I did it.
This morning I practiced (is that the right term?) my first session of Holy Yoga.
On the floor of our guest room in a pile of dust bunnies trying to follow along to a YouTube video.
But hey, I did it.
I’m still in the throes of reconciling myself to working out. After the damaging experience with a previous boyfriend (not my husband – he’s amazing) and how I used running and being in shape to try to earn his approval, I’ve never really been able to dive full on into working out without some sort of nagging guilt or motivation that’s just not quite right. Sorry for the run on sentence. It’s early.
Reading this blog and being intrigued by the sense of grounding and peace and pushing the limits that she expressed piqued my interest in Holy Yoga. I’ve always thought I’d like it. Too many long basketball practices in high school have turned me off from sweaty, intense, competition filled workouts. Yoga sounded nice.
Plus I’m done with how I feel, what I’m eating, my healthy (or non-healthy) choices as of late. Too much sugar. Eating too late in the day. Inactive. It’s time to change (again).
Alarm went off at 6:15. I rolled out of bed, stumbled around for a bit, then hit play.
Thirty minutes later, I feel good. I realize how weak I am. And not just physically. The spiritual connection part of the Holy Yoga didn’t really hit me (I was too focused on following instructions and doing the poses correctly) but I could sense that depth and rawness that I’ve read about.
I think I may have found something I love. Now to stay committed.