Yoga

For me the YMCA was part of the lyrics of an old 80’s song. I actually never heard the original one until I came to the States, just a rendition by a Spanish group, “La década prodigiosa”, that was pretty big in the late 80’s. Now, it’s the place where I take my son to his swimming classes once a week, and where I have started torturing myself with a yoga class. I don’t think it’s a particularly good one, but it fits my schedule. Not that I have much to compare to. The only other yoga class I have ever taken was a prenatal one, and it was amazing. Imagine twelve seven months pregnant ladies doing poses. Funny. It actually was. And I met my German friend there. The pace of this one is much faster (we are not pregnant, I guess), and not relaxing at all. There are a few guys, and I ended up revealing my bra during inversions. That’s my fault, for trying to hide in XXL clothes. Lesson learned, I’ll wear at least a sporty bra next time. Lace is not appropriate. Neither are nursing bras. I have been sore for four days, but I’m not giving up, I’m going back next Thursday. I’ll wait a little bit more to start Pilates, until I get used to the soreness. In any case, I had a feeling of accomplishment when I finished. Job done. Or something like that.