Pigeons, Crows, and Headstands

I'm a runner who hates stretching. With that in mind, I surprised both myself and close friends when I became obsessed with yoga.

I'll never change my mind that running is the best and most effective work-out, but I'm beginning to think that the breathing and balance techniques in yoga are coming in handy in my professional and personal life.

My best friend Audrey constantly raved about her hot yoga (Vinyasa) classes. She urged me to attend a class at Charm City, but I was never willing to give up an hour and a half to "sweat and stretch."

I gave in one summer evening with the promise of post-yoga dinner and drinks at Donna's. Needless to say, I fell in love, and have been going back several times a month since. (I'm not an addict, yet.) I'm still not flexible, and I still can't do a headstand. My mom and I joke that we like to just lay on our mats and relax to get out of the Baltimore cold.

Jokes aside, I agree with the City Paper and Baltimore Magazine's reviews that Charm City Yoga rocks. There's a location near the Towson circle, one in "mid-town," and my favorite, a studio in Fells Point.

Some teachers are better than others. My favorite teacher so far is Nancy McPartland. She was challenging, spiritual (but not overwhelmingly so), and most importantly, got me into my first headstand, even if it was against the wall. Therefore, I can no longer call this the post "Yoga for people who can't do headstands," since I'm convinced, after working with Nancy, that there's hope for anyone.

Though it took several months, I'm more aware of my breathing now, and I'm better at clearing my mind of negative thoughts. Some teachers can get a bit preachy about the worldwide effects of yoga, but I'd agree there's a certain amount of positivity generated from each yoga session that follows the yogini outside of the studio.

But before I get too hippie for my own good, I think I'll share today's yoga story. After literally patting myself on the back for my flexibility in the wall poses, I caught a glimpse of blood-colored scratch marks on the pristine, white studio wall right in front of me.

In my yoga euphoria, I glanced around for a bloody beast. It suddenly dawned on me: the color looked quite similar to.... my toe nail polish.

If I'm even thinking about compromising my seasonal nail polish sensibilities, you know I must like yoga, a lot.