h"om"e

If I were the type of person who makes New Year's resolutions, then I would surely have resolved to attend yoga classes more frequently.

Of course, I am not that type of person.

Yoga, I have come to believe, provides real benefits to both my mind and my body. However, the yoga classes at my gym fall at entirely inconvenient times -- either the crack of dawn, smack-dab at midday when I'm usually busy, or five o'clock on Friday evenings.

Portland is quite the yoga town, and there are numerous, well-regarded independent studios. Unfortunately for me, they all charge fees, which are not in my budget at this time.

Also, in most cases, I kind of hate yoga classes.

To be fair, it's not really the class that inspires raw hatred in me. Instead, it's being asked to bend and twist my body in the presence of random other peoplewho are also bending and twisting indiscriminately. There are certain positions that no one should witness someone else trying to achieve. Particularly when the witnessee is a man who frequents my gym and enjoys wearing unlined running shorts with nothing underneath, for some unfathomable reason, because the witness then needs to run from the room and wash her eyes out with lye.

So my current circumstances seem to indicate that either I do my yoga at home, or, well, I don't.

Up until the recent furniture rearranging, there was not enough space in the apartment for a good yoga practice. I could get by if I shoved the couch all the way back, moved the coffee table into the hall, and sort of smooshed my way around -- none of which proved conducive to a good, relaxing, meditative session.

I therefore concluded that me and yoga? Not so much meant to be.

Now, however, all that empty, yoga-mat-shaped space has been staring at me for several days. I could almost hear it taunting me: "Come on. You know there's room. Do I have to come after you with a yoga strap? Downward dog, on the double!"

On this rainy, windy afternoon, I gave in. I put down my two mats (hence creating a double-thick sticky mat). I put on my made-for-yoga clothes, purchased at the oustanding studio my mom attends in Hilton Head (if that studio were here, I'd go daily). I looked around to make sure the walls weren't watching. Finally, I loaded up the General Practice with Backbends on my Yoga for Every Body DVD.

And for the first time ever, I did Wheel Pose.

Three times.

Yoga? Better believe it.