I just returned from the 8:30 A.M. yoga class at LA Fitness. Loved it! I can do this. It fits me now. I phoned my surgeon last week seeking permission to return to weight lifting. “Wait another month.” Wrong answer. I’m desperate for exercise in my life.
Minus a few trips to the gym during those weeks between chemo and radiation, walking has been my only form of exercise since I began treatment for my breast cancer on October 6th. I can’t believe how quickly my arms have turned to mush and my butt has fallen. Currently, I’m in that in between stage. I’m no longer sick; no longer in treatment. I am, however, far from full energy and “normal.” Whatever that is. I’m well enough to bitch about not not being well.
This I know: all yoga classes and teachers are not created equal. Today’s teacher was waif-like, amazingly bendable, and extremely kind and encouraging. I liked her immediately and she definitely knew her stuff. I can’t wait to go back in Friday!
I assure you my yoga class was nothing like that!
Tried yoga once. Downtown at N.I.F.S. Made the mistake of attending with my boy roommates. They almost got us kicked out. Ok, we all had a part in it. We couldn’t control our giggles at our inability to hold poses. Then, someone in the SMALL room was so relaxed that they let out some gas. This almost sent us into hysterics. I know…immature, but what are you going to do? It sounded funny and it smelled horrible.