This was Tuesday evening. Here it is Thursday afternoon, and I am JUST NOW able to ascend stairs without a fast reminder that yoga kicked my butt two days ago.
Had I known how hard yoga is, especially for the beginner, I most assuredly would not have gone.
I am telling you: that 45 minutes spent pushing and pulling my body around on a thin foam mat was grueling. I literally had sweat dropping onto the purple mat. There was a time thirty minutes in when I thought I might die, even.
I persevered, however, and figured that my body would hurt the next day. I was wrong. By 2 a.m., only six hours later, my wrists, which were throbbing, awoke me. My inner thighs felt tight and untethered at the same time. Weird feeling. By the time I got out of bed at 4:45, my arms were encased in concrete. Lifting my arm to brush my teeth hurt.
So I figure that I need to return to that mat next Tuesday, too, only this time I am going to go more at my own pace and not try to follow every move the instructor gives.
If I end up in Child's Pose for 75 percent of the routine, so be it.
What my instructor looks like:
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