This week I went to work out for the first time in ages. It was the last thing I had time for, but vanity and getting the most out of your buck are powerful incentives. It was a yoga class taught by an instructor with a serious case of Napoleon's syndrome. She spends a good amount of time at the beginning of class going through the more difficult moves, which is the ideal time compared to, say, right before we do the moves. The show-off likes all undistracted eyes on her. I am not a big fan of yoga, either, mainly because I'm a weakling but also because I need to burn some fat. But it was the only class that didn't clash with our soccer/dance/piano/work/school schedule. So off to the Nazi's yoga class I went.
I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say that it was embarrassing. Lucky for me, years of being the reject in PE has made me inured. The people in class were all pretty good at it, and they looked to be in great shape. I had to remind myself that the reason my gut is hanging out is because it was stretched out 4 times at biologically advanced ages. Kids are more important than a tight bod. At the moment, however, I'm a 70 something woman with painful arthritis.
Still, I'm going back next week. I don't want to be so pathetically weak, and I liked the challenge of certain moves. Plus it's the only class that fits my schedule. I just have to walk in with blinders on. Maybe one of these days I'll actually be able to some fancy yoga move, like touch my toes.