Every part of me loves yoga. Well, every part except my knee. My right knee enjoys giving me warnings that if I keep up doing yoga I'll be needing replacement surgery much sooner than I orginally planned. If I've gotten nothing else from my mother, I've inherited her bad joints. But actually, in her defense, my bad knee may have more to do with a rough fall on the ice when I was 15 rather than bad genes. I generally just tell it to be quiet and that my back needs the exercise more right now.
There is one part of yoga I don't like. That is my stability ball. I have a terrible time staying on it, even when I'm just balancing on it motionless. I think it may do that to me on purpose. It likes to see me fall off of it. Meet my nemisis:
Notice how I posted the picture in black and white for added dramatic effect. Makes it look extra evil, doesn't it? The ball is actually a pinkish red color. The ball is slightly too large for me even though it's the smallest size available. I've had it for two years now and I keep gradually letting more air out of it but it still doesn't seem to be the right fit. Oddly enough, while Lukey was visiting in July, he found the ball and thought it was the best toy ever. I took it outside with him and we played with it in the yard and driveway (take that, you lifeless piece of rubber).
I need to shower now. Apparently I sweat a lot when I do yoga.