With a welcome Friday off work, I got up late and took myself to yoga for the first time this year. Tardy, I know, but something about January doesn’t inspire exercise in me, unless it’s a windy walk with the promise of crumble and custard at the end. So, I suppose the warmer sunshine this morning was a good time to start classes again.
Nathalie’s class is held in a small garden room at the top of a wooded valley, overlooking the sea. It may sound twee, but it really is that picturesque; a slice of escape from the everyday, which leaves me so chilled I can barely cycle home. I can’t say I’m a committed yoga student (more like a yoga truant) but, I do love to stretch.
My grama, across the seas in Humboldt County, is far more of a yogi than myself and it’s fun to join her when I visit. We go to classes in the old fire hall of her small American town amidst the California Redwoods. It’s a thousand miles from the garden room of this tiny British Isle, but with the same familiar stretches. No matter how familiar, I rarely make the time to practise on my own. This start-of-spring weather seems the best time of year for making new resolutions, so perhaps I’ll make yoga mine.
