At last.
On Tuesday, I finally
was able to get down on the floor (and back up again). It wasn’t pretty, but I
did it. Which meant that Friday I had my first yoga lesson in four weeks.
That’s the
longest break I’ve had from yoga since I started taking lessons in the first
July of the pandemic.
Man, I’ve missed
it.
(With my first
knee replacement, I was up to yoga in two weeks after surgery. I’m somewhat disappointed
and frustrated that it’s been twice that, but here we are.)
Normally, we
hold the lessons via Zoom, but to ease my way back into it, my instructor came
to my house, which was an extra treat.
Here’s the
SITREP:
Table position,
with a metric ton of padding.
Very slow and
kinda clumsy sun salutes; downward dog, yay; lunges, boo.
Forward folds
(such gooooood stretches!).
Not-quite-melted-heart.
None of that
crossed-legged or figure four nonsense—maybe in two or three weeks.
Tree pose—couldn’t
get the left leg above the right ankle, but my instructor says that the height
of the foot doesn’t matter; the balance does. So I’m back to tree-pose-of-some-description
every morning.
Bridge at the
wall.
And my favorite
(well, one of them): plough.
I am so, so grateful
to have such a good instructor, and to be able to do some of the poses. Also—looking
forward to getting better, stronger and more flexible.
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