like a virgin

I do yoga at the gym, it's different. The setting is nice, a large, airy room, fake wooden floor, a wall covered in woodland paper, soft music. It's just............it's a gym.
Our teacher is lovely, soft spoken, limber and explains the positions well. She will start a pose at my level (-2) and then gradually add variations to suit the more agile. But there's no continuity, one week 12 eager yogis, next week 3 and somehow I doubt we'll hear Mr Patanjali's name in class because it is after all a gym, not a  retreat.
 As you know, I miss the old ways, perhaps Caroline was a once-off, but her classes weren't just about flexing the body, there was a whole lifestyle involved and a permanence brought about by seeing the same friendly faces each week.. Now I don't know if I'll be peering at a plumber's crack or a tramp-stamp, a full class or just me.
Perhaps I hanker too much after a gentler way. There's a wonderful studio in Gardens, unfortunately too far for me, perhaps one day I'll find something similar close by.
Until then it's yoga to the sounds of the Boot Camp Dance Class next door and the chemical smell of the swimming pool. The silver lining is our yoga teacher, I hope she stays around for a long time.
As an aside, when I joined the gym the young man who signed me up seemed so excited, I think I'm the oldest person he's had on his books. However, the chap who showed me around seemed determined to steer me away from physical activity into the swimming pool for water aerobics. Hmm, he just didn't understand when I tried to explain that I only swim in February.


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