My 45-year old body recently reminded me I’m no longer in my 20s. It happened after a marathon Christmas present wrapping session, when I sat on the floor cross-legged. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. But, when I went to stand up a few hours later, I could suddenly relate to the stiff, rubber green Gumby from the 1950s. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, my negligence around stretching had reached new lows in the flexible and nimble category.

This wasn’t the first signal the Universe sent me about changes I needed to make if I wanted to continue running. Despite my resistance, I knew it was time to settle into a more robust, cross-training series of work-outs in my rotation. And, in typical Sisu fashion, I double downed and decided to reignite my love-hate relationship with yoga.

If you carry extra weight around your midsection or are well-endowed, it will be easy to understand some of my angst around yoga. For years, I attended a number of classes that left me feeling anything but centered. On a good day, I was inspired to morph my body into a nymph so I could contort my legs over my head, only to come up short. On a bad day, I felt like a water buffalo attempting to hang with flamingos. In both scenarios, I’m an outsider looking in. IYKYK.

The problem was never the yoga teacher or the class, but rather me. I have friends who are incredible yoga teachers. When I am in one of their classes, I have felt moments of transcendence. Those happen when my gut gets out of the way, both metaphorically and literally.

The definition of insanity is “trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results,” someone once wiser than me said. So, rather than get back on the mat in an awkward triangle pose in the middle of a studio, I tried something different recently. I acknowledged I could use some improvement at yoga and my size in the yoga equation is relevant. I decided I’d start at the beginning.

Thanks to YouTube, I searched beginner yoga for plus-size women. Turns out that’s a thing AND there were a ton of free options to try out, such as Nourished Natasha. I’ve slowly been making my way through some of these classes from the safety of my home, learning the fundamentals from someone who can relate to my limitations both in skill and size. I’m building my plank hold-time by seconds, not minutes. My flexibility is improving my millimeters, not inches. But progress is progress.

Don’t worry—I’m not about to get all Pollyana on you and say yoga is changing my life after a few classes. I will say, though, that this was a great reminder about my desire to compare my beginning to someone else’s middle or end

I’m guessing you know what I’m talking about. The moment where you watch the finish of the Boston Marathon and then loudly proclaim, I’m going to qualify for that next year even though you haven’t run in months or even decades. It was the same desire I had over a decade ago when I proclaimed I was going to run a half-marathon, even though I didn’t own running shoes. While motivating, it is what comes next that matters most. And in this case, the best advice I can give is never be disappointed about where you are at this moment. Acknowledge it and just start at the beginning.

I feel it now, again, to embrace where I’m at in my yoga journey in hopes that I can someday tolerate it and maybe even enjoy it as I take care of the body I’ve been gifted.

With both running and yoga, I’ll never regret giving it a go. And I’ll always find encouragement knowing that as daunting as beginning is, it is always better than sitting on the sidelines—or off the mat—frustrated.

What will you start in 2024?