Monday, November 3, 2008

JOURNEY OF A TEENY YOGINI, PART 2 OF 7

It’s been a year and a half since that first class.

I never went back.

I found a different studio to practice at, experiencing nirvana during almost every class there.

After my collapse in savasana at that first Ashtanga studio, I got in my car and dialed my yoga teacher in Vegas. I told her that when she comes to visit me, we’ll go to this class. And we’ll get our ever-lovin’, yoga-butts kicked. And we’ll hate it. But we’ll leave with an incredible sense of accomplishment.

I can be pretty intense in my practice and at yoga conferences I have taken classes where my palms slipped in down dog from the sweat, where I fell out of crane and screwed up my shoulder, where I didn’t actually understand any of the Sanskrit the teacher spouted, but that Reno Ashtanga class was the hardest.

Perhaps because I wasn’t prepared for what I was getting into.

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