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Amelia Vaughan
15
June
the happy baby and the scorpion
The title doesn't refer to a children's book I'm writing but my new hobby – yoga.
In a desperate attempt to shift a few pounds before my holiday this Thursday, I allowed myself to be cajoled into going to yoga with one of my super healthy friends, despite my niggling doubts about whether rolling about on the floor realistically counts as exercise.
I don't claim to be healthy, or even to be familiar with working out generally, but since Easter I have been dusting off my battered old trainers a couple of times a week and staggering around 2 or 3 blocks in an effort to get fit the 'proper way'. It's not an attractive sight and I don't think it has been doing me much good because I've mostly been using it as an excuse to eat Monster Munch every day, laboring under the misapprehension that I'll eventually work it off.
So I allowed myself to be convinced to try something new and off I went, battered trainers on, expecting to spend an evening lying on the floor and breathing deeply.
The fact that I can barely move my arms and legs a full week later, speaks volumes for the muscly weightlifter that took our class. I thought she would be a hippy type with anklets and flowers in her hair, but instead we were greeted by what appeared to be Rocky's younger sister (I've never seen Rocky, but I'm guessing). She was awesome. Who knew that standing on one leg could be so good for you?! Or hurt so much?! Or that something called 'happy baby' could be so stressful?!
Needless to say, I think I used muscles I didn't know I had, and it beat stumbling around my block of flats hands down. And at the end of the class we were actually encouraged to lie down and relax as much as possible, from our toes to the tops of our heads. It was so relaxing that I nearly fell asleep. Now that is my kind of exercise.
