I spent a large part of last year shedding pounds and getting back (relatively speaking) into shape after my birthing years.  I was doing so well and then I wasn't.  Halloween came.  Those little fun size bars attached themselves right to my ass.  Add a few more months, okay six months, of distractions (read watching Grey's Anatomy and consuming Swedish Berries) and I am up Fifteen Pounds.  Damn it.

Since my new years resolution of getting my ass back to yoga hadn't kicked in yet, I decided that Monday was the day.  The stars were aligned.  My favorite instructor was teaching an 8pm Class, which allowed me to take Ella to dance, get the kids ready for bed, kiss them goodnight, and leave them in the hands of their Daddy.

I donned my yoga gear, albeit a little tighter than the last time I put it on, filled up my water bottle, grabbed my mat, and headed out. As soon as I entered the studio, I knew I had made the right decision.  I was instantly calmed and looked forward to the next ninety minutes of heat and poses.

As I lay in savasana waiting for class to begin, I heard an inordinate amount of giggling.  I opened my eyes and looked up just as eight Twenty year old university girls enter the studio.  Eight lithe, long ponytailed, skimpy outfitted, young ladies.  

I must digress.  When I say I have gained Fifteen pounds, these are not the same fifteen pounds I had gained in my twenties.  Fifteen pounds on a woman who is forty that has birthed three children looks more like thirty pounds, what with the sagging boobs and expansive hips.

Apparently the stars were not aligned.  Yoga along side eight svelte twenty year old's is distracting, regardless of whether or not they are making a sound.  

I persevered through the class, my face turning the kind of purple where you think it is going to explode, and I finished the class.  The mantra that got me through?  Fuck you twenty year old's.  Fuck you.