Yoga: Breathe Deeply and Try Not to Tip Over

yogaYou know the saying that some things are harder than they look?

The adage is true in my experience, especially regarding:

A) Baking bread (I’ve successfully baked lumps, but not bread).
B) Parenting (Heck to the yeah).
C) Replicating hair styles I see in pictures or on other people (They skipped me in heaven when they handed out the “impressive hair styling” gene. Also the “fancy party-planning” gene, but whatever).

Some things really do just seem simple and effortless from the outside when they are, in fact, not.

I can now add yoga to my list.

I recently tried it for the first time. I realize that I am joining the yoga party about thirty years behind everyone else in the universe. If I were “with it” I would’ve been doing yoga in 1983 in Mrs. Wheelwright’s first grade class, possibly while wearing leg warmers and a belted leotard. But I wasn’t. I was way more interested in hopscotch with my peeps Mandi Campbell and Kristy May back then. And in stirrup pants, not leotards.

Anyway, yoga. It looks really peaceful with all that quiet, introspective stretching of the body. It actually is really peaceful. With a side of brutal.

It is brutally challenging for someone with weak sauce core strength and no prior experience in planking.

I spent the entire first class trying not to tip over.

While my neighbors were wowing me with their balance, strength, and flexibility, I was like, “I’m just going to quietly resume child’s pose and try not to vomit after all that planking.”

I may or may not have looked like a caricature of someone practicing yoga as I attempted the various poses. I felt a little like Hank Hill in the “King of the Hill” episode where he throws out his back (doing something propane-related, I think) and begrudgingly attends yoga at his doctor’s recommendation. Hank goes, but he refuses to buy a yoga mat, instead picking up a welcome mat at the hardware store.

I may have looked just as out of place, but something about awkwardly attempting yoga at the butt-crack of dawn has shaken loose and chased away a dark, cobwebby something that’s been squatting under my ribs.

Maybe it’s the visualization. Maybe it’s the feeling of centeredness. Maybe it’s the planking.

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