Oh to the mmm

Just this week, I had a realization bite me in the hiny.

"Yo-, " it said. "Yoga."

Yoga.

When I lived in Pueblo, I would practice regularly at the studio across the river no less than twice a week. I did that for about three years. Upon moving to Denver (almost three years ago), my practice suffered. I tried following a couple of workout tapes at home, but there always was something else pulling me away.

Then as I watched my hubby leave for the golf course yet again, I longed for something in my life to love as much as he loves golf (and I'm not talking about people here but a hobby, a pasttime, a passion). It echoed again. Yoga.

I promptly logged onto the Yoga Journal's Web site for their 11th annual yoga conference in Estes Park. I have been twice and loved it twice. When I was a dancer, I loved attending dance conventions (in Hollywood, Calif.; Phoenix; Las Vegas; Dallas), sweating and working to the beat eight hours a day. My body craved even more. It was the same for me in Estes Park.

Sun salutations to start the day at 8 (c'mon people. . .that's early for me!), a little exploration into backbends or inversions, lunch, and another class to close the day, perhaps on restorative poses. Or arm balances. I could never stop talking about my classroom experiences to my cabinmates. What an exceptional way to further my practice.

And that doesn't even include the teaching muscle. John Friend. Rodney Yee. Patricia Walden. Richard Freeman. Aadil Palkhivala. Ana Forrest. Judith Hanson Lassater. Shiva Rea. Such wisdom tucked away in the picturesque hideaway in the Rocky Mountains. Simply breathtaking.

So now, I have a goal to shoot for. Build up my practice at home and a studio, and at the end of September, I will treat myself, my body to a wonderful weekend of yoga fun!