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Today is what I consider an active recovery day, i.e., no weights, nothing hard, except yoga, which is hard in a completely different way mostly because I find it all very woo-woo. The rhythmic drum music with the monotonous chanting, the overpowering incense and patchouli, the other yoga competitors who are in a flexy contest with the other yoga participants. I forgot that the reason I started avoiding this class is that I don't really like the instructor - she appears bored and gives direction in rapid fire monotone as if it's some sort of weird speed yoga class. 

And of course, I can't keep up. I can't stand on one foot in tree pose or reach back and grab the tips of my toes while balanced on my hip bones. 

Yet, when I come out, I feel realigned, stretched, looser than I have after six weight workouts. I check to see if Friendly Freddy is still doing beginner yoga on Monday and remind myself that's where I need to be. I'll always be in beginner yoga. And that's okay. I think it's okay with Friendly Freddy, too.


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