Every other day I rendezvous with a younger woman, a Scandinavian blonde if you must know. For our early morning trysts, we go down to our special place: my office in the basement. For the next 50 minutes we engage in all kinds of positions, taking deep breaths, being in the moment. This is our time after all. I always emerge from these encounters a little sweaty and a lot relaxed.

Now that I have your attention, let me confess: I’ve never met this woman in the flesh, er, in person. Christine Felstead, my blonde paramour, produces yoga DVDs. And I’m enamored with her “ Yoga for Runners: the Essentials, Beginner Program”

I am, by any measure, a rank beginner in the world of yoga. (After I’ve had a good yoga practice, my good wife Tina would say the word “rank” best fits my odiferous state.)

Rank or otherwise, I took up yoga to become more flexible. Before yoga, I was about as flexible as the Tin Woodman. Now I’m more flexible. Somewhat. It now takes me less than a minute to get out of the car although I’ll never be able to touch the floor of my office without bending my knees. I have a breathing issue (exercise-induced asthma), and yoga is said to be good for learning better breathing techniques. Also, many professional athletes now practice yoga, so I thought yoga might lower my running times or golf scores. Finally, I’d heard that yoga helps people improve their balance, an issue facing many people in the October of their years.

Be assured, friends and strangers alike, that I’ve not gotten all New Agey on you. I doubt if I’ll head off to a yoga studio to be surrounded by fervid yogistas eager to show off their latest moves and fancy tights. My blonde virtual paramour Christine needs no competition, and I need no distractions. I’ll never say “Om,” unless it comes out accidentally while sleeping or when mouthing the answer to a crossword puzzle clue.

I’ll never ever gush breathlessly about the health benefits of kale chips or tofu milkshakes. I tried kale chips at a party once and ended up spitting out the noxious green mess in the toilet. One year at the Common Ground Fair I thought I’d be brave and try a blueberry tofu milkshake. How bad could it be, I mused? The answer? Bad. Very very bad. I’d prefer to drink Milk of Magnesia any time if self-flagellation is in order.

Incidentally, tofu lovers often tell me, “But tofu is good. It doesn’t have any taste.” To which I reply, “What?” or “Why eat it?”

Anyway, I’ve discovered some other benefits of yoga that extend beyond acquiring better breathing, balance and flexibility. I like getting away, just for a while, from the other things I might be doing if I weren’t doing yoga: reading about the hollow promises of smarmy politicians or the endless and pointless wars around the world; wiling away time on Facebook; wondering why the Red Sox suck this year; or keeping track of what I’m supposed to be doing today, tomorrow and the next day.

Most of all, I just feel better after a morning yoga practice, more in tune with my own body. Taking poses such as Down Dog, Hero and Legs Up the Wall help me breathe better, balance better and bend better. Whatever else happens on the days I’ve practiced yoga, I’ve accomplished at least one worthwhile thing. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

I plan to continue my every-other-day yoga ritual as long as my body is able or the DVD still works. I plan not to take it up another notch and start going to classes and retreats. Solo yoga suits me fine, thank you.

But here’s a warning: If you see me at a party, please don’t offer me some kale chips or a tofu shake, no matter how limber I look. Flexibility has its limits.

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David Treadwell is a resident of Brunswick.