I was not naturally predisposed to yoga. I am a martini-swilling, beef-eating Republican and proud of it. Whenever I heard the word yoga, I thought about esoteric om-humming sessions dominated by “sensitive” Bay Area Democrats with crystal pet collections in homes all decorated naturally in earth colors. Yet, as is so often true in life, events have a way of moving beyond our control.

First, out of the blue (is that an earth color?), a new studio, Space, opened up. One of the yoga studio's managers contacted the American Chamber of Commerce, where I am the director of membership and events, about joining up. Then, two of my colleagues Anita Chen and Stephanie Poon started attending regularly. They discussed it in the office; they talked about it when we were out on the town; they frequently enacted some of the poses. I felt left out. Still, I waved away yoga with a dismissive hand—albeit a perfectly formed gesture.

As my 40 th birthday—Aug. 26—neared, I could not help but take stock of my life. Getting older and, worse, getting out of shape. Stephanie and Anita urged me to come and check it out. For several weeks, I parried with increasingly weak excuses, then I surrendered to the inevitable. I was totally self-conscious during my first visit, secretly anguishing over how ridiculous I would look doing such and such a pose.

Well, I did not have time for any reflection on potential humiliation, at least not mentally; the physical exertions of doing complicated contortions took my mind off the subject completely as the sweat dripped down my body in great profusion. Luckily, I had a very sympathetic and patient teacher, Bree, who smiled encouragingly, lifting an arm a bit higher, pushing a leg in a bit farther. Best of all, no one in the class seemed to be paying attention to my weak efforts; they were too busy concentrating on achieving the right posture themselves—admittedly, much better than I.

Later, after Bree had moved to Canada, I started attending Bruce's class, which I found both amusing and highly rewarding, even though we had to do the much dreaded “om”s and incantations. Truthfully, I have to admit that they were not so bad; they effectively set the mood for the yoga session to come. We were also treated to Bruce's “pearls of wisdom,” which were a nice blend of humor and lessons to be learned.

Soon, I found my body becoming more flexible, my efforts more fluid. Despite the fact that I was still clearly the “weak link” in every class I attended, my progress was perceptible to me and I felt a sense of accomplishment. I also noticed some tightening in the flab and a bit less tension in my work day—I am a very impatient, tightly-wound person. I even wowed some of my friends at Carnegie's late at night with headstands, though I am not sure whether the laughter or applause was louder.