Mountains off to one side, marina on the other. Ooooooommmmmmm!
It’s serene enough up here without a yoga practice, but if you’re looking to up the ante and reach higher into your Mount Tallac hike or sink deeper into your Fallen Leaf Lake swim, this is the place to end the day with a restorative yoga practice.
I like that they call it “practice” so that even the ultra pro darling who can put her chin on the mat and her legs to the walls (in what’s called the Sho-sha-ha-wah-nah-mama) is still practicing … just like I am. That’s about where the similarities end. But it’s not a competition and with each breath, I lost myself in the shadows of the peaks and the glistening waters of Tahoe. I lost myself in my breath and feeling a muscle that I didn’t even know existed “talk to me.” It was talking alright, we were having a regular dialogue. But it went from an argument to a discussion to a soft cooing of a lullaby and I was one with my mat.
I know nothing, no, three weeks ago I knew nothing, now I know next to nothing, about yoga, but the instructors were warm and inviting and didn’t tell me I was doing it all wrong. Occasionally, she might pull my leg into the correct position where I felt it then whispering to me that we were then good and she shimmied away to attend to another soft noodle of a neighbor to set her right.
Saturday night and it’s restorative yoga in Lake Tahoe. Either my life is ending or just beginning. Maybe it’s both. Namaste.