"You're going to a yogurt class?" my four-year-old daughter asked me as our babysitter arrived.

She had the "class" part right, but the subject was more popular culture than bacterial culture. This craze is no passing fad though. Its popularity has lasted a wee bit longer than that of mood rings, given it's been around for close to 5,000 years.

I told my daughter that I was going to my first yoga class. My goal, many sessions down the path to enlightenment, was to be able to sit cross-legged without needing a one-arm prop and help of a hoist to rise from the floor.

I had one fear: that my wife would have to roll me -- twisted up like a giant pretzel -- to the car after I had put my stiff, multi-mile-laden body into a pose I could not escape.

Nonetheless, I had read of the benefits that yoga could furnish runners and was intrigued enough to give it a go. My years of running had left me with the flexibility of frozen concrete; maybe yoga could help me actually touch my heel to my derriere. Hey, we've all got our definition of achievement!

When I first called the yoga studio, I asked if they had a pre-beginner class for those whose last 15-second pose was for their fifth-grade school picture. A pleasant woman said I'd be fine if I remembered to "honor my body" and not try anything too discomforting.

I had to stifle a laugh as she'd obviously not had many conversations with obsessed runners whose philosophy hovers nearer "abuse my body." I've been known to run nine months through plantar fasciitis (not an astute idea) and refuel after races on Flamin' Hot Cheetos. A poster child for common sense, I am not.

My first crisis on arriving at the studio was learning the class was 85 minutes long! Since I have the attention span of a sleep-deprived gnat, I figured after 15 minutes I'd be counting ceiling tiles and focusing on issues like did the Troggs have another hit record after "Wild Thing." Instead, I set a concentration PR by paying attention for the entire class.

I was initially intimidated by wall pictures showing persons who looked like descendants of rubber bands. One woman had her feet wrapped behind her head; inscribed beneath her was the English equivalent to the word yoga, i.e. "to yoke." I had thought that meant separating egg whites, but soon learned it means "join together" and yoga's goal is to help you achieve union, or find peace. My goal was simply to survive class in one piece amidst the various, easier-said-than-done arrangements of my appendages.

The teacher advised how we needed to concentrate on posture, rhythmic breathing and limb placement. I have a hard time doing just one thing at a time, so I figured as long as I remembered to keep breathing, I'd be fine.

We started off lying on our respective mats and focusing on relaxing. Within 15 seconds I was asleep. Thankfully my wife woke me up before I began to snore and became the first person in North America to be kicked out of a yoga class.

We next did a Seated-Forward Bend. It's otherwise known as the Intense Stretch of the West, which I thought occurred when I laid on the floor after Thanksgiving dinner and tried to reach the TV remote. The teacher assured us it didn't matter if we could grab our toes or only our shins in this pose. Toes? I was struggling just to sit on the floor without tilting over.

We did more poses such as the Bharadvaja's Twist (nothing like Chubby Checker's dance). While the rest of the class was able to do the Half Lord of the Fishes Pose, I could only tremble at the thought of what the Full Lord required.

Near the end of class, the teacher passed out blankets and pillows for the last relaxation pose. She politely ignored me when I asked if she had any of those little bags of peanuts as well.

I thoroughly enjoyed the class and was hooked. No need to disentangle limbs or anything. And I was confident I'd eventually reach those toes in the Pachismottanasana position, or at least learn how to pronounce it. Either of which would be a remarkable yoga achievement for me.

Excerpted by permission from I Run, Therefore I Am -- Nuts! by Bob Schwartz. Copyright (c) 2001 by Human Kinetics Publishers, Inc. Available at bookstores, http://www.amazon.com, http://humankinetics.com or 1-800-747-4457. MR