Well, this weekend I put my tenacity to work and embarked on a journey to find a yoga studio. I’m mentioned my love for Zumba before, and, really, I find it hard to believe there can be anything better than leaving the dance studio profusely glistening* and temporarily deaf from the potentially dangerous — but undeniably motivating — volume of the music. (*I think it was Topanga from “Boy Meets World” who said girls don’t sweat; they glisten. I like to pretend that’s true.)
Despite my love for this loud Latin workout, I’ve decided I could use a little centering and stretching in my life as well, so I decided to give yoga a try.
I spent a good portion of my three-day weekend researching local yoga studios. I found schedules for four studios and set out to investigate.
Although, I discovered yogis don’t limit themselves to muted jewel tones and stoic deep breathing because this is the side of one of the buildings I visited.
At a yet another studio, though, I met an instructor who wasn’t so light-hearted. When I entered, I bounded right up to the front desk (making sure to remove my shoes first, of course). In a bubbly, energetic voice, I asked about introductory classes, explaining I’m a yoga novice. The woman behind the desk seemed almost offended by my enthusiasm and my bright blue nail polish. (Something tells me she’s not going to love the hot pink yoga mat I just bought, either. In my defense, it was the only color Target had.)
Each place I visited seemed a bit foreign. I have feeling, though, that I may come to love yoga just as much as I love Zumba precisely because they are so different. So, namste, my friends. I’ll let you know how my first class goes.