Oh brilliant – yoga! I thought. A form of exercise which involves a sit down, a nice stretch, and a bit of a snooze at the end. That sounds right up my street, much more appealing than *shudder* running. Despite my Beta Mummy status, I too now could be a lean, lithe, green smoothie-drinkie healthy type, just like Alpha Mummy!
Sadly, and perhaps inevitably, it turns out that I’m not really cut out for yoga.
It goes without saying that Alpha Mummy is very much cut out for yoga. Pre-children, her and her husband took year-long sabbaticals during which they lived in a Tibetan mountain retreat and practised yoga daily. Probably tantric sex too. Anyhow, she’s a full-on expert, totally bendy and even in lycra you’d never guess that she’d had two babies.
I hate all exercise these days – or should I say it hates me – and I look rather like an over-filled sausage casing when I attempt to squeeze into my old gym gear. I was advised that yoga would be good for my poor, collapsed, knackered old core, as well as help me
with my rage relax and enjoy some “me time”. It wasn’t good at all. AT ALL.