Ugh. Sunday mornings are proving to be my most yoga-resistant days. It could have something to do with the last glass of wine I had to have at midnight, but more likely, I’ve always given myself permission to take a day off from exertion of any sort and I cherish those slow, cozy mornings in my pajamas. But it is Sunday, and this day is proving to be no exception. I stayed up too late, I didn’t sleep soundly enough, and I didn’t have enough wake-up-before-yoga time, but I made it to class like the committed student that I am. I fought the first poses as they were faster and deeper than either my body or my mind were prepared for, but the skilled teacher somehow managed to pull me out of my self-induced funk and into the fun of the flow. By the time the warm-up sun salutations were complete, I had arrived in the room, and my body and mind began to work together. My resistance lingered, however, and I was still more aware of the time than I should have been, but little by little as the toxins twisted their way out of my organs and the sweat ran down my arms, I knew it was exactly where I needed to be. Life presents daily challenges no matter how good we feel, and if I couldn’t be grateful to be moving and shaking in a beautiful Sunday morning yoga class, then shame on me.