• Tara B. Vasi

Twisted Yogi and Fitness

For the followers who have just joined me or the followers that may not know! I have a FB group named TWISTED YOGI and FITNESS! If you are not already a part of the group, please join for inspiration, yoga tips, dog photos, and FULL-length live yoga classes!

Here's a little background:

I started Twisted Yogi and Fitness in February 2017, so just over three years ago. I was living in San Diego, California at the time, in a small house with two guys I met on craigslist. Unfortunately, the start of Twisted Yogi has a sad beginning (that has nothing to do with the guys on craigslist, btw, they were great.)

I graduated from college in Burlington, Vermont in 2007. My grandparents gave me $500 as a graduation gift and with that money, I went to a farm in Vermont and chose the sweetest Black Lab puppy of the bunch and named him Cooper. He was immediately my best friend.

At the beginning of 2017, my now ten-year-old best friend, Cooper, was extremely sick with cancer. I was devastated. I felt guilty horribly for his pain. I drank a lot to numb my emotions. He was unable to go on walks, so we would lay together in bed and take naps a lot. I created this page to distract myself while he slept next to me on our bed, curled up, making sure as much of his body was touching mine as possible… Laying next to him, stroking his floppy ears, I created the idea for Sunset, Stretches, and Suds, my first donation class endeavor.

He passed in April 2017. His death, though tragic, was the catalyst for so many positive changes to take place in my life.

This FB memory popped up today, April 21st and I wanted to share this story with you, even though it is a little bit sad.

We are in the midst of tragedy, but maybe it is the catalyst for so many positive changes to take place in the world.

It’s ok to not be ok. Please don't give up. I am here for you.


It's OK to not be OK. It's OK to cry during Savasana. It's OK to mourn. It's Ok grieve. It's OK to cry during Savasana.

I arrived to the studio just a minute after class was scheduled to begin. People had already formed a seated half circle around the teacher and her collection of flowers, statues, and malas, a tribute to the yoga deities we would be honoring this week in class. Excluding the entire front row, the only spot left available was by the bathroom. I usually don't mind the front row, but today I wanted to disappear into the crowd.

As I lay my mat over the earth in preparation for class, the sun from the sunlight hit my face immediately. Some days I might find the blinding light to be an annoyance or a distraction, but today I welcomed the warmth, as I know my heart needed it. It felt like heaven-like reassurance. The teacher talked about letting go of the seriousness of life, even during serious situations, and to respond with a form of playfulness and childlike wonder.

I thought about you instantly, my sweet boy, and your love for the outdoors. When I’d let you go free from the leash, you'd run towards the woods with an overflowing sense of curiosity, thirsty for what adventures you may find in the unknown. Zero doubt or fear what may potentially be looming in the trees.

The skylight invited in your presence, helpless all-consuming love, helpless all-consuming loss, and helpless all-consuming defeat. At the end of the class, the teacher cued stillness and release as we moved into savasana. Release. Release. As much as I tried to mentally trace my breath in and out through my nose, I could no longer fight the flashback blasting its way to the forefront of my mind.

As if I were the observer as well as one of the main characters, I can see your lifeless body in my embrace that fateful day, as we lie together for the last time on the red blanket in the veterinarian's office.

The tears begin to escape the captivity of my sealed eyelids. Why do I feel like I need "hold it together" when all I really need is to let it all go?

I hear the doctor's voice echoing in my mind, “He has passed now.” He has passed now. He has passed now. He is gone. He is not here anymore.

But, wait, you fucking mother fucking fuck. I am not OK with this. I am not ready for life without him. He cant not be here anymore. He can't be gone. I'm not as curious without him. I'm not as fearless.

I could hear the teardrops roll off my cheek and hit the rubber yoga mat. Drop. Drop. Like, large drops of rain on a tin roof.

Fuck. I am crying during yoga class again. Fuckin mother fucking fuck. It was at that time, with the light still hitting my face and now expanding towards my heart, that he took over the moment, as if on my behalf. Like, he was telling me not to be sad for him.

“But, we are together, Mom. I am not gone. I am the light. I am the sun and the moon and the trees. I am the daisies you smell at the farmers market. And I am the ocean waves that cover your feet at the beach. I will always be with you. Because I am a good boy. And, know I will always listen, Mom, and I will wait. I will wait for you for however long it takes for us to be together again. Because I am a good boy.” `


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