Don’t ever “Namaste” me. Just don’t.
I love yoga, but I won’t go to a 90 minute class. If I can find a 60 minute one, you have my attention, but otherwise forget it. I don’t want incense, Indian philosophy or sanctimonious white people projecting on a perfectly legitimate form of exercise.
What I want is for my body to last a lifetime.
When you have kids, things (everything) take a back seat. Stretching is one thing. Sleep is another. In order to be the best parents, we need to stay in shape and get the most out of our shuteye. Lower back issues start to show up after decades of chair-sitting and driving, and yoga can help to fix that.
Stretching (what I call yoga) is great, and stimulating blood-flow, hormone function and drawing all the elements of my ageing monkey suit together so that I can operate better is what I’m after. Yoga can do this for me.
Then I can be attentive to my two kids, which is the “divine union” part of yoga that I don’t want to be force fed by white girls with lattes in the studio.