By Emily J. Minor

There comes a time in middle age when you have to pull up your big-girl yoga pants, and my time arrived on a Tuesday morning in late April.

Downward-facing dog? Me? Talk about serious potential for disaster.

Sometimes I cant get out of my beach chair.

So the first thing I did was look around, in total and utter judgment, which is really no way to get all zen for the newspapers monthly Mindful Living series.

But I had to know.

Which one of these broads was gonna have to pull me up off the floor, back into upward-standing kind-of breathing?

Turns out it was just little ol me.

When youre a regular soul, that is a sometimes well-adjusted 57-year-old woman who likes swimming, happy hour and binge watching the Showtime series Masters of Sex, sitting still and silent amid the super-cute yogis can be pretty intimidating.

Even beyond that me in my white Hanes T-shirt and them in their light and flowy Lululemon gear there were some practical matters at hand. Ive never been able to touch my toes. Ever. Sitting cross-legged was apparently some sort of youthful indiscretion. I have Type 1 diabetes and wear an insulin pump 24-7, so Im constantly checking my blood sugar.

See the article here:
Yoga for the ultimate beginner: Can Emily stand up after Downward Dog?