Y is for Yoga

I tried out the yoga class at my new gym tonight. I love my gym because it takes about 90 seconds to get from my driveway to the front door of the gym. So much nicer than my old 15-20 minute hike. Never mind that the folks who work at this gym aren’t very friendly… I think it’s every gym’s policy to be snotty to customers when they walk through the door. It’s part of their business plan… if they make me feel like a big loser when I arrive, then I’ll be more motivated to bust my tushy on the treadmill so that someday, I can be cool like those gym workers. I bet they cover that in orientation, right after they go over the benefit plans.

But back to yoga… I love yoga because it’s one of the only times that I ever stop thinking. You can’t think while you do yoga, because otherwise you’d lose your balance and hit your head on the floor. And not to brag, but I consider myself to be something of a yoga expert. I may not be a fast runner, a strong weight-lifter, a coordinated dancer, or come to think of it, have any other athletic talents, but I can twist my body like a pretzel and balance in precarious positions better than most. And I can do that while thinking about nothing. I think it’s all of those years of cheerleading and gymnastics classes that are finally paying off. Because cheerleaders also like to think about nothing. Except their reasons for doing so are a bit different.

But now it’s time to think again… I’ve got a school paper calling my name. It’s a bit hard to hear over the sound of me munching on a piece of Starbucks coffee cake, but it’s a faint, muffled hint of a sound in the distance. I should go tackle this thing (the homework, not the coffee cake) and show it who’s boss.

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