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.
Food debate of the week: Eat snakes?
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1 comment:
Hot Yoga. I think I like it. I just might have to investigate upon my return to the blessed (pronounced duosyllabically) South.
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