(Yogini Cowgirl, this one's for you!)
Now that my trainer is on maternity leave (her beautiful baby girl arrived two days ago!), I needed someone to be accountable to (sorry, Grams, for ending that sentence with a preposition, although I didn't REALLY, because I'm ending it with this long parenthetical).
So, in lieu of finding another trainer for the interim, I decided to take private lessons with a yoga instructor.
I find yoga classes seriously intimidating. I always love them when I can force myself to go, but I can't work up the gumption all that often. My hope is that as I learn more and feel more comfortable with the poses, I'll be more inclined to add classes to my practice.
I said "practice!"
Which is what I'm hoping to build. Not just a couple hours a week following my teacher's instructions, but a genuine practice that includes awareness and intention and movement and connection and whatever else practices include.
So far, it's going well. My teacher is fantastic, I'm learning a lot, and I feel kind of amazing. After my class this morning, I literally felt high. Verging on giddy. Floating.
Only lasted about an hour.
But that's about an hour more of high giddy floating than I feel on every other day.
So I'll take it.