Squawk Radio

This is what I looked like today during my first yoga class.

Not.

In search of inner peace, physical flexibility and a good excuse to lie on the floor in the middle of the day, I went to yoga and discovered I can no longer touch my toes. Which is not a problem when decent pedicurists are so affordable nowadays. But it was a tiny bit disconcerting to see women twice my age twisting themselves into pretzels while I was straining to do the basic positions.

I walked into class with my perfectly coordinated yoga outfit and matching yoga mat, with my head held high and my shoulders back. After an hour and fifteen minutes, I lurched out of there like Quasimoto.

We did the cow, the down dog, the cat, and many other variants that sent the other class members into deep states of relaxation while I struggled to suppress my screeches of pain and indignity. I am proud to report, however, that the instructor praised my rendition of the baby cobra. And I have no doubt that any chicken-related postures will be performed by moi with ease.

Should I continue my new venture? Will it improve my body, my outlook on life, or at least my inner thighs? Does anyone have any positive yoga stories to share?