In 1997 when I took my first yoga class, the notion of touching my toes with straight legs seemed a distant fantasy. Ten years later I was upside down, inside out, arm balancing, and, a specialty, deeply backbending. It was great. I felt alive and strong in my body. My friend called yoga the fountain of youth, and I felt like walking evidence of this.

Fast forward to 2015 and my yoga feels a bit like the folly of youth. Deep in my low back, for several months now, lurks a stabbing reminder of my manifest impermanence: This body will not last forever. I stumble out of bed in the mornings like a retired linebacker.

Read full article at YogaJournal.com.