It’s nine hours after attending an Ashtanga Yoga class. My body is finally recovering enough to finish writing about it. This was no ordinary yoga – at least not like any yoga class that I have ever taken. At the home of a small and very fit Japanese women 12 of us met. I’d survived the winding roads and was shaking off the touch of motion sickness as the crowd chatting in both English and Japanese.
The room then got quiet and class began. As palm trees swayed and birds sang outside, we began with cleansing breaths. Within a short period of time I was dripping in sweat. For 90 minutes I was challanged by the balancing, stretching, and strengthening routines. I couldn’t do all of the moves but was able to do most of them. By the end of class I was feeling a little lightheaded and my clothes were soaked with sweat.
Back to the car to add insult to injury. I got horribly nauseous on the way back up the hill. By the time we were back, I threw up a small amount of bile and hit the bed for a nap. My neck was growing sore by the minute.
Meanwhile, Mike was out spoiling his nephews. They went to the aquarium, went rock climbing and minature golfing. They also cooled off at the waterpark.