Gumby, I am not

Monday night saw me forego pub quiz (me, say no to Guinness?) and instead attend the first of an eight-week yoga course with my soon to be sixty coworker over at Georgetown Yoga. Several people at our firm attend lunchtime courses at the same studio, which obviously came highly recommended.

Unfortunately, we were two out of the three last people to arrive, and other than the last person to arrive stealing my spot whilst I completed paperwork, things appeared to be off to a good start.

Starting us off with breathing exercises whilst explaining the history of yoga, as well as everything our course would entail, Margaret, our instructor, and the studio founder, gently led us into our first position. Don’t ask me what that position was, I’m lucky if I can remember any of them, but I more aware of poses and can spot a yoga pose (even if I’m unable to name it). During our firm putt-putt tournament yesterday, I noticed someone bending down to pick something up using such a pose, and when I commented, they were able to show me the complete pose, as well as name the pose.

Although I felt complete out of place for the first half of the class (limber, I ain’t), I soon realized that the fitness contest in my head is against myself, and no one else in the class. So what if the lithe blonde across from me is able to stand in a perfect tree pose, her heel firmly planted in her crotch, I really don’t want my foot anywhere near there thankyouverymuch.

New to yoga? I highly recommend the Basics Session, or feel free to drop by for a class.

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