Namaste

The lights were on when we walked in the aerobics studio last night. About seven other women sat perfectly centered with their legs crossed, and I couldn't help but feel their eyes glaring at me. 

My initial discomfort was likely brought on by my own paranoia. After all, I'd hoped to sneak into the back of the room unrecognized. Instead, the instructor called LJ and I to two front-and-center spots. Unsure of what was about to happen, we glanced at each other as if to say, "what have we gotten ourselves into."

To my relief, the lights were soon flipped off, relaxing, instrumental music was turned on, and I felt my entire body relax. The class began with some stretches and deep breathing, and quickly eased its way into contorted positions unfamiliar to me. 

I felt pride in the simple fact that I could do them all, until I glanced at the college student next to me. This girl was the Yoga Grand Master Champion and, of course considering my luck, she would be the person directly beside me. I'm only 27, but looking at her I could feel how I've aged since my college years.

Some of the positions are awkward to say the least, and I found myself unable to look in the direction of my best friend. I thought, "I don't want her to see me like, so I'll pay her the same respect." 

We both left the class, our legs slightly wobbly, but not before we were invited to join the spin class that was about to begin. Maybe next time. The way I look at it — one exercise class per night is a good start.