spot in the yoga studio, in walked a woman I’d never seen before with a freshly cut bob and some serious guns. After unfurling her mat in the instructor’s spot she got to work fumigating the room with a spray redolent with cinnamon and some not unpleasant, new-agey spice. Her wine colored tank had an asian symbol on it that I was unfamiliar with and it allowed her slightly soft belly to puff out from underneath (I could recommend a good Pilates class to her) but it seemed she couldn’t care less. The room was ungodly hot already and as guy after guy filed in and set up around me, I became thankful for the scented diversion. Since when have so many guys come to this class??
She started us off with a loud om and other chanting. No offense to other yogis out there but this particular group is typically not a chanting lot. She invited us to join in but alas no takers. Any other day someone would have demanded the heat be turned down but not today. We were all mesmerized into silence. We followed her Vinyasa flow to the best of our abilities and at some point, I’m not sure exactly when, we fell under her spell. Dog split? How high? Scorpion’s tail? You got it. And on we went. We held planks, slipped into pigeon poses and chaturanga’d until we trembled. She was strong, confident and capable. And we were obviously inspired. Something about her instruction brought us all to a new level. And you know what? It was totally different than anything our beloved Kandy has done. But like Kandy’s yoga, it was good. Very, very good.
And on a different yet somewhat related note: can I just say shame on More Magazine. In the March issue there’s an article titled “The New Elite Body” and it showcases some over- 40 celebs who’ve achieved uber-fit bodies. All well and good. Until the whole thing goes sour and starts referring to women’s bodies as “gristly” and discusses breakdown in connective tissue that gives fit “older” women a “rope-like” effect. I mean really now. First women are too soft, too fat, too old, now they’re “gristly”?? And this is a magazine for over-40 women? Seriously give us all a big break here. Can’t we celebrate women in all of their beautiful shapes and sizes?
