The glow-down on Yoga

It is very vogue to be ‘into yoga’. The first question from peope is: ‘do you do Bikram Yoga?’ to which my answer is always  ‘no, sounds awful’. Any exercise where it is advised to stay in the room, to avoid throwing up or collapsing outside, doesn’t bode well.

But I do ‘do’ Yoga. Hatha Yoga apparently. And while it definitely hasn’t turned me into Gwynth Paltrow, I am grateful for the ‘gifts’ it has brought (if we are going all yogi).

Yoga

The big news is I can now touch my toes. And even more impressive, for an hour one evening a week I focus on something that isn’t electronic. My mind wanders. There is a bit at the end when we sit in eerie darkness, staring up a stained glass windows and our instructor tells us, in her slow, amazing voice that we must ‘let go of all emotions that no longer serve us’. What a fantastic phrase hey? I think she should make audio books or something. I once fell asleep in class and she had to wake me up. That was awkward.

There will be people who are expert on this ancient art, who can convey exactly how the body, working in harmony with itself,  benefits circulation, flexibility, muscular function and well being. But all I can say is I love it. Not because I know what I’m doing, not because I’m any good, not because my arms now look like Geri Halliwell’s when she released that DVD looking ‘worryingly toned’ (they don’t).

But because I leave feeling much lighter, rejuvenated, unburdened and  peaceful. I think everyone in the class does. Its nice to do something that doesn’t matter for a while – and somehow that becomes one of the most important rituals of the week.

My yoga instructor, the amazing Kasia Steyn’s 12 week yoga course has restarted now – but she will no doubt be offering courses again in April in Belle Vue Village. Check her out!

Namastay x

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Why you have to chill out, to chill out at the spa

There are some things that perhaps shouldn’t be examined too closely. Facial pores in a magnified mirror, the sugar content of basically anything…and the ultimate weirdness of spa days.

What do you think about about when you are supposed to be thinking about nothing? Good question. Once the dead skin on the surface of the jacuzzi catches in the light, I can only think one thing. ‘I am sharing bathwater with a tattooed stranger.’

Not so awkward jacuzzi

Not so awkward jacuzzi

The relaxation sabotage continues. When the haze in the steam room clears to reveal three adult men, its hard to silence the thought that you are all averting eyes, basically sweating in your pants. Awkward.

It gets weirder. Especially if you are having a treatment and are ushered to a relaxation room with a fake planetarium ceiling and an immersive ocean music. Admittedly the room is weirdly therapeutic…until you spot a couple pressing into each other as if water birthing. So Gross.

I have been spending an uncharacteristic amount of time at spas recently, because well, it was the end of the year……so the season for ‘chilling’ and ‘me time’ and dropping £65 for a stranger to massage every inch of my body fat, as a present to myself for surviving the year.

I knock it, but there’s a lot to be said for spas – as long as you chill out first.