Mister and I are still P90-X-ing (halfway through!), and one of the workouts in regular rotation is an hour and a half of yoga. The first 45 minutes bite, I won’t lie. After that, I’m usually just grateful to have survived. I could go into a critique of the danged workout (a jillion downward dogs, y’all), but instead I’d like to tell you of a memory triggered each and every time we’re doing this routine…
In my mind, I go back to the gym at Flo Valley in St. Louis. That’s where I first discovered yoga, taught by the lovely Hildegard Rochman. I can see the dimly lit, cavernous room, filled with wall-to-wall mats and several bendy bodies. Hilde’s sweet voice sashays through my mind and reminds me to protect my lower back during the asanas. I can smell her perfume and see her hand-knitted leg warmers. Her blue eyes scan each body, making sure we’re doing our proper best. And then I smile.
So far, I’ve experienced yoga mind each P90 session. It’s a lovely memory, and I’m grateful it’s filed away in my brain. I loved Hilde then, and I love her now.
And no matter how hard he tries, Tony Horton is no Hildegard Rochman. Word.