Pet Boarding California

From sissified gym-class dropout to yoga monster.

“Downward Facing Dog,” calls out Kay Wescott, my beloved yoga teacher. Like a dog doing its lazy wake-up stretch, she stands on all fours and stretches her front out long, her body a sinuous upside-down V.

I do my best to follow suit, spreading my fingers wide and pressing my butt into the air (now you be respectful, this is an ancient spiritual tradition). My spine is elongated and I press my heels down toward the floor to stretch out my hamstrings. I am breathing harder now and the sweat begins to drip from my face and pool between my hands. Breathe, I think. As part of my mind calms with the meditative focus on the exertions of my body, another, not-so-quiet voice at the back of my mind whines “How long can this go on?”

“Crescent Moon,” calls Kay. My mind is momentarily relieved to let go of that Down Dog pose. I bring my right foot between my hands into a “runner’s lunge,” relax my left leg to the floor, pressing my hips forward, then calmly bring my hands to my heart in prayer position and breathe. All composed and perfect? As I'm ready, I clasp my hands together and reach them toward the ceiling, pressing my chest forward to gently arch my back into the beautiful curve of a crescent moon. I notice in the mirror that my beautiful moon is tilting just a little. “Okay yoga-monsters, back into Down Dog,” cheers Kay. And so it goes through the hour: stretching, pressing, breathing, thrusting, holding, focusing. Calm mind. Whining mind. Vain mind. Humble mind.

We’ve seen yoga. Sun .