Old flames are meant to stay that way: Old. And in the past. Revisit them and you're likely to be reminded of what caused them to become old in the first place.

Such was the case when I went back to yoga. At first, everything was perfect. I loved the poses. I loved the transitions. And I loved the focus on the breath, which helped me shut out the exterior world for the entire time. Wonderful.

But my body loved none of it.

I awoke the next morning remembering what ended my love affair with yoga years ago. Back pain. Deep, penetrating, pulsating lower back pain that sent nerves screaming down my leg and up my side. It took three days to go away.

Thus I found myself at a loss. Boot-camp was overkill. Yoga was out too. I spent the next week recovering. And trying to figure out what to do next. 

And then my super-fit friend, who teaches exercise classes and dances like no one I've seen before, invited me to attend a private cardio dance class she was holding for her daughter--who wanted her to lead a class for her and her friends to celebrate her 23rd birthday. It was too cute of an idea to pass up. And after knowing her daughter for so many years, I was happy to celebrate. And burn a few calories in the meantime.

So off I went, on a rainy Saturday morning.

Within minutes, my jacket flew off. My heart beat fiercely, and my muscles warmed up. I started sweating.

But not because I was doing repetitive sets of grueling exercises. And not because I was twisting myself into strange positions.

But because she had me dancing like John Travolta in Grease Lighting. And moving like sexy ladies, Gangnam style. And grooving to Adele and rocking to a Zumba tune.

And all the while, she was right there. Dancing and moving. Leading with a smile and a routine simple enough to follow yet challenging enough to keep me engaged.

Great exercise. Great music. No pain, No tear. No wear.

Just plain fun. Good for the body. Good for the soul...

And great for burning off that banana split from the night before.