Well ladies (and gents? Do we have gents here? I shan't discriminate), hell has officially frozen over. I am about to embark on my yoga journey.
I'm currently squeezed into yoga pants, and a "yoga top" - uh, question, since when does yoga have it's own clothing line? I resemble a sausage - and I'm about to bend and stretch my fluff and stuff all over the place.
The reasoning? I was told (by a less than friendly, annorexic looking girl at my barn), that I'm the best "backyard rider" that she'd ever seen, and that I belong on the back of a hack horse.That my posture would be better if I wasn't so thick, and that it's hard to see what colour my saddle is from underneath my thighs.
... hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
So, immediately after that, I vowed to begin trying to get into shape - and working with Jag so that in the summer we can accompany the person to a hunter jumper show.
Wish me luck. If nobody hears from me after 12 hours, I'm probably stuck, folded up like a pretzel - send help.