Last Friday I went overboard.

Faced a fear and lived to tell!

I consider my yoga mat a safe haven.

Like a Kindergartener who pulls out a mat during rest period, I am content to arrive at yoga, take my mat from the shelf, unroll it, and step to it.

My mat is longer than my body and less than a yard wide. And, best of all, it is purple, my favorite color since Kindergarten days.

The yoga practice takes place 100 percent on the mat. One yogi, one mat. Some classes can be so crowded that a person might be only inches from a neighbor, but each one’s mat honors a personal space.

The yoga mat is home to every student and to every asana.

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Heart Opener

Heart Opener

I would like to say I have an open heart.

It sounds nice and like something I should have.

Blessed with family and friends, I have people in my life for whom I open my heart.

Yet, the heart can go through some rough terrain over a period of time, and it can cause the guard gates to go up, requiring encouragement and often a leap of faith to get back in gear.

Wheel is one of my least favorite poses in yoga.

It is a back bend, something I have not done since I was a little girl.

More than 20 years ago, I sprained my lower back and have since been on guard against it getting hurt again.

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was pretty lucky to have enjoyed a fairly carefree childhood.

I have great memories, especially of summer evenings, when all my neighborhood friends would gather on the front lawn to play games, ride bikes and stay out until it got dark

In my elementary school years, I was actually pretty adventurous. I used to hop on the back of my friend’s bike, and he would drive wild all over the streets, careening down the most hilly ones at top speed. 

We would do the same on his skateboard, riding double and hanging on for dear life.

He tied a stick to a rope to a tree, and I hopped on and swung over the backyard’s creek from one bank to the other, until I had to jump before risking getting stuck still over the water.

I would ride my bike with no hands, fearless, and walk on the stilts my dad made.

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It was the first chilly Sunday morning of the fall, and I was anxious to get to yoga. 

The weekend class is one of my favorite classes.

It is the perfect hour, still morning but late enough to have time to laze around a bit.

It is crowded; the people are all friendly, and the class lasts longer than usual. There is something about the large group and the extra 15 minutes.

From the start, the energy is high, and it's catching.

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