yoga loooooove

The yoga I'm used to doing is of the sinew-twisting, bucket-sweating, birth-cursing variety. It's 26 postures over the course of 90 minutes in 106 degree heat. Add humidity. The instructor might kneel on your back or "help" you contort your leg into a more uncomfortably impossible position and will often, yell, (yell mind you) "Change!" to signal a posture's end, usually accompanying the order with an authoritative clap.

And I love it.

Loved it.

Once upon a time I loved it.

And then life got in the way and I quit and I missed being all lithe (well. . . ) and strong and good-sleep/good-eat/good-attitude Jill. In the end, however, I haven't been miserable enough without it to brave the ten classes it would take to get past the place where death camps out in the back picking off the newcomers with his rancid breath. (Occasionally, I'll admit, the place does smell like feet. Another reason I'm less than inclined.)

Anyway, this weekend, I took a class called Yoga Love. (Yoga Looooove.) Candles. Soothing music. Incense. A little light stretching, some deep breathing and then toward the end Hila invited us to put on our warm clothes or perhaps cover ourselves with a blanket (WTF??) and "Oh, does anybody need an eye pillow?" (Eye pillow?!) and we took a nap! I got out of bed on a Sunday morning after a nine hour travel day to take a nap?

I'm still having a hard time reconciling that: napping as exercise.

I should be thrilled, I know, but I feel cheated. I'm already a black belt in napping.

So tonight: Bikram.

Pray for me.

* * *

Snowboarding update later this week. Just to ease your mind, however, I'll say this: I'm not dead and I love it like air.