In contrast to last year, this year my yoga practice has become much more, shall we say, intimate. Last season we had the luxury of a large and extensive gym, where yoga was taught 3 times a week. Although the language barrier added an extra challenge to my practice, eventually I had memorized enough Dutch phrases to flow along with the class more smoothly (or perhaps just less awkwardly) than at the start.
Here in Crimmy my lack of professional yoga instruction has slowed but not hindered the pace of my practice. Thanks to some productive googling, I found this site and was able to download classes of various levels and lengths. If you are looking for a way to get some yoga on your iPod or computer to do at your convenience, I recommend Yoga Downloads highly.
There are pros and cons to practicing yoga in your own living room. Here are a few examples of each:
- Pro: I never have to worry about having someone in the class behind me getting obscene views of me bent over in various compromising positions.
- Con: Falcor suddenly becomes very curious about yoga every time I start my practice, and proceeds to investigate each pose by sniffing aggressively at my face.
- Pro: At home you are free to breathe loudly (think Darth Vader) and let our groans, sighs and the occasional “OUCH” that you would have suppressed in a group class.
- Con: The only place with a rug in our home suitable for yoga is the living room, which also happens to be the only room with a TV. This means sentences like “Your down-dog is in the way of the screen” or “Please move your flying eagle to the left a bit” become standard in our house.
The bottom line is that I’m still taking the time to work on my practice. It might be imperfect, it might be unscheduled, but my body still thanks me for the results. I’m not known to be the most, shall we say, laid-back of women, and yoga really does help me focus on making my mind as empty as possible for an hour a day. Even with this meditative exercise, I’m still prone to a weekly meltdown, usually including yelling at Dave for something related to bathroom cleanliness followed by crying in bed while explaining to Falcor that I’m not crazy. Imagine how severe my hormonal and genetic predisposition to insanity would be without this outlet! I shudder at the thought. And so I will press on in the Bob Vila tradition of do-it-yourself, consulting a professional only when I pinch a nerve or break our living room furniture.