I’m the Worst Yogini in the Room

And also the best: Rediscovering my home Ashtanga practice

Imagine pretty much the exact opposite of this fellow: that would be me. (Photo by Form on Unsplash.)

I’ve never been very flexible, or very athletic. In elementary school, I was usually the last kid picked for any team sport (unless the “sport” was a spelling bee). I was a scrawny child, slow of reflex, weak of arm; a girl who would much rather be sitting under a tree, reading a book.

I’m still a bookworm, but I did discover the joys of exercise once I grew a little older. I jogged for years; I lifted weights; I love to swim.

But, being so not-flexible, yoga scared me. What if I was terrible at it? What if I looked stupid? What if I injured myself? Would they even let me try — whoever “they” are, the mysterious gatekeepers of yoga?

Well, long story short, I finally did try it when I was about thirty. And it was AMAZING. After my very first class, I felt…magical, almost. Like channels had opened up inside me, that I had never known were there. I called my brother (who had been practicing for a few years) and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did,” he said. I could hear him smiling even over the phone.

That very first class was hard, too: I was the least flexible person in the room, and totally weak, and I knew I looked like a fool. But it FELT so good! I was…