Yogi bear

She’ll be comin’ around the TV when she comes. She’ll be returning to the DVR
when she comes … The Loudoun Times-Mirror’s Health and Beauty special section
is right around the corner and I’ve been assigned with writing an article on
yoga. Videographer Matt Vecchio, who is heading the publication, at first tried
to enlist me into a 6 a.m. woman’s boot camp in Ashburn for a few weeks … a
waking time pre-7:45 a.m. is not of my world. I’ve never been to a boot camp,
but I’m pretty sure it’s not the high-heeled kind. I passed. Instead, I offered
to write about yoga.

He thinks I’m going to call yoga studios and quote bikram pros. But what I’m
really going to do is write a first-person account about the heftiness of my own
body weight.

I’ve been an avid runner for more than seven years now—and it shows, if I do
say so myself. When you have that kind of record, it doesn’t occur to you that a
“sport” involving extreme stretching would be too hard. My sister first pressed
me to join her for a yoga class at the now-shuttered Leesburg Gold’s Gym. In
that first session and during my second downward-facing dog, my clammy hands
were slipping on my relaxation mat and my thighs were shaking from the heft of
my bum. This was success. A great, group workout that wasn’t utterly
embarrassing to admit to participating in—like Zumba and Jazzercise.

Yoga is about combining mind, body and soul.

I became a fanatic and attended classes with my sister three times a week. A
few months later, I grew bored of the Gold’s teachers’ monotonous routines. Tree
pose, downward-facing dog, up-dog, repeat. I didn’t see any change to my muscle
tone or in my weight scale number and finally gave it up claiming routine

Fast forward one year and I fell out of love with the treadmill. Call it the
seven year itch. So, I decided to return to my old mistress, yoga. Last night, I
put on a 30-minute yoga sculpt routine on the DVR and found myself once again
shaking in my bones. It was pathetic how far I’d regressed in my yoga journey. I
could barely touch my toes, much less climb into the tree pose without falling –
some yogi bear I am. Despite my growling, hungry stomach and my tired muscles,
my mind was reinvigorated. With one free, On Demand video I have returned to the
meditation camp. Isn’t that much more interesting to you, readers? The prodigal
daughter of Yogi returning home.

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