Last time I check my head housed my brain. Right?
Well maybe not. . .
You see, I discovered the Center for Well Being recently opened by our local hospital. And it seemed custom-made for me. They offer classes and treatments for medically-challenged people - like moi. And it's beautifully zen-like inside. . . spa music. . .water sounds. . . tai ch'i classes. . .Himalayan singing bowls. . . acupuncture and jin-shin-jyutsu. . .you name a type of complementary or alternative medicine - they offer it.
And I don't quite know where my head was, but when I saw they offered a class called restorative yoga, I decided to give it a try. It was the restorative word that got me, really. Couldn't be that much movement. Could it?
But once again it was my head that was the problem.
I told the instructor before starting the class that I was prone to motion sickness and couldn't do the upside-down-topsy-turvey-doggy-froggy kind of stuff. And she assured me that we would be lying on the floor the entire time. But what she didn't tell me was that I would be rolling that head from side to side while lying there.
Now I don't want to upset you with the beastly details of what ensued after all that rolling. Let it suffice to say that I now equate the word restorative with a distinct memory of hanging my head over the toilet in the serene and zen-like ladies room.
Yes, my friends, A Mom on Spin was the first individual in the history of womankind whose proclivity for vertigo caused her to lose her lunch in a restorative yoga class.
Proof positive that my brain was not housed in my head that day, but most-likely in the area that zen-like toilet was designed to seat instead!
