Forty-five minutes of yoga is perfect. It's enough to get me feeling nice and stretchy and balanced and calm -- but without feeling like I just spent ten percent of my waking hours doing vinyasa sequences.
I also love doing yoga at home. I can shake and stumble without anyone watching or judging, which means I can focus on my form rather than worrying about how I'm stacking up next to more devoted, accomplished yogis.
Maybe it's just me, but the prospect of going to yoga classes intimidates me. (I've tried taking yoga classes before at Canyon Ranch, but that's not the same thing.) I have no clue about yoga etiquette. (Where do I set up? How far apart are our mats supposed to be? Can I borrow a yoga block? Is it a problem if I fart during Downward Dog?) I suppose I could get more comfortable with more informal classes through groups like Yoga To The People, but honestly, I much prefer practicing my own brand of wobbly yoga in my garage, where the only people who point and laugh are my wife and kids.
