Circa 1994. I begin checking out the gyms looking to get my workout on. Folks in full makeup and hip work out gear surrounded me and some sent glances laced with contempt, some glances accompanied by outright commentary on the audacity I had to be there because I didn’t need to lose weight. My response of “I just want to exercise” didn’t resonate with the majority, who believed that only those looking to loose weight could rightly walk into these establishments. I sheepishly took my complimentary classes and went home.
Some weeks later, I stumbled on a community aerobics class with my co-workers. I marveled at the grace, stamina and flexibility of the instructor and had a lot of fun. After a few months, I’d mastered all the moves, boredom set in, and my father became ill. I moved back home with him and away from the community class.
At the time, I worked on the 12th floor and it’s amazing how interesting the stairwell can become. I began to explore the neighborhood some at lunch time on foot, even if it was to and from the snack shop. Walking was peaceful, and could be either restorative or invigorating. No wonder Dad walked everyday.
Fast forward to circa 2003. I purchased a Pilates DVD. The workouts were intense and I began to notice subtle changes in my core and leg strength. However, my living room lacked the camaraderie of a group exercise and the video got boring. Enter the Washingtonian Magazine; which featured an article on Yoga and Pilates studios in Washington, D.C. While reading a list of area studios, a heated yoga studio in D.C. that was conveniently located along my commuting route leapt from the page. Given how I feel about heat and humidity, I took a class and was hooked and my passion for the practice flowed. I found my mojo.
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