My yoga journey has been a long one with lots of pit stops along the way.

In my early twenties, I ‘tried’ a yoga class. Mainly because I wanted that lean yoga bod. I wasn’t yet ailing from achy bones and joints yet and a hangover was pretty much non-existent in those early years, so early Saturday morning classes were no biggie.

But, I didn’t like it. Blasphomy, I know. I always left there feeling queasy and with a dull headache (it couldn’t possibly have been from the 8 beers and bottle of wine I had 7 hours before). So I ditched it. Plus, I wasn’t ‘good’ at it so no more yoga for me.

Fast forward to my thirties after my love/hate relationship with running started. I trained for and completed a 10k, half-marathon and marathon in under a year before my thirtieth birthday and then 10 months later had my first baby. If there was ever a body that needed the healing nature of yoga, it was this one.

I ‘tried’ yoga again. We lived in a small town in northern Wisconsin at the time and while I wanted nothing more to embrace the hippie dippy vibe of this class, I just couldn’t do it…again. The instructor bugged me and I left with another headache after we did 15 minutes of “eye yoga” which consisted of rolling our eyes. I’m already so good at that.

After a move back to our hometown, I returned to my traditional fitness classes; cycling, BodyPump, running, lifting heavy things, etc., even going through instructor training to teach said classes. Then my second baby came. I taught and attended BodyPump classes all the way up until my 38th week, because I thought that made me a badass. It didn’t.

For the next eighteen months I suffered through sciatica, piriformis syndrome, (which was bad enough to warrant sleeping on a tennis ball most nights), groin pain and all around mother-of-two under three fatigue.

In the meantime, I had taken a new job at the gym I was working at in our Wellness Studios as the “front desk girl”. It was such a different vibe from the hustle and bustle of the main gym where the weight room, fitness classes and pools were located. My little reception desk was directly across from a massage and aromatherapy spa so the smell in that place was amazing. The place has 5 studios for yoga, hot yoga, pilates, barre and tai chi.

Much. Different. Vibe.

In my never-ending quest to lose weight (all of it, but the baby weight first), my director said, “try some hot yoga. That weight will just slip right off.” Wait, what? I had never heard of yoga as a method for weight loss. In the volumes of articles and books and posts I consumed since I packed on the pounds, yoga had never been mentioned as the solution to my weight problem.

(Um, I know why now.)

But, the mere mention of this from someone who clearly knew what she was talking about; she was in her late forties and could pass for a 20-something, who was I to argue?

So, I bought myself an expensive mat, a new big-girl yoga outfit, a shiny waterbottle and dragged my fat ass to my first hot yoga class.

While I think I might have gone in and out of conscienceness more than once during that sixty minutes, the last 5 were enough to get me to come back. Again and again and again.

After about 6 months, and still the same weight I was when I started, that director offered me a free ticket in to Level 1: YogaFit Foundations training. A yoga instructor? Me? No way.

I mean I love to teach, but I felt like an imposter; I don’t have a “yogi” bod, I don’t meditate in my shrine every day and I love to eat meat. Plus, I had only been “practicing” (if that’s what you could call it; more like trying not to die for 55 minutes followed by 5 minutes of bliss) for less than a year.

But it was free and someone I respected offered this opportunity to me so not wanting to be ungrateful, I went for it.

I finished Level 1 with no major incident, continued through Anatomy and Alignment within a few months.

And then I stopped.

For the next 5+ years I practiced/didn’t practice; determined to make a habit out of it only to let insecurities and imposter syndrome get the best of me.

Plus, drinking a box of shitty wine every few days wasn’t doing me any favors. Yes a box. And yes, every few days.

In January 2019, I made a decision to take that crappy habit out of my life for 90 days. It opened ALL THE DOORS. I committed to my practice every single day for those 90 days. I’d never felt better in my life.

There’s an entire story behind this 90 days, but to make a long story short, 90 days was not enough. I recommitted to my practice and finished Level 2 in October 2019, Level 3 in July 2020 and will attend Level 4 in August.

While teaching fills my desire to share my knowledge of yoga with the rest of the world, the education deepens the commitment to my own practice and self-discovery.

Much better than an empty glass of pinot grigio.