My practice this morning was perfect. And by “perfect” I mean “horribly messy but I did it anyway.” After a weekend of napping through a summer cold – and, frankly, a loo-oong break from yoga after graduation – I got on the mat this morning.
David Farmar greeted me over the interweb (via yogadownload.com) and I dove into a Baptiste-style vinyasa class. Twenty sweaty, panting minutes later I was so grateful to have moved and breathed and done all I could do. Even though it was sloppy and sniffly and misaligned, it was perfect.