Crunchy Granola

How I found my inner hippie

September 17, 2011

Secret confession time. Through much of high school I was a majorette. A baton twirling, parade marching, rhinestone wearing majorette. Don’t knock it until you you’ve tried it–it’s one hell of a work out!

Then I went away to college and managed to stave off the freshmen 15 for 4 years by walking up hill both ways to and from class. (Don’t believe me, check out the Morgantown terrain.) So it wasn’t until after college when I got my first desk job that I started to notice a…southern spread.  I inherited the Italian schnozzola, rear, and hips but not the boobs? Thanks mom, peachy.

Lots of excuses ensued. Gym memberships are expensive, I started a new job, then another, then I went back to school, wrote a thesis, on and on. More important than the increasing pant size, I just wasn’t feeling so great. Eventually, with the help of my current job and its larger paycheck, I joined a small boutique gym in Williamsville specializing in Pilates, Stretch Fitness. I never knew you could get such a kick ass work out laying down!!! (This is a family blog folks, let’s try to keep it clean) Several of the trainers at Stretch also do yoga and recommended I give it a shot.

I had been dying to try yoga but was always scared of being the “loser  yoga kid” who fell and looked like a moron. I did some research and found a studio in Buffalo that offers a 6-week yoga intro course. Six weeks with only loser yoga kids just like me!! It took one class and I was totally addicted.

If you know me at all (cracks me up that I write as if people read this) you know I’m not exactly the crunchy granola hippie type. In fact, driving my gigantic SUV to the studio does feel a bit anti-yogi at times. But there is something very simple and pure about yoga that I haven’t found anywhere else. I recently graduated from my 6-week intro course and went to my first “big kid” class. WOW, was I nervous. I swore everyone in was going to know I was new, that I may as well hang a sign around my neck. But walking into the studio I remembered the best thing about yoga–your practice is just that–yours! There truly is no judgement, no peering over at your mat neighbor and smirking at her half assed down dog. If you’re huffing and puffing and sweating through warrior one, it’s nice to know that everyone is working right along with you, no questions asked.

For someone who constantly strives, no, LIVES, for perfection, even entertaining the thought of suspending judgement has been a real challenge.  Accepting it? That’s going to be a life edit.

 

For those interested, I very much recommend East Meets West Yoga, located on Elmwood in Buffalo.

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