Found an additional love . . . Hot Yoga. Cranked at 96 degrees, it's served hot and slow as muscles relax into impossible stretches. The heat melts strain and worries that come to roost center-point shoulder at the end of my day. Southern Star Yoga Studio, positioned in mid-town is a mid-point of my week.
I stand (sometimes) balanced and always amazed. The yoga-ettes are so very attuned to their bodies, relaxed and centered. It is a tough stuff for my Type A personality. I am aggressive, sometimes brutally so, and never, never satisfied. These folks can hear the pulse point of their being, without a line or furrowed brow. Surrounded by the soft and gentle spoken, I don't dare open my salty opinion.
I did have one opinionated slip last week. At Yoga Happy Hour, the gentle-minded class attempted a head stand using the aid of a wall with the unique juxtaposition of hands functioning as feet. Of course before these feet walked up the wall, I emitted a disclaimer, that there was just too much junk in my trunk. Silence. Then a whisper, "You're a mess." Then a crunch. My hair clip splattered.
But I do love the Hot Yoga stretches, the far-out Indian music with the strange sounding bonks, and perhaps most of all the relaxation that follows the detox of sweat. And the calm spirited crowd. So different.
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