Before class, as good teachers do, she asked me if I’d ever taken Power Yoga before.
Yes.
At this studio?
Yes, but it was a year ago.
Clearly, she didn’t remember me. Good; A fresh start. I warned her of my grumpy shoulder, indicating which poses aggravated it, and off we went.
She took the next 80 minutes, one-on-one, to guide me through the Primary Series, repeating segments two and three times, adding on and repeating again, so I could learn to attach the breath to the movements instinctively and refresh my memory of the postures’ order.
In circumstances where you’re the only student (which I swear must happen to me more than it does anyone else), the environment is friendlier than with a full class. You’ll joke with the teacher, laugh a little more, receive more verbal feedback. However, this was the only time I’d practiced with a teacher circling my mat (from a decent distance), checking my every bit for the right alignment.
Sort of like a friendly vulture.
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