I took Holly M.’s yoga class on Sunday, and my thigh muscles are still distinctly sore. I continue to believe that this form of exercise is going to be good for me, but like many other things that are good for a person, it is neither easy nor comfortable. It’s hard to pin down, though; I feel solidly wrung out afterward, but without feeling like I’ve actually done much of anything: there are no weights, no treadmills, nothing to lift or push or strain against; there is just a lot of stretching and positioning, and yet somehow it’s a lot of work.

Ava’s response is totally different: she loves it, she loves the way it makes her feel, and she goes several times a week with no apparent consequences. I’m sure that most of that is just because she has accustomed herself to it, but she seems to genuinely get a lot of pleasure out of it; where for me it is more like preventative maintenance for my body. It feels good to know I am taking care of myself, but I don’t get the same direct enjoyment she does.