A ship in harbor is safe — but that is not what ships are built for.

                                                                                                                      — John A. Shedd

Last week I decided to step







and try something new. You can probably guess what it was judging by the title, and you’re probably thinking whoop-dee-doo yoga isn’t even hard – but as the saying goes: don’t judge a book by it’s cover.

If you follow me on any of my social medias (or if you just know me in general), you know that I love food. A lot. My stomach is a black hole and I have zero self-control when it comes to good food and late-night cravings.

*Cough* *Häagen-Dazs Coffee Ice Cream* 

My body weight (and self-confidence) literally fluctuates every single day. I’ll look like a bloated potato one day, and a fresh stick of celery the next; unless I’m not exercising at all — then I’m just full potato mode 24/7. But enough about my gluttony and my underlying bodily insecurities, because let’s be honest – we’re all our own worst critics, and nobody likes whiners.


So, yoga.


Like many people I know, my preconceived notion of yoga was that it was:

  • boring;
  • not challenging;
  • stretching that I could do at home; and
  • not really a workout.





I’d like to think that I’m a moderately athletic person; so it’s not because I’m a lazy glob of jello that I literally left every yoga class drenched in sweat or woke up the next morning feeling sore in areas I didn’t know existed. I try to hit the gym around 3 times a week when my schedule permits it; and when I go, I usually like to do a rotation of running/weight lifting/kick-boxing. I even considered becoming a Les Mills instructor at one point. So yeah, bro, I work out (sometimes).


Can I just go off on a tangent here and note my sad, sudden realization that those classes are probably the most human interaction I get in a day? I’m so anti-social IRL it hurts.


Within the seven day trial, I managed to squeeze in 11 classes.

My inner Asian is v proud of myself.

Also shout-outs to my cousin for introducing me and for going to the classes with me.

All of the classes I tried were heated, and being someone who overheats extremely easily, I almost forgot how to breathe. The yoga instructors would cue us when to inhale and exhale, and I remember finding myself wondering how the hell people could breathe so deeply (and slowly) in these awkward poses while I was trying to hold Warrior 2 in the corner, panting like a fat kid who just gave up chasing a piece of cake.

But at the end of every class, I felt so good.


I struggled.

                                                                                                    I sweat.

                                              I cried.

I smiled.

I worked hard.

I relaxed.


I found my inner peace.


I went in to my initial class hoping to get a good workout, but I came out with so much more than that. I’ll spare you the corny stuff because honestly, it’s different for everyone, and even what I experience changes with every session. But overall: I manage my absurdly high stress levels significantly better now, and I also feel so much better about myself — and I wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.

Brb, going to Lululemon to get my basic yoga starter pack.