This was my NoCal yoga spot for the past few days. Pink isn’t the new anything. It’s just pink. And that’s all that is needed. Travel mat, sweat cloth, two therapy balls I use on my feet-I stand on them and then inch back and forth, and yes it hurts-and an old fashion hand squeeze tool. Lucky me I have nerve damage in my forearms. From what? No idea. Could be all the antibiotics, but I find the hand tool helps. Keeps the blood flowing. The pink this is my “foam” roller, which is far pinker, smaller and harder than what I was hoping for, but this is what you get when you casually mention to your wife you are in need of a foam roller. She likes the way it looks, which is far more important that it actually working. Having said that, when I use this thing my back sounds like someone breaking chopsticks for fun. Snapping, crunching and popping sounds abound. After twenty-five years of carrying a camera bag my back is officially f%$#$#, so the roller feels…gooooooooooood. Oh, that’s my foot of which I have two. As you can see, my amazing practice has literally cracked the cement. I’m that good. This proves it.